#cheollollipop

The first time I met Park Sunghoon, I was twelve years old and violently humbled. The rink in Busan was too crowded that afternoon. Too many skaters cutting unpredictable paths, too many coaches barking corrections, too many parents watching like their children were already Olympians. I remember pushing into a backward crossover when it happened.

A flash of black gloves. A blade where it shouldn't have been. Impact. The ice slammed into my hip so hard stars burst across my vision. Someone gasped. Someone laughed.

And then a shadow fell over me. "Get up."

No apology or panic. Just a boy with silver bright focus in his eyes and posture so straight it felt offensive.

I blinked up at him. "Did you just tell me to get up?"

"You're in the way."

The audacity. I ignored his hand, grabbed the boards, and hauled myself upright.

"You clipped me."

"You drifted."

"You invaded my pattern!"

"You don't have one," he replied calmly.

I stared at him. He stared back like I was a problem he intended to solve.

"What's your name?" I snapped.

"Sunghoon."

"Well, Sunghoon," I said, brushing frost off my leggings, "try not to skate like the rink belongs to your ancestors."

Something almost, almost, like amusement flickered across his face. Then he pushed off and skated away. Smooth. Centered. Annoyingly perfect.

I watched him jump fifteen minutes later. Triple toe... At twelve... I decided right then that I hated him.

Naturally, our coaches announced a week later that we would be training at the same elite program. Because the universe enjoys comedy.

Years passed. Edges sharpened, jumps multiplied, and somehow, Park Sunghoon became the axis my skating world spun around. Not because I wanted it to, but because he refused to lose. And I refused to be second.

We didn't talk much back then. We competed, silently. Relentlessly. Scoreboards became our conversation. Until high school complicated everything. Because now there were hallways and whispers. And people who had never stepped on ice suddenly treating our rivalry like primetime entertainment.

"Sunghoon is basically royalty," Layla informed me one morning.

We were leaning against my locker while Jake attempted to spin a textbook on one finger. It smacked into the floor.

Heeseung sighed. "Graceful."

"He is not royalty," I said.

"He glides like he's being carried by invisible servants," she continued.

Jake nodded solemnly. "I would also carry him."

"You're all embarrassing."

"Girls are already planning hypothetical weddings," Layla added.

I rolled my eyes. "Tell them to aim higher. Marriage is a tax bracket."

Just then, the hallway shifted.

You could always feel when Sunghoon entered a space. Like the air instinctively made room. He walked past with Jungwon, Sunoo, and Ni-ki orbiting nearby. Ni-ki spotted me first.

"Oh look," he called. "Your favorite person."

Sunghoon didn't break stride. But his eyes flicked toward me. Brief.

A girl near the lockers whispered loudly to her friend, "She's good... but not Sunghoon good."

I shut my locker with surgical calm. Turned and smiled sweetly.

"You're right," I said. "I have personality." Jake wheezed.

Sunghoon's mouth twitched as I pretended not to notice.

If school was noise, the rink was truth. No whispers survived the sound of blades. That afternoon, I was drilling my triple loop. Again. And again.

And again.

"Stop muscling it," my coach warned.

"I'm not."

"You are."

I reset at center ice. Breathed. Pushed. Took off. Landed. Clean.

A slow clap echoed from the boards. I didn't have to look.

"Lose your gloves, Park?" I called.

"You telegraph your entrance," he replied.

"You exist too loudly."

"I barely speak."

"Exactly." I skated toward him. Too close.

He smelled faintly like cold air and cedar. Annoying detail to notice.

"You're adding it to your free skate," he said.

"Are you stalking my choreography?"

"You drilled it fourteen times yesterday."

"So you were watching."

"The entire rink was watching. You nearly took out a coach."

"Collateral damage builds character."

His mouth twitched again. I hated when he almost smiled.

"You rush when you're frustrated," he said quietly.

"And you're bossy when you're breathing."

"I don't breathe loudly."

"You do when you're losing."

"I don't lose."

I leaned closer, "everyone loses."

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth. Then back to my eyes, "not when it matters." The air shifted.

For a second, it felt like the rink had disappeared. Until Ni-ki's voice shattered it.

"JUST DATE ALREADY!"

I shoved Sunghoon backward. "Dream on."

He steadied instantly. Of course he did. Perfect balance. Perfect everything.

I skated away before my pulse could betray me.

School was worse. Popularity is strange when it finds you through talent. People admire you from a distance but also dissect you like you're a specimen. Especially when there's a boy involved. Because at the rink, at least we had a legitimate reason to orbit each other. At school, people invented them.

I was at my locker when a girl I vaguely recognized drifted over with two of her friends. The air shifted into something artificially sweet.

"YN," she began, tilting her head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends," I said. "Will it waste my time?"

Her smile tightened. "Do you ever feel weird? Competing with Sunghoon when... you know."

"When what?"

"Well," she glanced at her friends, "he's just on another level."

I closed my locker slowly. Precision matters in moments like this.

"So are penthouses," I replied. "Doesn't mean the ground floor isn't valuable." One of the friends snorted.

The girl pressed on. "People just think you're... chasing him."

I slung my bag over my shoulder. "Sweetheart," I said gently, "if I were chasing him, he'd know."

Then Jake's delighted cackle echoed down the hall, Heeseung hid a grin behind his hand, and Layla whispered, "Iconic."

As we turned the corner, I nearly walked straight into a wall of black hoodie.

Sunghoon. He had definitely heard that. Heat crept up my neck. He studied me for a second, "you're very loud for someone who claims not to care."

"I don't care," I said. "I multitask."

He leaned closer, voice low enough that only I could hear. "You should. Sectionals are in two weeks."

Electricity zipped down my spine.

"I'm aware."

"Don't hold back on the loop."

"Don't fall on your axel."

His eyes sharpened. Then, softly, "I never fall."

"Everyone falls."

"Not me."

I stepped closer, matching his tone. Good. I'd hate to win because you slipped."

Something flickered between us.

Not anger.

Something warmer. Dangerous. He straightened first.

Coward.

-

People assume competitive skaters spend every waking second thinking about ice.

We don't.

Sometimes we think about food.

Specifically pancakes.

"You're eating like you just came back from war," Layla observed.

"I burned twelve hundred calories yesterday."

Jake looked personally offended. "I burned six hundred sitting on my couch."

"You don't burn calories sitting."

"Says you," he mumbled.

Heeseung slid into the booth across from me, hair still damp from morning practice.

"You have choreography run through after school, right?"

"Unfortunately."

He nodded toward my plate. "Eat more."

"I like how everyone suddenly becomes my nutritionist."

Layla sipped her iced coffee. "We care about your survival."

The bell over the diner door chimed.

Cold air swept in and without looking, I knew.

You always know when someone unwanted has entered your atmosphere.

Jake groaned. "Universe, why."

I turned.

Sunghoon stepped inside with Jungwon and Sunoo, shrugging off his coat. Ni-ki trailed behind, already scanning for chaos.

"Of all the diners in the city," I mutter.

Layla leaned across the table. "Do not look now."

"I already looked."

"He looks illegal in that sweater," she whispered.

"Control yourself."

"Never."

Ni-ki spotted us first and his grin widened like a warning sign.

"Well well," he called. "The opposition."

"I don't remember declaring war," I said.

"You exist," he replied. "That's enough."

Sunghoon approached last. Always composed.

His gaze flicked briefly to my plate, "you're carb loading."

"Observant."

"You forget to eat when you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You ordered three pancakes."

"Because I wanted three pancakes."

Then Jungwon asked politely, "Can we join? Everywhere else is full."

There were at least four empty tables.

Traitorous diner layout.

Layla kicked me under the table.

"Of course," she chirped.

Chairs scraped, space shrank. Sunghoon sat across from me, naturally. The waitress arrived and orders were placed. Normal conversation began.

And yet...

Awareness hummed beneath my skin.

"So," Sunoo said brightly, "ready for sectionals?"

Jake answered for me. "She's going to terrify the judges."

"I already do," I corrected.

Ni-ki leaned forward. "Sunghoon hasn't stopped talking about your loop."

My fork froze midair.

Sunghoon shot him a look sharp enough to shave ice.

"You discuss me?" I asked lightly.

"Only when analyzing threats."

"Flattered."

He held my gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked down at his coffee.

Again. Coward.

And the conversation drifted.

Classes, teachers, Ni-ki attempting a quadruple and nearly inventing a new method of death.

At some point, Jake started arguing with Jungwon about music, Layla and Sunoo debated whether cereal counted as soup, and Heeseung quietly stole half my stack.

Normal.

Warm.

Almost... easy.

Then it happened.

I reached for the syrup at the exact moment Sunghoon did.

Our fingers collided.

Static shot up my arm.

We both pulled back instantly.

"Sorry," he said.

"Your hand is freezing," he added before thinking.

"So is yours."

Neither of us reached for the syrup again.

Layla watched this like it was premium television.

I kicked her.

Hard.

She looked delighted.

Later that afternoon, the rink was quieter than usual.

Golden light spilled through the high windows, turning the ice into something almost translucent.

I stayed after choreography to run jumps.

Again.

Again.

Again.

"You're overtraining."

I didn't turn.

"Do you appear everywhere like a haunting?"

"You fell twice."

"I'm experimenting."

"With gravity?"

I reset at center.

Launched.

Landed.

Not perfect. Not terrible.

"You rush when you're angry," he said.

"I'm not angry."

"You're stabbing the ice."

I pushed toward the boards, breath fogging.

"Why do you care?" The question slipped out sharper than intended.

Silence.

Then the soft scrape of blades approaching. When I looked up, he was closer than expected.

"I care about the quality of my competition," he said evenly.

I laughed once. "Right."

But something in his expression... Shifted.

Less armor and more truth.

"You make me better," he continued.

There it was again.

That confession shaped thing he kept dropping between us like neither of us noticed.

I swallowed.

"You're already the best."

He shook his head.

"Not when you skate like that."

Heat climbed my neck.

Annoying reaction.

"Don't romanticize my triple loop."

"I'm not."

He hesitated.

Then, quieter, "you skate like you're trying to outrun something."

The air stilled. No one had ever said that out loud. Because no one had ever noticed.

"Maybe I am," I said lightly.

"What?"

I met his eyes. "Second place."

For a moment, he just looked at me.

Not competitive. Just... looking. Then he did something catastrophic. He reached out and adjusted the lace at the top of my skate where it had loosened.

Gentle.

My brain forgot every known language.

"There," he said.

"You didn't have to—"

"You would've rolled your ankle."

Our hands brushed when he pulled away.

Electric. Again.

We both noticed and then we both pretended we didn't. After a second, he stepped back. Distance restored, armor back on.

"Don't get injured before sectionals," he said.

"Bossy."

"Practical."

I tilted my head.

"You'd miss me."

"I'd miss the challenge."

Liar.

But I didn't call him on it. Because my pulse was still misbehaving.

That night, we all ended up at Jake's house. Supposedly to study.

No one studied.

Layla sprawled across the carpet, Heeseung was half asleep against the couch, Jake attempted to cook and nearly triggered a fire alarm. I laughed so hard my ribs hurt. For once... I wasn't thinking about jumps, or scores.

Or Sunghoon.

Until my phone buzzed.

Unknown number Did you re-tie your skates when you got home?

I stared at the screen.

My stomach flipped.

Me Sunghoon?

Unknown number You left your guards at the rink.

I looked down.

He was right.

Annoyingly right.

Me So you stole my number from the registration sheet?

Sunghoon I prefer "resourceful."

I smiled before I could stop myself. Dangerous development.

Me Yes, mom. I re-tied them.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Finally:

Sunghoon Don't overtrain this week.

I typed back before thinking.

Me Worried about me?

Sunghoon Worried about my gold medal.

I laughed softly.

Me Liar.

But something warm settled in my chest anyway.

Layla peeked over. "Why are you smiling at your phone like that?"

"I'm not."

"You are."

She gasped. "IS IT SUNGHOON?"

"Lower your voice!"

Jake bolted upright. "IT'S SUNGHOON??"

"I hate all of you."

Heeseung cracked one eye open.

"Took you long enough."

Enough for what? I didn't ask. Because some questions feel too fragile when spoken aloud.

Later, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, one thought drifted through me. For years, rivalry had been sharp. Understandable. But lately... It was softening at the edges. Blurring into something far more dangerous. Something that made my chest feel too tight. Something that made me wonder... When he looks at me...

Is he still seeing his rival? Or is he starting to see me?

And worse.

Was I already seeing him?

-

There are two versions of me.

The one people see.

And the one that exists only on the ice.

At school, I am controlled. Quick-tongued. Untouchable.

At the rink...

I am hunger sharpened into human form.

Sectionals sat two weeks away, glowing on the horizon like something inevitable. Which meant the rink had become less a training space and more a battlefield politely pretending to be frozen water.

I arrived early that morning expecting quiet. Instead, music pulsed through the speakers. A boy I vaguely recognized from another club cut across the ice with theatrical flair, hair falling perfectly into his eyes as he landed a dramatic double. He noticed me watching. Skated over immediately. Of course he did.

"You're YN, right?"

I nodded once.

"Minjae," he said, offering a gloved hand. "I've seen your loop. It's insane."

"Thank you."

"You heading to sectionals?"

"Yes."

He grinned. "Guess we're competition."

"Guess so."

But he didn't skate away.

Instead, he lingered.

"I was wondering... do you want to run a few edges together? Might be fun."

Before I could answer,  a shadow passed over the ice. Cold. Precise.

Sunghoon.

He didn't look at me. Didn't acknowledge Minjae. He simply pushed into a massive triple lutz directly between us. The landing cracked like thunder. Minjae flinched. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop a smile. Subtlety has never been one of Sunghoon's strengths.

"You cut me off," Minjae said.

Sunghoon finally turned.

"I didn't see you."

A lie so blatant it glittered.

Minjae bristled. "Maybe watch where you're going."

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly.

"Maybe don't stop in the middle of someone's entry path."

The temperature on the rink dropped ten degrees.

I sighed. "Park." His gaze flicked to me.

"Don't start territorial battles before nine a.m."

"I'm not territorial."

Minjae muttered something about ego and skated off.

Sunghoon watched him go, jaw tight.

"You could've decapitated him," I said.

"He was distracting you."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. We both froze. I folded my arms slowly.

"Distracting me."

"You have choreography."

"I can handle a conversation."

"I know."

But he still looked irritated. Possessive, even. A strange warmth curled low in my stomach. Dangerous.

"You jealous?" I asked lightly.

His eyes snapped to mine. "No." Too fast.

I hummed. "Sounded like it."

"I don't get jealous."

"Everyone gets jealous."

"I don't."

"Sure."

Silence stretched.

Then he said quietly, "you shouldn't waste focus this week."

Not jealousy. Concern. Which is worse.

I pushed off before my pulse could betray me.

But I felt his gaze follow.

Always.

The fall happened three days later.

Not dramatic. Just wrong timing on a triple flip. My blade caught the tiniest ridge. My ankle twisted a bit.  Pain flared hot enough to steal the air from my lungs. I stayed down longer than I should have. Ice is not forgiving.

"YN."

The voice came fast. Closer than expected. By the time I pushed up on my elbows, Sunghoon was already there, dropping to one knee.

"When did you start teleporting?" I muttered.

"Don't move."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." He reached for my skate and my breath hitched.

"Permission would be nice."

"Can you put weight on it?"

I tried. Pain sparked and I inhaled sharply.

His jaw tightened. Without asking again, he unlaced my skate with efficient hands. His fingers were steady. Careful. Too careful for someone who supposedly only cared about competition.

"You should sit out today."

"Absolutely not."

"You're limping."

"I've skated through worse."

"That doesn't make it smart."

"I don't recall appointing you my decision maker."

His eyes lifted to mine and something in them shifted. Not irritation, but fear.

"You don't get to be reckless right now," he said quietly.

The softness startled me more than the fall.

"Why do you care so much?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"Because if you're not on the ice..."

His voice lowered.

"...it's not the same."

Oh.

Oh.

The air between us changed shape.

I looked away first.

Fuck. Coward.

He helped me stand. His hand stayed at my elbow longer than necessary. Neither of us mentioned it.

Coach announced it like it was harmless.

"Pairs edge drill today. Builds awareness."

Groans echoed.

I didn't look up until she added:

"YN with Sunghoon."

For fucksake. 

We lined up at center ice. Our arms brushed.

"Try not to trip me," I said.

"You'd enjoy the drama."

"Immensely."

We pushed off together. Matching edges.

Left. Right. Cross. Again.

Our timing clicked faster than it should have. Annoyingly natural.

"You're anticipating," he murmured.

"So are you."

"Don't rush the turn."

"Don't coach me."

His hand slid briefly to my waist to steady the rotation. Every nerve in my body lit up. We separated too quickly. Pretended nothing happened. On the next pass, our shoulders aligned perfectly. Blades carving twin arcs.

For a moment, it felt less like a drill. More like a conversation without words.

Coach clapped once. "See? When you stop trying to outdo each other, you're excellent."

We both recoiled slightly. Never repeat that sentence. 

Sunghoon leaned closer.

"If we ever had to pair skate..."

"We'd kill each other."

"...we'd win."

I hated that he might be right.

-

I couldn't sleep.

Pre competition energy buzzed under my skin. So I did what I always do.

I went to the rink.

The building hummed quietly after hours, lights dimmed to a silver glow that made the ice look endless. I stepped onto it and exhaled.

Freedom. No expectations. No watching eyes. Just motion.

I didn't hear the door open. Didn't notice the second set of blades until a familiar voice drifted across the quiet.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I turned.

Hair soft without styling. Sweatpants instead of training gear. Human, for once.

"You haunt this place," I said.

"You do too."

He skated closer.

"I come here when the noise gets loud," he admitted.

The confession felt fragile.

"I come here when I forget why I love it," I said.

He studied me. "You forget?"

"Sometimes competing makes it feel... heavy."

He nodded.

"I skate best when it's quiet."

We drifted into motion without discussing it.

Just.. skating.

Parallel lines. Breathing in sync.

"You're scared," he said suddenly.

I scoffed. "Of what?"

"Not winning." The accuracy hit like cold water. I hated being read.

"I'm scared," he continued, "that one day I won't love it the same way."

The vulnerability stunned me. We stopped near the center. Closer than ever.

"You will," I said softly.

"How do you know?"

"Because you look happiest right here." 

He held my gaze. "And you?"

My chest tightened. "Same."

Silence wrapped around us. Thick. Electric.

He reached out slowly.. 

Then brushed a stray frostflake from my sleeve.

Such a small gesture, but it felt enormous. For a second, neither of us moved.

Then he whispered, "don't let me win easily."

I smiled.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Once we stepped off the ice, my ankle wobbled slightly. His hand caught mine. We froze and awareness surged. My heart slammed so hard I wondered if he could feel it through my wrist. His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth. Then lifted again. Closer. Too close. 

Always too close. 

The world narrowed. Tilted, even.

If either of us leaned one inch—

The rink lights flickered.

Reality snapped back and he released me immediately. Armor back in place.

"Get some sleep," he said.

"You too."

But neither of us moved right away. Because something had shifted.

Irreversibly.

As I walked toward the exit, I felt it with absolute certainty.

The rivalry was still there. Sharp as ever.

But underneath it...

Something warmer had begun to fracture through the ice.

And soon, there would be no pretending we didn't feel it.

I stopped sleeping after the almost kiss.

Not entirely.

Just enough that my dreams felt shallow and unfinished, like someone kept waking me before the important part. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. The rink lights humming softly. His hand around my wrist.

That look.

That impossible, suspended second where the world narrowed until it was just breath and distance and what might have happened if neither of us had remembered how to be afraid. I told myself it meant nothing. A moment is just a moment. Bodies drift close all the time. Skaters understand proximity better than anyone. It was physics. Not feeling. Not longing. Definitely not the way my pulse had refused to settle for hours afterward.

I swung my legs out of bed and checked the time.

4:12 a.m. Perfect.

If I was going to spiral, I might as well do it productively.

The rink would be empty.

Cold fixes everything.

Or at least numbs it.

-

"You're late on your rotation."

I landed the triple loop anyway.

Not clean, but upright.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

Coach did not look convinced. "You've been 'fine' all week."

I pushed my hair out of my face, annoyed by the tremor in my hands.

"I just need another run."

"You need sleep."

"I slept."

She gave me the kind of look reserved for children and liars. Across the rink, I felt it before I saw it.

Attention.

Sunghoon.

Watching.

...Again.

I turned away immediately. Which was mistake number one. Because now I was aware of him. Hyperaware. Every push of his blade sounded louder. Every landing sharper. Every exhale closer than it probably was.

Focus.

Focus.

Focus.

I reset for the combination.

Takeoff.

Rotate.

Under.

My blade scraped awkwardly before catching.

I staggered.

Saved it.

Barely.

Coach blew her whistle once.

Sharp.

"Enough."

"I said I'm fine."

"YN." That tone. The warning one.

"You're not present." The words lodged somewhere uncomfortable.

Because she was right, and I didn't know how to fix it.

-

By Wednesday, it wasn't just Coach. It was everyone. Layla studied me over lunch like I was a suspicious artifact.

"You just tried to drink your phone."

I blinked down at my hand and I was, in fact, holding my phone where my water should have been.

Jake leaned across the table. "Blink twice if you're possessed."

"I'm just tired."

Heeseung tilted his head slightly.

"No," he said gently. "You're somewhere else."

I stabbed at my food. "I have sectionals."

"You've had competitions before," Layla said carefully.

"Not like this."

"Why not?"

Because Sunghoon almost kissed me. Because I almost let him. Because now every time I see him my lungs forget their job.

I shoved the thought down so hard it practically echoed.

"Pressure," I said instead.

Jake frowned. "You don't crack under pressure."

Tell that to my nervous system.

Layla's eyes narrowed slowly. Then widened.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

"You and Sunghoon," she whispered.

I choked on air. "There is no 'me and Sunghoon.'"

"That was not a denial."

"It absolutely was."

"Your ears are red."

"They are not."

Heeseung, traitor that he is, hid a smile.

"You should talk to him," he said.

I laughed.

Too loudly.

"I would rather skate barefoot."

-

It happened on a Thursday afternoon.

Quiet session.

Most skaters had cleared out and I was tying my laces when his reflection appeared beside mine in the glass.

"You've been avoiding me."

I didn't look up.

"I've been training."

"You won't even look at me."

"I'm looking at my skate."

"YN."

Something in his voice tugged. I hated that it did. I stood. Turned.

Big mistake.

He was closer than expected.

Close enough that I could see the faint flush in his cheeks from training.

"You're off," he said quietly.

"I'm not."

"You popped three jumps yesterday."

"I know what I did."

Silence stretched.

Then, softer, "is it because of the other night?"

My heart slammed so hard it almost hurt.

"What about it?"

"You know what."

"No," I lied.

He stepped closer. The air shifted again. That charged stillness.

"I almost—"

"Don't," I said quickly.

His jaw tightened. "Did it scare you?"

"No."

Yes.

"Yes," he corrected gently.

The way he said it.. like he understood something I couldn't admit.

My chest felt too tight.

"We should focus on sectionals," I said.

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth again.

"You are focusing," he said. "Just not on skating."

Heat flared up my neck.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." He reached out then. Slowly. Like approaching a frightened animal. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair near my cheek.

My breath caught.

Don't lean in.

Don't lean in.

Don't—

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. We sprang apart.

Again.

Always again.

But this time something lingered in his expression. Not just tension, but regret.

-

By Friday, frustration had replaced exhaustion.

I needed to prove, to myself more than anyone, that I was still in control.

So I made a decision. A stupid one, maybe. 

Definitely. 

Triple axel.

I wasn't scheduled to run it that day. Coach wasn't even watching. But it sat there in my mind like a dare. If I landed it clean...

Everything would feel steady again.

I pushed to center ice. The rink hummed softly. For a second, it felt like old times. Just me and the jump.

I inhaled. Backward outside edge.

Step.

Step.

Vault.

Airborne.

And for half a heartbeat, it was perfect.

Then my timing slipped.

Rotation slowed.

My landing came down wrong.

Blade hit at an angle.

My ankle twisted violently beneath me. The sound that tore out of me didn't feel human.

Ice rushed up. Pain detonated white hot. I couldn't breathe.Somewhere far away, someone shouted my name. Blades carved frantic lines toward me.

Then, Sunghoon.

Already there.

Dropping hard to his knees.

"YN." His voice was sharp. Terrified. I had never heard him like that.

"Don't move," he said.

"I wasn't planning on it," I gasped.

He looked at my ankle. Swelling already blooming beneath the fabric. His face went frighteningly still.

"No no no..."

"I'm fine," I whispered automatically.

"You're not fine."

His hands hovered like he wanted to touch but was afraid to hurt me more. Coach skidded to a stop beside us.

"Call medical." The words blurred together.

Everything blurred except him. His hand slid into mine.

Firm.

Grounding.

"I've got you," he said quietly.

The pain pulsed again. I squeezed his hand without thinking and his grip tightened instantly.

As they helped me off the ice, I saw it. The guilt in his eyes. Sharp enough to cut.

"This is my fault," he murmured.

"It isn't."

"You weren't ready to run it."

"I chose to."

But he shook his head once, jaw locked.

"You were distracted."

The word hung there.

Heavy.

-

The verdict? 

Sprain. Severe. Possible ligament damage.

No jumping, which meant absolutely no competing.

The doctor's voice sounded like it was traveling through water.

Sectionals.

Gone.

Just like that.

I stared at the wall because if I looked at anyone, I might shatter. Sunghoon stood in the corner of the room, silent. Hands clenched.

When the doctor left, the quiet roared.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. The apology was wrecked.

I forced a laugh. "You didn't push me midair."

"I should've said something sooner."

"You did."

"Not enough."

I looked at him then. Really looked. And what I saw there stole the breath from my lungs.

Fear.

Not for himself, but for me.

"You're going to skate," I said softly.

He shook his head once.

"It won't feel right."

"It better," I snapped. "Do not throw your program because of me."

His voice dropped.

"You are not something I can separate from this."

The confession cracked something open inside my chest. I looked away quickly.

Because suddenly, this hurt more than the ankle.

"I need you to win," I whispered.

His answer came without hesitation.

"I need you on the ice."

Silence fell again.

Thick.

Finally, I said the thing neither of us wanted to admit.

"Maybe we were never meant to peak at the same time."

His eyes sharpened. "No."

So certain. So immediate.

"We rise together," he said quietly.

The words settled into me like something permanent.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

I blinked them back.

I don't cry at rinks.

Ever.

But as he stepped closer, hesitation flickering across his face like he was asking permission without words. I realized something with devastating clarity. The rivalry had never been what made us dangerous.

It was this.

This impossible gravity pulling us toward each other whether we meant to or not. And now?Neither of us knew how to escape it.

-

The rink sounds different when you're not allowed on it. I never noticed before. From the stands, blades don't sing. They scrape. Music doesn't swell. It echoes. Even the cold feels farther away, like it belongs to someone else now. I hated it immediately.

"You don't have to come watch," Layla said gently beside me.

"Yes, I do." Because if I stayed home, this would become real. And I wasn't ready for real.

Below us, skaters cut their warm up patterns. The space where I should have been felt enormous. Wrong. Like a missing tooth your tongue can't stop finding. Then he stepped onto the ice.

The air shifted. It always does when Sunghoon skates.

But today, something was off. At first, no one else noticed. They saw the same clean edges. The same upright posture. The same frightening precision. But I saw it. The hesitation half a second before his takeoffs. The way his shoulders carried tension they never used to. Sunghoon didn't skate like someone chasing gold. He skated like someone searching for something that wasn't there.

My stomach twisted.

"He looks weird," Jake muttered.

Layla nodded slowly. "He looks... restrained."

Heeseung crossed his arms. "He's thinking too much."

Yes. Exactly.

Sunghoon has never been a thinker on the ice. He is instinct, muscle memory, velocity.

Until now.

He pushed into a triple flip. Landed.

Clean.

The rink clapped politely. But his face didn't change. No satisfaction or hunger. Just distance.

And then his eyes lifted and found me instantly. They always do.

Something flickered there. Pain? Relief? Both?

He looked away first.

Good.

Because if he hadn't, I might have done something reckless like cry in public.

I don't cry at rinks.

-

The rumors started quietly.

"They think he's injured."

"No, it's burnout."

"I heard he's changing programs last minute."

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

If they looked closer, they'd see the truth. Sunghoon wasn't unraveling because of skating. He was unraveling because I wasn't out there with him. It was a terrifying realization. One that sat heavy in my chest.

After practice, I waited near the tunnel. Leaning on crutches still felt humiliating, but falling again would be worse.

He emerged, hair damp, expression guarded. When he saw me, something in his shoulders loosened. Just slightly.

"You stayed."

"I always stay."

Silence hovered.

Then I said the thing I'd rehearsed all morning.

"You're holding back."

His jaw tightened.

"I'm skating."

"You're surviving."

His eyes snapped to mine.

"I don't need a critique right now."

"You do if you plan on winning."

Frustration sparked.

Good.

Anger is closer to normal than whatever numb thing he'd been doing.

"You think I care about winning?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"I don't."

The words hit harder than they should have.

"You've cared your entire life."

"I cared when it meant something." The air stilled.

There it was. The thing we weren't naming. I gripped my crutch harder.

"Don't you dare do this," I said.

"Do what?"

"Turn me into an excuse."

His expression fractured.

"You are not an excuse."

"Then skate like it."

Silence stretched between us, taut as pulled wire.

Finally, he whispered, "it's different without you." The confession landed softly.

Devastating anyway.

I steadied my voice. "It has to not be."

He looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to say ten other things.

Instead, he asked, "did it hurt?"

"The fall?"

He nodded.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Not as much as sitting still."

His gaze dropped briefly to my ankle. Something dangerously close to guilt flickered there again.

"This is not your fault," I said firmly.

"You were distracted."

"So were you."

His eyes lifted. Caught.

He exhaled slowly. "Maybe."

I softened my voice.

"Sunghoon... you don't get to fall apart just because I did."

"I'm not falling apart."

"You almost doubled your lutz."

"That was intentional."

"Liar."

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched.

There he is.

"I need you to skate," I said quietly.

"I am."

"No. I need you to fly."

The words hung between us.

He searched my face like the answer to something was written there.

"What if I don't want to without you?" he asked.

My chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.

"You don't get that choice," I whispered.

-

Apparently I wasn't the only one worried. I turned the corner later that afternoon and nearly collided with Ni-ki.

He blinked down at my crutches.

"You look violent."

"Thank you."

Sunoo hovered nearby, concern written all over him.

"He won't listen to us," Jungwon said bluntly.

Ah.

So this was an ambush.

"He listens to you," Sunoo added.

I almost laughed. "Have you met him?"

Ni-ki crossed his arms.

"He skates like someone stole his favorite thing."

The accuracy made my throat tight.

"You are his favorite thing," Ni-ki continued.

Sunoo smacked his arm.

"What? It's obvious."

Heat rushed up my neck.

"No, it is not."

Jungwon gave me a look far too perceptive for his age.

"You should talk to him again."

"I already did."

"Do it harder," Ni-ki said.

I snorted despite myself.

But later,  I found him alone again. Some gravitational pull keeps dragging us into the same quiet corners. He sat on the bench, unlacing his skates slowly.

"You're brooding," I observed.

"I'm sitting."

"Men only sit like that in dramatic movies."

He huffed softly.

Progress.

I lowered myself beside him.

Closer than necessary. But not touching.

Never touching.

"Do you remember the first time you beat me?" he asked suddenly.

"You tripped on your landing."

"You laughed."

"It was funny."

"You offered me your tissue."

"You were bleeding."

A faint smile.

Gone too quickly.

"You told me rivals shouldn't let each other look pathetic."

"I stand by that."

He turned then. Fully. Eyes searching mine.

"I don't know how to do this without you."

The vulnerability cracked straight through me.

"You won't have to forever," I said softly.

"But right now you do."

A long silence followed.

Then I added gently, "if you skate small because I'm not there, I will never forgive you."

That got his attention. His gaze sharpened.

"You're terrifying."

"Correct."

Something steadier moved through his expression. Resolve, maybe.

"You'll watch?" he asked.

"Every second."

"And if I fall?"

"You won't."

"And if I do?"

I held his gaze. "Then I'll be right here when you get up."

For a moment, neither of us breathed. The space between us hummed with everything we still refused to say. Then he nodded once.

Decision made.

-

I couldn't sleep again. Different reason this time. Not anxiety.

Anticipation.

Tomorrow, he would skate.

Without me.

I stared at the ceiling, heart restless. And understood something with startling clarity. For years, I thought rivalry was about wanting to win. But this? Wanting him to be brilliant even if I wasn't beside him? That was something else entirely. Something frighteningly close to love. I shut my eyes quickly.

Absolutely not.

We are not unpacking that tonight.

-

The arena buzzed with competition energy.

Electric.

I settled into my seat, pulse racing like it was my name on the roster. When Sunghoon stepped onto the ice,  I knew immediately.

He was back.

Edges deeper. Speed faster. Presence enormous. He wasn't searching anymore. He was claiming space. Halfway through his step sequence, his gaze lifted briefly and found me.

And this time? He didn't look away. He held it. Just long enough for me to understand. This skate was not despite me.

It was for us.

My throat burned.

By the time he launched into his final jump, the arena was already rising.

Landing.

Clean.

Perfect.

The music swelled.

He finished strong, chest heaving as he smiled.

Not wide. Not showy.

Just real.

As the crowd roared, I felt tears prick my eyes.

I blinked them back fiercely.

I don't cry at rinks.

But when he stepped off the ice and walked straight toward the tunnel where I waited, something inside me shifted permanently.

"You flew," I whispered.

He looked at me like the noise around us didn't exist.

"You were right here," he said.

And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.mThe agony wasn't the distance. It wasn't the injury. It wasn't even the almost kiss.

The real agony?

Was knowing that whatever this was between us, was no longer something either of us could outrun.

-

I have never been more nervous for someone else in my entire life. Which is deeply inconvenient, because Sunghoon looked like the calmest person in the arena. He stood at center ice waiting for his scores, chest still rising and falling from exertion, hair damp, posture perfectly aligned like his spine had been engineered rather than grown.

Around him, the arena hummed.

Judges shuffled papers. Spectators whispered. Cameras tilted. But all I could hear was my heartbeat. Beside me, Layla gripped my sleeve.

"If he doesn't win, I riot."

Jake leaned forward so far I thought he might fall over the railing.

"He just committed athletic murder out there."

Heeseung, ever composed, simply said, "That was the best I've ever seen him."

Yes.

It was.

And I knew why.

The scoreboard flickered.

Numbers began to populate.

Technical.

High.

Higher.

My stomach flipped.

Program components.

Ridiculous.

Then the final score appeared.

First.

Gold.

The arena exploded.

Sound crashed over us in a wave so loud it rattled through my ribs.

Ni-ki screamed something completely unintelligible. Sunoo jumped onto Jungwon's back. Someone behind me dropped a drink.

And Sunghoon? Didn't move.

For half a second, he just stared at the board like he didn't quite believe it.

Then slowly, almost cautiously, his gaze lifted.

It was not a triumphant look.

It wasn't cocky.

It was searching.

Like he needed to confirm I was real.

I don't remember deciding to move. One second I was in the stands. The next I was navigating down the steps, ignoring Layla shouting something about my ankle. Crutches be damned. By the time he stepped off the ice into the tunnel, I was already there. Waiting. Breath unsteady. Heart doing something medically concerning. For a moment, the world narrowed to just us again. Crowds roared somewhere beyond the walls. But inside that tunnel, it felt suspended.

"You won," I said.

Brilliant opening line, truly.

His mouth curved slightly, but his eyes stayed fixed on mine.

"You told me to fly."

"And you listened."

A pause.

"You were here."

Always.

The word hung unspoken but understood. Emotion climbed my throat unexpectedly fast.

"I'm proud of you," I managed.

Something in his expression broke open. Not dramatically.

Not visibly to anyone else. But I saw it.

Relief.

Weeks of tension dissolving in real time.

He stepped closer. Too close for politeness or rivalry.

I should have thought about it.

About the cameras. The people.

My friends literally stampeding toward us from down the corridor.

But adrenaline is a reckless thing.

So is love, apparently.

His hand came up, hesitant only for a fraction of a second, cupping the side of my face like he'd been imagining it for years.

"YN," he breathed.

And before my brain could catch up, I closed the distance.

Or maybe he did.

I don't know.

All I know is suddenly his mouth was on mine.

Warm.

Certain.

Not tentative the way almost kisses are.

This was not a question.

This was gravity finally winning.

Somewhere behind us, Ni-ki shrieked.

Actually shrieked.

Sunoo yelled, "I KNEW IT!"

Layla was losing her entire mind.

But the noise felt far away. Because Sunghoon kissed like he skated.

Fully.

Without hesitation once he committed.

My fingers curled into the front of his jacket before I even realized what I was doing. The world tilted.

Steadied.

Tilted again.

When we finally broke apart, the silence between us lasted exactly half a heartbeat before reality crashed back in.

Cameras flashing.

People staring.

Our friends howling like a pack of delighted wolves.

Sunghoon blinked once.

Then twice.

As if waking up mid dream.

"...we just did that," he said quietly.

"Yes," I replied, equally stunned. "We did."

A faint flush crept across his cheeks. I suspected mine matched.

Ni-ki barreled into him next, nearly knocking him sideways.

"TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH."

Sunoo clapped both hands over his mouth.

"You kissed her before getting your medal. That is insane."

Jungwon just shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Layla skidded to my side, gripping my shoulders.

"I have been WAITING YEARS."

"It has not been years."

"YEARS."

"I hate all of you," I muttered.

But I was smiling too hard for it to carry any weight.

Through the chaos, Sunghoon found my hand.

Not dramatically.

Not possessively.

Just, threaded his fingers through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My pulse jumped.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Are you?"

He considered it. Then, with a small exhale that felt like the release of something ancient—

"I think I am now."

My chest squeezed painfully.

"You realize," I said, "half the arena just saw that."

"I didn't think."

"I noticed."

Then he added, "I don't regret it."

Neither did I. Which was the truly terrifying part.

Officials began calling medalists back toward the ice.

He hesitated.

Looked at our joined hands.

Then at me.

"Go," I said gently. "Champion."

The word made something warm flicker across his face. But before he stepped away, he leaned down just slightly, voice meant only for me.

"You're still my hardest competition."

I smiled.

"Good. Stay nervous."

He started toward the ice, then glanced back once more. Our eyes met.

And in that moment, something settled deep in my bones. For years, we had chased each other across frozen surfaces, pretending it was about medals and margins and technical scores. But standing there now, ankle wrapped, heart wide open, watching him take his place at the top of the podium,  I understood the truth with startling clarity. We were never meant to defeat each other. We were meant to rise together.

Layla leaned into me, vibrating with excitement.

"So," she whispered, "does this mean you're dating?"

I watched Sunghoon accept his medal, gold flashing beneath the arena lights.

He looked over immediately.

"I don't know," I admitted softly.

But as he stepped down from the podium and walked straight back toward us without even glancing at anyone else, My heart did something steady.

Certain.

Terrifying.

And wonderfully inevitable.

"...I think we're about to find out."

゛ꨄ︎﹒enha masterlist ⸝⸝․ᐟ

⤷ network tags: @kvanity-main

Mingyu's there, hood up, his breath fogging the air. He's holding her like he's scared she'll break. Little shoulders hunched under a too big coat, hair mussed, the stuffed bear tucked under her chin. She looks better. Still the way she always does when she thinks the world is safe, because Dad is holding it together.

My chest twists. "Hey, baby," I whisper and reach for her. She folds into me like everything still fits.

"She had breakfast," Mingyu says without looking at me. Flat. Careful. "No fever. Took her meds last night."

"Okay." My fingers smooth the collar of her coat. "Thank you."

He nods once, already stepping back toward the car.

"Mingyu—" I shift her weight and set her down gently. "Can we—"

"Not now," he says.

"You always say that." I force my voice steady. It breaks anyway.

He looks past me, like my shape is a smudge in the doorway. "Because now is not the time."

"When is it going to be the time?" The words come out thin but sharp. "Because I've been trying for weeks."

He turns, like leaving is the only answer he knows how to give.

Before he can reach the porch, I say, "Sweetheart, go put on cartoons, okay? Mommy will be there soon." Her little feet patter away. I can hear the TV click to life. The theme song is thin through the walls.

He moves to leave. I step in his path and my hand lands on the doorframe.

"Don't," I say. Simple. Final.

"YN—"

"No." I cut him off. My throat is raw. "You can't keep walking away from me."

"Move." He says it low, the kind of single syllable that used to be reserved for track calls and pit lane orders.

"No." My breath catches. "I know I broke you. I know I lied. I know I did the thing that's tearing us up. If I could pick up every tiny shard and put them back where they belong, I would. I would undo this in a heartbeat. But I can't." My hands shake on the doorframe. "All I can do is try."

His jaw tightens. For a second he's only a set of angles, the line of his nose, the cut of his cheek. Then he looks at me, properly, and I see the exhaustion under everything. The late nights, the rehearsed calm, the way his eyes have been hollowed out by a thousand small betrayals.

"You don't get to keep walking away and then expect me to be the same person waiting on the other side," he says finally, each word a careful step away from whatever softness he might have given me once. "You lied to my face for years, YN." His voice breaks on the last word. "You used our life as camouflage."

"My god, Mingyu—" I step forward, my hands are empty. "I didn't do it to hurt you. I did it because I was scared. Scared of failing. Scared of losing what Dad left. Scared of being nothing but 'your wife' in their mouths. I thought I could protect all of it and protect you and us and—"

"You thought for yourself," he cuts in, bitter and clean. "You acted for yourself. You didn't just withhold information YN, you decided for both of us. That's not protection. That's betrayal."

It's not the first time he's said that word, but tonight it lands heavier.

So I do the thing I always do when I need to feel okay again: I go home. I go to him.

The apartment's quiet when I walk in. Seungcheol's keys are on the counter, which means he's already home. The scent of his cologne lingers faintly in the air, mixed with the soft scent of laundry detergent and jasmine from the candle we both pretend not to love too much.

I drop my bag by the door and toe off my shoes. I want to go find him, maybe he's in the bedroom or in the kitchen, probably singing something off-key while making rice but I don't get that far.

Because before I can even call out his name, he's already walking down the hallway toward me. One look, and he knows. He always does. My lips tremble as I try to say hi, to smile, to brush it all off like I haven't been teetering on the edge of falling apart all day.

But he doesn't let me.

He steps forward, wraps me into his chest like he's shielding me from the whole world, and says nothing.

Not what happened? Not are you okay?

Just his arms, around me. Steady. Familiar. Safe.

That's always been his way. When the world feels too loud, Seungcheol is quiet. Not because he doesn't care, but because he knows when words aren't what I need. I bury my face in his shirt, and the tears come silently. No sobbing. No theatrics. Just relief. Like letting go of a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. He rubs slow, steady circles on my back, one hand cradling the back of my head.

We stand there for a while. Long enough for my breathing to even out. Long enough for the weight to lift just a little.

"You don't have to talk," he murmurs against my hair, voice low and warm. "Not unless you want to."

"I just... today sucked," I whisper, eyes still closed. "And I didn't want to be alone."

"You're not."

And somehow, that's enough.

Later, we end up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, legs tangled beneath us. He orders food without asking what I want because he already knows and puts on some documentary we won't pay attention to. He holds my hand the entire time. And when I finally rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, he presses a kiss to the top of my head and says, "You don't have to be okay all the time, you know."

I nod.

Because with him, I don't.

I just have to be here.

I tiptoe down the dark hallway, heart pounding in my chest and a disbelieving smile tugging at my lips. Who plays hide-and-seek at midnight? Apparently, Yoon Jeonghan does. One moment, we were finishing up a late-night snack in the kitchen; the next, he was grinning like a mischievous child, flipped off the lights, and vanished into the shadows with a hushed "Find me, if you can." Now here I am, creeping past the living room, trying not to laugh as I whisper, "Jeonghan, this is ridiculous... You know I'll find you."

Silence answers me, except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the creak of a floorboard somewhere ahead. I pause by the couch, squinting in the low light. The only illumination is the faint glow of the fish tank in the corner, casting wavy patterns on the walls.

Our cozy home is usually so tranquil at this hour—cuddled up under blankets watching a drama or already fast asleep—but not tonight. Tonight it's my playground and his, littered with hiding spots. A pillow lies on the floor (no doubt kicked aside during his escape), and I notice one of his fluffy slippers discarded near the coffee table. I bite back a grin. Clue #1: one slipper. The other is missing. Did he lose it in his rush, or is he trying to Hansel-and-Gretel me into a trap?

I glide toward the bedroom, careful to avoid the one squeaky floorboard by the hall closet. Jeonghan knows I always forget about that spot, and I'm not giving him the satisfaction of hearing me trip up so soon.

Think, YN, I tell myself. If I were a cunning, six-foot-tall man-child with an angelic face and a devilish mind, where would I hide? The hall closet? Too obvious. Under the kitchen table? Possibly, but he hates crouching (lazy butt would cramp up). I pass the bathroom and notice the door is slightly ajar. Aha. My eyes narrow playfully. The bathroom is dark, the door just a sliver open, tempting, like he wants me to peek inside.

Quietly, I nudge the bathroom door open with one finger and lean in. "Gotcha..." I sing in a soft tease, flicking on the light. But the room is empty save for a crumpled towel on the floor. On the mirror, however, someone (ahem, my boyfriend) has drawn a little heart in the lingering steam from our earlier shower, with the message "Not here :P" inside it. I snort. Of course he planned this. I gently touch the heart doodle, shaking my head at how absurdly cute and devious he is.

"Alright, two can play this game," I mutter, turning off the light again.

As I step back into the hall, something brushes my ankle. I jump, a tiny squeak escaping before I realize it's just our cat, Dandelion, weaving around my legs.

"Shh, you'll give me away," I whisper, scooping the fluffy traitor into my arms. Dandelion purrs loudly, utterly unconcerned with my need for stealth. I carry her with me as I tiptoe toward the bedroom. The door is open just a crack. Darkness fills the room beyond, but I catch a hint of movement, the slightest rustle, like fabric against wood.

I set Dandelion down and she promptly scampers off (probably to find Jeonghan for ear scratches. Some ally she is!). I take a deep breath and quietly slip into the bedroom. It's almost pitch black, but I know the layout by heart: bed to the left, dresser to the right, a pile of laundry I meant to fold on the chair by the window. The air smells faintly of Jeonghan's citrusy cologne from earlier and the vanilla candle we burned before bed. My eyes adjust, and I notice the closet door is closed now when I'm pretty sure I left it open. Suspicious.

I grin in the dark. He might be hiding in the closet, but knowing him, the moment I get close he'll jump out at me. My competitive, sneaky boyfriend loves a dramatic reveal. Two can play at misdirection, though. I tiptoe not to the closet, but to the bed first, pulling back the covers just enough to rustle them. Then I whisper aloud, "Hmm, maybe he's not in here after all... maybe I should check the kitchen again." I even add an exaggerated, defeated sigh for effect.

There's a long pause of silence. I can almost feel him listening from wherever he's tucked himself. Gotcha, Hannie. If I know Jeonghan, he's poised in that closet, holding his breath and fighting the urge to peek. He's probably smirking, thinking I've given up and turned back. Keeping my steps feather light, I move quietly from the bed toward the closet. In one swift motion, I fling the closet door open and lunge forward. "Aha!"

My triumph is short-lived. The closet is... empty. What? I blink at the hanging clothes, dumbfounded for a split second—until a pair of strong arms snakes around my waist from behind. I gasp, a burst of laughter and surprise spilling from my lips as my back meets Jeonghan's warm chest. He hugs me tight against him, one hand splayed over my stomach, the other already reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Looking for me?" he purrs low against my ear. I can hear the smug grin in his voice. My heart leaps at the sudden closeness, a fizzy thrill shooting through me. Damn it. He got me. And of course he's reveling in it.

"Jeonghan!" I exclaim, swatting at his arm lightly. I'm aiming for annoyed, but I can't keep the laughter out of my voice. "You sneaky little— You weren't in the closet at all!"

He chuckles, the sound vibrantly soft by my ear. "Of course not," he says, faux-offended. "Do you think I'm that obvious? I was under the bed the whole time, darling."

I can't help but laugh at how absurdly pleased he sounds with himself. Under the bed! I should have known; he hates crouching, but apparently slithering on the floor is fine if it means outsmarting me. Classic Jeonghan logic.

Still wrapped in his arms, I decide two can play dirty. I lean back into him deliberately, tilting my head against his shoulder so I can just make out his face in the dim light. His eyes gleam with victory and mischief. "You realize this means war," I whisper, arching a brow. "Nobody makes a fool of me and gets away with it."

He hums thoughtfully, and I feel his chest shake with a silent laugh. "Mm, but you look so cute when you're trying to win," he teases. His hand on my waist tightens slightly, fingers drumming against my side in a way that sends ticklish sparks through me. "Besides," he continues, and I can feel his breath warm on my neck now (so distracting), "I didn't make a fool of you. You did that all on your own, my love."

I gasp in mock indignation and elbow him gently. "Yoon Jeonghan!" I scold, trying and failing to sound stern. I'm pretty sure it just comes out giggly. He's incorrigible. I wriggle in his grasp, attempting to twist around and face him, but he only holds me tighter, clearly enjoying this far too much.

"Shh," he coos right next to my ear. I shiver as his lips barely graze the shell of it. "You'll wake the neighbors," he adds in a dramatic whisper.

I roll my eyes, even though he probably can't see it. Leave it to Jeonghan to worry about the neighbors now, after he literally pounced on me. "If they haven't woken up from your evil laughter, they're probably in a coma," I whisper back. My quip earns another soft chuckle from him.

In one quick move, before I can react, Jeonghan spins me around in his arms until I'm facing him. The sudden motion makes me a little dizzy, or maybe that's just the effect he has on me. Before I steady myself, he leans in so close our noses almost brush. Even in the darkness, I sense the playful curve of his smile and the way his hair falls into his eyes. His familiar scent surrounds me, and all the adrenaline of the chase melts into a fluttery warmth in my chest.

"Hi," he whispers, as if we just bumped into each other casually in the hallway and not in the middle of his midnight mischief. He's so shamelessly nonchalant that a laugh bubbles out of me, my hands instinctively resting against his chest.

"Hi," I whisper back, grinning up at him. "Fancy meeting you here, sneaking up behind me and scaring me half to death."

Jeonghan pretends to ponder that, tilting his head in feigned thought. "Hmm, you sure it was me? Maybe it was a ghost," he offers innocently.

I give his chest a light shove. "A ghost who uses my expensive face cream?" I counter, recalling the mysteriously misplaced jar lid I found on the vanity earlier tonight (the likely culprit now stands before me). "Definitely you, Hannie."

He laughs softly, not even a hint of remorse. "Alright, you caught me," he concedes, though let's be real, it's him who caught me. "Whatever shall you do with me now?" His tone is mock dramatic as he loosens his hold just enough to throw his hands up in exaggerated surrender. He might as well be twirling an imaginary mustache.

I narrow my eyes as if considering his fate, playing along. "I should make you do all the laundry for a week for scaring me like that," I threaten, scrunching my nose at him.

He actually pouts. A quick, cartoonish pout I can barely see in the dark, but I hear it in his voice. "But I already fold your laundry," he protests. "I even put that cute pajama set of yours on top of the pile for tonight."

I bite my lip to stifle a laugh because it's true, he can be oddly domestic when he wants to be, the sweetheart. My faux indignant front is crumbling into adoration by the second. Still, I can't let him off too easily. "Fine. No laundry punishment," I concede. "How about... you owe me a back massage, mister."

Jeonghan breaks into a grin, visible by the way his cheeks lift in the low light. "Deal. But only if I get one in return. Fair trade," he quips, ever the negotiator.

"Always bargaining," I murmur, shaking my head. Before I can say more, he suddenly presses a quick kiss to my forehead, catching me off guard. His lips linger for a heartbeat, soft and reassuring against my skin, and any leftover pretense of annoyance I had dissolves completely.

The game is officially over, it seems. Neither of us declares it, but we both know. The only sounds now are our mingled breaths and a distant car passing on the street outside. I slide my arms around his neck and relax into his embrace.

"You're crazy, you know that?" I whisper, still slightly breathless. "Who starts hide-and-seek at midnight?"

Jeonghan's shoulders shake with a silent laugh. "Someone who knows you'll play along," he replies, voice turning gentle and fond. He brushes a thumb tenderly across my cheek. "And someone who wanted your attention."

That confession makes my heart do a little flip. I lean into his touch, my own fingers playing with the hair at his nape. "Well, you have my attention. You always do," I admit softly.

He tilts my chin up, and even in the dark I can feel the warmth of his gaze on me. "Good," he whispers. Then he closes the scant inches between us and kisses me. It's a sweet, lingering kiss that tastes faintly of the hot chocolate we shared earlier and feels like a promise of more mischief, more laughter, and endless love. I sigh happily against his lips and kiss him back, standing on tiptoe to press closer, my fingers tangling in the soft hair that curls at his neck.

When we finally part, both of us are breathless and grinning like fools. He rests his forehead against mine, and I can just make out his smile. "So... am I forgiven for the scare?" he asks playfully.

I pretend to mull it over, humming as if in deep thought. "Hmm, maybe. But only because you're cute," I reply, tapping a finger against his chest.

He beams at that, clearly pleased with himself. "Fair. And for the record, you were pretty adorable tiptoeing around in the dark trying to find me."

I gasp, feigning offense as heat rises to my cheeks. "I was not tiptoeing— I was sleuthing. Very expertly, I might add. You just... cheat."

Jeonghan gasps back in dramatic shock. "Cheat? Me?" He places a hand over his heart as if wounded by the accusation. "I prefer the term 'strategically talented'. I simply outsmarted you, my love."

I snort and swat him lightly. "Strategically talented, my ass." I wriggle out of his arms at last, though I don't stray far. My competitive streak hasn't given up. I fix him with a challenging look. "Alright, Einstein, since you're feeling so clever... how about round two?"

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Clearly, he wasn't expecting that. It's late, and knowing him, the post-adrenaline crash will hit soon. But I'm not quite done with our game. I give him a cheeky grin.

"Round two?" he repeats slowly, a smirk forming on his lips. "You sure you can handle losing twice in one night?"

I poke a finger at his chest. "Who says I'll lose?" I taunt. "This time, I'll hide and you seek. Unless you're scared you'll fall asleep before you even find me."

That gets him. Jeonghan's eyes flash with determination, never one to back down from a playful dare. He releases me and takes a step back, already gearing up for the challenge. "You're on," he declares, pointing at me and then theatrically covering his eyes with one hand. "I'll count to twenty. And no climbing out the window or leaving the apartment, alright? I know how sneaky you can be." He peeks at me between his fingers, tongue poking out in a cheeky grin.

I laugh and start tiptoeing backward toward the door. "Just count, you dork!" I call softly.

The first punch didn’t hurt.

Seungcheol barely even felt it. The impact was dull, numbed by the alcohol in his system, by the frustration clawing at his chest, by the unbearable weight of everything he had spent the past year trying to ignore.

The second punch, though—that one he felt.

It split his lip and sent the metallic taste of blood spilling over his tongue, but he barely registered it. If anything, it only made his vision clearer, his mind sharper, the pounding in his head aligning with the rhythm of his pulse.

Maybe this was exactly what he needed.

He wasn’t sure how it started. Maybe some guy had looked at him the wrong way. Maybe he had bumped into someone without realizing it. Perhaps he had just been looking for an excuse.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” the guy had snapped, shoving him back.

Seungcheol should’ve walked away.

Instead, he laughed—low, humorless, empty. “Or what?”

The guy didn’t hesitate. Fist to his jaw, hard and unrelenting.

Seungcheol staggered back, running his tongue over the blood already pooling in his mouth. His fingers flexed at his sides. His heart pounded in his ears.

He could leave. Right now, he could turn around, step away, let it go.

But that would mean going back to his empty apartment. Back to silence. Back to himself.

And right now, himself was the last person he wanted to be alone with.

So, instead, he swung.

The impact sent the guy stumbling back into a table, knocking over a half-empty glass. Someone cursed. Chairs scraped against the floor. Shouts erupted around them, but all Seungcheol saw was the fire in the guy’s eyes as he lunged forward again.

A fist caught Seungcheol’s ribs. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him against the bar.

The guy, either too stupid or too drunk to back down, spat blood onto the floor and swung. Seungcheol ducked effortlessly, countering with a sharp right hook to his ribs. A pained grunt escaped his opponent, but Seungcheol wasn’t done. He drove his knee into the guy’s stomach, making him gasp for air before throwing him onto the floor like a dead weight.

“Cheol, stop!” A voice cut through the haze, but he barely registered it.

The guy groaned, trying to push himself up, but Seungcheol grabbed him by the shirt again, yanking him up to land another punch—harder this time. His knuckles ached, but the satisfaction of seeing the guy crumple made it worth it.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the floor. “That’s enough!” A bartender yelled, and before Seungcheol could throw another punch, he felt strong arms pulling him back.

“Let me go!” He snarled, struggling against the grip.

“Calm the fuck down!” Another voice—Joshua’s—hissed in his ear.

The voice barely cut through the haze, but something about it—sharp, desperate—made his grip falter.

“Seungcheol, what the fuck are you doing?!”

His hands were on him now, pulling him back, but the guy wasn’t done. Another punch landed against Seungcheol’s side, and he cursed, instinctively shoving forward again—only for another set of hands to grab his shoulders.

“Enough!”

Mingyu, this time, voice firm, face tight with worry.

“Let me go,” Seungcheol growled, but Joshua tightened his grip.

“No. You’re done.”

The guy he had been fighting wiped blood from his nose, glaring. “Fucking psycho.”

Seungcheol tensed, but Joshua was already dragging him back, voice strained. “Yeah, yeah, he gets it. Just go before we all end up in the back of a police car.”

The sirens in the distance weren’t a threat anymore—they were real.

Seungcheol’s chest heaved, adrenaline still coursing through him, his hands shaking with the need to do something. But as the bartender sputtered into the phone, and Joshua’s grip didn’t waver, reality finally sank in.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was him unraveling.

And everyone could see it.

Mingyu exhaled sharply. “What the hell, man?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. What could he say?

That he hadn’t felt alive in months? That the silence in his head was worse than the fights in bars, worse than the blood on his knuckles, worse than waking up next to someone who wasn’t her?

Joshua sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Seungcheol didn’t resist as they pulled him toward the door, past the glares, past the wreckage.

Joshua let out a sharp breath as they stepped into the cold night air. “You need to talk to us, Cheol. This? This isn’t—”

“I don’t want to talk,” Seungcheol muttered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah, no shit.” Joshua scoffed. “You’d rather throw punches at strangers and drink yourself sick than deal with—”

Seungcheol cut him off. “I am dealing with it.”

Joshua shook his head. “No, you’re avoiding it. And you know it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Mingyu’s voice was softer this time. “Cheol… this isn’t you, man.”

But maybe it was now. Maybe this was all that was left of him.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t even sure he cared.

The cold metal of the handcuffs burned against Seungcheol’s wrists.

He barely fought when the officers pulled him away from the bar, shoving him toward the waiting squad car. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only exhaustion and the dull, throbbing pain of bruises forming beneath his skin. Blood from his split lip dripped onto his shirt, the taste of iron lingering in his mouth.

“Got anything on you I need to know about?” The officer’s voice was firm, distant. Seungcheol barely registered it.

“No.” His voice was hoarse, and he wasn’t sure if it was from yelling or the fact that he hadn’t really spoken in days.

The officer patted him down anyway before pushing him into the backseat. The smell of cheap leather and stale sweat filled his nostrils. The door slammed shut.

Outside, Joshua was arguing with another officer. His face was tight with frustration, his hands moving in sharp, frantic gestures. Mingyu stood beside him, running a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to punch something himself.

Seungcheol leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

—

Holding was cold.

The walls were gray, the bench was hard, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making his headache worse. The fight had drained him, leaving only the hollow emptiness he had been trying so damn hard to escape.

He should’ve seen this coming.

Hell, everyone probably saw it coming.

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers brushed over the forming bruise on his temple. His knuckles were raw, split open in places, but he barely felt it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, dropping his head into his hands.

How did it get to this?

The last year had been nothing but a downward spiral. Drinking too much, sleeping too little, and shutting everyone out. It was easier that way. If he let them in, they’d see the mess he had become, and he couldn’t let that happen.

So, he drowned himself in distractions. In anything that would make him forget. But the memories always crept back in—her voice, her laugh, how she used to look at him like he was her entire world.

And now?

Now she was gone, and he was here.

The sharp sound of a door opening made him look up.

Joshua stepped inside, looking exhausted, frustrated, and worried all at once.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Seungcheol didn’t respond.

Joshua sighed, rubbing his temples. “You know I had to call someone to bail you out, right?”

Seungcheol swallowed, his throat dry. “Who?”

Joshua hesitated.

The door opened again, and Seungcheol’s stomach dropped.

Jihoon stepped inside, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You know,” Jihoon said, voice tight, “when I imagined getting a call about you in the middle of the night, I really hoped it wouldn’t be about this.”

Seungcheol huffed a humorless laugh, looking away. “Guess I never stop disappointing, huh?”

Jihoon’s jaw clenched. “That’s not funny.”

Silence stretched between them. Joshua exhaled sharply.

“You’re lucky they’re letting you off with just a fine,” he muttered. “If that guy had pressed charges, you’d be screwed, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol just stared at the floor. He wasn’t sure he cared.

Jihoon took a step closer. “What the hell are you doing to yourself, man?” His voice was softer now, and his anger was laced with something else—something closer to concern.

Seungcheol didn’t have an answer.

Jihoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Seungcheol stood, his movements slow, his body aching.

As they walked out of the station, the cold night air hit Seungcheol like a slap in the face. It was sobering, but not enough to drown out the weight pressing against his chest. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched, like he could somehow make himself smaller. Jihoon and Joshua flanked him on either side, silent for a while.

Then Joshua spoke.

“You need to talk to us, Cheol.”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his throat tight.

They wanted him to talk. To open up. To tell them what was going on in his head. But how could he explain the black hole sitting in his chest? How could he put into words the way he had been unraveling, piece by piece, since the moment she walked away?

He clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze fixed on the pavement. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Jihoon let out a sharp breath, frustration clear in his voice. “Bullshit.”

Seungcheol stopped walking.

Jihoon and Joshua turned to face him, both of them watching him carefully.

“You think we don’t see it?” Jihoon asked, his voice quieter now but firm. “You think we don’t know that you’ve been drowning yourself in distractions, in anything that can keep you from actually feeling?”

Seungcheol let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And what do you think talking about it will fix anything?”

“No,” Jihoon admitted. “But at least it’s better than this. Better than you throwing punches in some shitty bar like you don’t care what happens to you.”

Silence.

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold air. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that would prove he still had a little bit of himself left.

But all he could do was run a tired hand down his face and mutter, “I just want to go home.”

Joshua and Jihoon exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them, before Joshua sighed.

“Alright,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s go home.”

I woke up groggy and disoriented as soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. For a moment, I didn't know where I was or how I'd gotten here. The last thing I remembered was sitting on the couch with Subin, the two of us huddled under a shared blanket, the overly dramatic soundtrack of New Moon playing in the background.

My fingers brushed over the fabric of the hoodie I was wearing—his hoodie. It was oversized, soft, and warm, still carrying that distinct scent of Subin: clean, woodsy, with just a hint of spice. The memories came back in flashes. We'd been laughing about how serious Edward looked when he left Bella in the forest, comparing it to the kind of over-the-top breakup scenes you'd see in old soap operas. At some point, I'd started talking about my mom—how she used to watch those movies with me, how much I missed her.

Subin hadn't said much, but his presence had been steady. Grounding. He had a way of making me feel like it was okay to say things I usually kept locked away.

The last thing I remembered was the slow monotony of Bella's heartbreak montage and the unbearable heaviness of my eyelids. I must have fallen asleep right there on the couch.

So why was I in my bed?

I swung my legs over the side and padded out of my room, tugging the hoodie tighter around me. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge. As I stepped into the living room, I spotted Subin sprawled out on the couch.

He was a mess. One arm slung over his head, hair sticking up in every direction. His long legs, too big for the couch, were bent awkwardly, and the throw blanket barely covered his torso. His face was peaceful in sleep, lips slightly parted, his usual teasing expression nowhere in sight. Without his smirk, he looked almost... vulnerable.

I hesitated in the doorway, watching him for a moment. It wasn't often I saw Subin like this—unguarded. The urge to grab my phone and snap a picture was strong, but I resisted.

"You know," his voice was rough with sleep, "staring at people while they sleep is kinda creepy."

I jumped, heart, lurching in my chest as his eyes cracked open, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I wasn't staring!" I blurted, crossing my arms. "I was just... making sure you were alive."

"Uh-huh." He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking sleepily. His hair was even worse now, sticking out in all directions. "And? What's the diagnosis, Doc?"

"You look terrible," I said flatly, though my lips twitched upward. "Like you got run over by a truck."

"And yet, still devastatingly handsome," he shot back, running a hand through his hair.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't hold back a smile. "What are you even still doing here? Did you sleep on the couch all night?"

"You fell asleep first," he said simply. "I wasn't gonna leave you there. So I carried you to bed, and the couch looked... inviting."

"You carried me?" My voice rose slightly, my face heating at the thought.

"Relax, it's not like I tucked you in or anything," he teased, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. "But you're welcome."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you keep me around," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. His T-shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a strip of skin above his waistband. I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to focus on the empty takeout containers on the table.

"I guess I should thank you," I muttered, grabbing the containers and heading toward the kitchen.

Subin followed, leaning against the counter as I dumped the trash. "Thank me? Oh no, no, no. You should apologize."

"For what?"

"For making me sleep on that lumpy excuse for a couch." He gestured dramatically behind him. "I'm probably permanently disfigured. My spine will never be the same."

"You're so dramatic."

"This is serious, YN. I sacrificed my well-being for you, and this is the thanks I get?"

"You can have your hoodie back," I offered, tugging at the hem. "That's all you're getting from me."

His gaze flickered down to the hoodie, and something unreadable crossed his expression before he smirked. "Nah, keep it," he said, his voice softer. "It looks better on you anyway."

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came. There was something about the way he said it—so casual, yet so... intentional. My cheeks warmed, and I busied myself rinsing a coffee mug to avoid his gaze.

"So," he said after a moment, watching me with mild curiosity, "when's Sonya's engagement party again? I should probably start mentally preparing to meet the best friend."

My stomach dropped. I'd gotten ahead of myself last night and asked him to come.

"Um..." I hesitated, staring hard at the mug. "It's... tomorrow."

Subin froze. "Tomorrow? As in the day after today?"

"...Yes?"

He threw his hands up, pacing dramatically across the kitchen. "You've gotta be kidding me! Tomorrow? And you're just telling me now? I don't even have a suit ready! Or a tie! Do I need to match you? Is there a theme? Oh my god, what if there's a photo booth and I look terrible?"

I laughed, especially when he grabbed a dish towel and flung it over his shoulder like a damsel in distress.

"Subin, calm down. It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal?" He pointed an accusatory finger at me. "You don't just spring an engagement party on someone! These things require preparation! Strategy! Emotional readiness!"

"It's not even your party!" I gasped, laughing so hard I had to set the mug down.

"That's not the point!" His lips twitched despite his dramatic rant. "What if I embarrass you? What if I trip and knock over the cake?"

"Then I'll laugh at you." I shrugged. "Like I always do."

He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. "You're way too calm about this."

"Maybe you're just too high-strung."

He took another step, the banter softening into something quieter. "Or maybe," he said, voice lower now, "I just don't want to mess up when it comes to you."

My breath hitched. His gaze was steady, uncharacteristically serious, and my heart skipped in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Subin..." I started, but the words tangled in my throat.

His grin returned, smaller this time. "Relax, YN. I'll make it work," he said, reaching out to flick the hood of his hoodie. "Besides, how bad can it be?"

Before I could respond, he turned toward the fridge.

"Eggs?" he called. "I also make a mean omelet."

I shook my head, smiling.

Subin might be impossible, but he was my impossible.

And I wasn't sure I'd have it any other way.

I rolled my eyes and reached for the eggs in his hand. "Sit down. I'll make something edible."

His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "You cook?"

"I can manage breakfast," I shot back, cracking an egg into the pan.

Subin settled onto one of the barstools, resting his chin in his hand as he watched me work. "So... the party. What's the game plan? Do I play the role of a doting fake boyfriend, or are we going for mysterious and aloof?"

I snorted. "You're incapable of being aloof."

"Fair point," he said with a smirk. "Guess I'll just be my usual, irresistible self then."

I shook my head, flipping the eggs. "Just don't embarrass me, and we'll be fine."

There was a pause before his voice turned quieter, more thoughtful. "You really think I'd embarrass you?"

I glanced over my shoulder, surprised by the hint of sincerity in his tone. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable.

"No," I admitted, my voice softer now. "I think you'll be fine."

Something passed between us then—unspoken but lingering—a quiet understanding.

I turned back to the stove, but I could still feel his gaze on me. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid of what that meant. But something else gnawed at me. Seungcheol. As if on cue, Subin must have sensed my shift in mood.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"Wh—Psh. No," I stammered.

"YN, come on. I told you I need to be mentally prepared. What, is there an ex coming or something?" His tone was joking, but he couldn't have been more right.

"Well..."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" He started, but I quickly shook my hands.

"It's fine. Um... I guess since you brought it up, we should maybe... talk."

The look on his face made my heart sink. I sighed and dropped onto the stool across from him. He followed, watching me intently.

"Okay. So, I know there's a lot we still don't know about each other. It's only fair that I tell you this—especially since you'll potentially be meeting my entire friend group, including him."

Subin's gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable but steady, like he was bracing himself.

I let out a long breath before continuing.

"I grew up with these people. Some of them I've known since I was in diapers. I met Seungcheol in high school, and we ended up dating. Two years ago, I lost my mom, and after that, I just felt... lost. She was my best friend. My entire world. When she died, I felt so disconnected from everything. Like I was moving through life in a haze, and no one around me could understand what I was going through. So, I shut down."

I paused, swallowing hard.

"Hey, you don't have to—" Subin started, but I shook my head.

"It got to the point where I felt invisible. No one got it. And I hated them for not understanding, even though I knew it wasn't fair. Saying it out loud now, I realize how selfish it was, but... I couldn't help it."

Silence settled between us as I gathered my thoughts.

"Anyway, two years ago, on my birthday to be exact, Seungcheol threw me a surprise party. At the time, I thought it was the worst thing he could have possibly done. His intentions weren't bad—I know that now. But I was already so angry. And then, during the party, he proposed."

Subin's brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"I said yes." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Not because I wanted to, but because we were in front of everyone—our friends, our families. It was humiliating. He was so happy. Everyone was so happy. And I was just..." My voice wavered, and I felt tears prick at my eyes.

Subin reached out, placing his hand over mine. He didn't say anything. Just let me sit with it for a moment.

"When we got home that night, we had the biggest argument of our lives. I said things I regret every single day. And one day, while he was at work, I packed up my things, called Sonya, and... well, now we're here."

The weight of the silence that followed felt suffocating.

Subin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. I could tell he was searching for the right words, but none came.

"There's more," I said quietly.

He blinked. "Oh."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Last week, Seungcheol found out about my dad. I guess he was on his way to see me when he got into a car accident." The words felt heavy on my tongue. "It was the first time I'd seen him since everything happened, and... it wasn't good. Old feelings—bad feelings—came up, and I just... lost it. I said things I shouldn't have. It got ugly."

Subin didn't interrupt. He just watched me, his gaze steady, like he was waiting for the rest.

I fiddled with the hem of the hoodie I was still wearing. "Remember when I told you I reconnected with some old friends in Gangnam? That's what I was talking about. Some of them have been reaching out—Jihoon, Dokyeom. But now Jihoon's mad at me, and... it's just a lot."

I let out a slow breath, finally looking up at him. "So yeah. That's where I'm at."

Subin sat quietly for a moment, then let out a low whistle. "Damn, YN."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Pretty much."

Subin stays quiet for a long moment, his thumb absently tracing small circles against the back of my hand. His expression is unreadable—no teasing smirk, no easy joke to break the tension—just quiet contemplation.

Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair. "YN." His voice is softer than I expected, laced with something that almost sounds like regret. "I had no idea."

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers tightening around his without thinking. "Yeah. I don't really talk about it."

"I get that," he says, his gaze still locked onto mine. "But... you've been carrying all that by yourself? This whole time?"

I shrug, suddenly feeling exposed. "I guess I just figured... it was easier that way."

Subin shakes his head, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. "Easier doesn't mean better."

I huff out a small, humorless laugh. "Trust me, I'm aware."

There's another pause, and then Subin sighs, leaning back against the counter. "So... this guy. Seungcheol." He says the name carefully like he's testing how it feels on his tongue. "How do you feel about seeing him again?"

I swallow hard. "I don't know." It's the truth. "Part of me wants to pretend like none of it happened, like I can just show up, smile, and move on. But another part of me..." I trail off, shaking my head. "I just don't know."

Subin studies me for a second before nodding. "Okay."

I blink. "Okay?"

"Yeah." He straightens up, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking off the weight of the conversation. "If you don't know how you feel, then I'll just be there to make sure whatever happens, you don't have to deal with it alone."

My throat tightens. "Subin, you don't have to—"

"YN," he interrupts gently, tilting his head. "I know I don't have to. I want to."

His words settle deep in my chest, warm and steady, and I suddenly feel dangerously close to crying again. I look away, blinking rapidly. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

He grins, the tension in the air easing just a bit. "Yeah, but you like me for it."

I scoff, but there's no real heat behind it. "Debatable."

"Sure, sure," he says, pushing himself up and stretching. "Alright, let's talk new game plan. Am I going full 'supportive fake boyfriend' mode, or should I be ready to throw hands if Seungcheol so much as looks at you the wrong way?"

I snort despite myself. "You're ridiculous."

He winks.

I shake my head, but I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. For the first time since the engagement party came up, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I won't completely fall apart. Because no matter what happens, Subin will be there. And somehow, that makes all the difference.

Subin stretches his arms over his head, letting out an exaggerated groan before hopping off the stool. "Alright, enough emotional damage for one morning. I vote we do nothing for the rest of the day."

I blink at him. "Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing." He gestures vaguely around the apartment. "No serious conversations, no stress, no thinking about... you-know-who. Just good, old-fashioned laziness."

I hesitate. Part of me wants to protest—there are always things to do, things to think about—but another part, the tired part, is tempted by the idea of shutting my brain off for a while.

Subin must see the indecision on my face because he nudges my shoulder. "Come on, YN. When's the last time you had a proper lazy day?"

I press my lips together, thinking.

"Exactly," he says before I can answer. "You deserve it."

I sigh, rolling my eyes for effect. "Fine. But if you think I'm letting you pick another Twilight movie—"

"Oh, no. No more sparkly vampires," he agrees, already moving toward the couch. "We're going for peak comfort today. Hoodies, blankets, and a movie that requires zero brain power."

This is how, fifteen minutes later, we find ourselves sprawled on the couch, wrapped in blankets, a bowl of popcorn between us. The hoodie I borrowed is still comfortably oversized on me, and Subin—now in a different hoodie of his own—looks way too pleased with himself.

"You're awfully smug for someone who just lost rock-paper-scissors," I point out as I scroll through the movie options.

"Because I'm still winning," he says, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "I got you to actually relax for once."

I huff, but don't argue. He's not wrong.

We settle on some ridiculous action-comedy, the kind with over-the-top fight scenes and one-liners that make no sense. Every so often, Subin tosses popcorn in the air, trying to catch it in his mouth—and missing more than he lands.

"This is embarrassing," I tease, watching another piece bounce off his chin.

He points at me. "You say that, but I bet you can't do it either."

Challenge accepted. I grab a handful of popcorn and attempt my own toss—only for it to land squarely on my forehead before rolling onto my lap.

Subin bursts out laughing. "Oh, that was tragic."

"Shut up," I grumble, snatching another piece and trying again. This time, I get it—barely. I pump a fist in victory while Subin shakes his head.

We go back and forth like that for a while, the movie becoming background noise to our ridiculous competitions—who can catch the most popcorn in a row, throw one the farthest, and balance a piece on their nose the longest.

It's stupid. It's childish.

And it's exactly what I need.

At some point, we migrate to the floor, blankets dragged down with us, and an old deck of cards between us. Subin insists on teaching me some convoluted game I don't think even he fully understands. I lose spectacularly—twice.

The afternoon melts away in lazy conversation, playful bickering, and laughter that comes easier than it has in a long time.

By the time the sun started to dip, casting warm orange light through the windows, I realized that, for the first time in days, I hadn't thought about anything outside this moment. No nagging worries, no engagement party looming over me, no weight of the past creeping in.

Just this. Just us.

Subin flicks a playing card at me with a triumphant grin, and I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the flutter in my stomach. But it's there—the warmth, the lightness, the quiet thrill that's been creeping up on me all day.

He tilts his head slightly as if catching onto something, and before I can overthink it, I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Oh?" He blinks, grinning.

"What was that for?" he asks, voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

"I just felt like it," I say with a slight shrug, feigning nonchalance, though my heart pounds harder than it should.

"Hm." He hums, eyes studying mine. "That won't do."

Before I can ask what he means, he closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine again—this time slower, deeper. The shift is subtle but unmistakable. What started as something light turned into something else entirely.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin as our lips move together. There's something about the way he kisses me—like he's memorizing the shape of my mouth like he's been waiting for this longer than he'll admit.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan that escapes him sends a shiver down my spine. The sound sparks something in me, something hungry, something desperate. I kiss him harder, chasing that feeling, letting it consume me.

We move without thinking, without breaking apart, until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sinks down onto it, pulling me with him. I straddle his lap, my hands still buried in his hair, his fingers pressing into my waist. The movie flickers on in the background, long forgotten.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and the way he hums against my mouth makes my breath hitch.

By the time we finally pull back for air, his pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling beneath me.

I've never seen him like this before—eyes dark, lips slightly parted, expression unreadable.

And God, I want more.

"I want you," I whisper as our foreheads connect, our breaths mixing together.

"You sur-"

"Subin."

He crashes his lips against mine, the kiss messy and desperate. His tongue brushes against my lips, asking for permission, and I part them without hesitation. When he nips at my lower lip, a moan slips out before I can stop it, and he groans in response, his hips bucking involuntarily.

It's only then that I feel just how hard he is, and the realization sends a rush of heat through me, leaving me breathless.

"Bed. Now," I murmur against his lips, and he doesn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he lifts me into his arms, kissing me fiercely as he stumbles toward my room. We both chuckle into the kiss, the urgency laced with amusement before he finally reaches the bed and sets me down.

He tugs off his hoodie without breaking eye contact, revealing his bare chest. My gaze trails over him, taking in the definition I hadn't quite expected, the way his muscles shift as he moves.

I bite my lip, fighting back a grin, but from the way his eyes darken, I know he notices.

"You mind if I?" Subin murmurs, nodding toward my lower body, his voice thick with anticipation.

I swallow, my pulse hammering as I give a slight nod and scoot back on the bed.

He follows, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips find mine again, softer this time, almost reverent. There's something mesmerizing about the way he kisses me—like he's savoring every second. He trails a path down my jaw, then lowers it, his breath warm against my skin. My body arches instinctively as he reaches for the hem of my hoodie, his fingers grazing my sides as he lifts it over my head, my shirt coming off with it.

His gaze darkens as he takes me in, but he says nothing—just presses a lingering kiss to my sternum before continuing downward. Every touch, every brush of his lips against my skin, sends a shiver through me. He pauses at the waistband of my shorts, glancing up through his lashes, silently asking.

Another nod.

The fabric is gone in an instant, leaving me bare beneath him. He lets out a quiet, satisfied hum, his hands firm on my thighs as he pulls me closer. The heat between us is nearly unbearable, my skin burning everywhere he touches.

"Subin," I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

His lips curve into a smirk against my skin, teasing, testing my patience. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open, and I feel his breath against me—warm, tantalizing, making my head spin.

The first brush of his lips is gentle, almost unbearably so, sending a shockwave through my body. My breath catches as he finds a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hands keeping me exactly where he wants me. A strangled moan escapes me before I can stop it, my fingers tangling in the sheets as I fight for control.

But control is slipping—fast.

My body reacts before my mind can process it, arching into him, desperate for more. The pressure builds, unbearable and intoxicating all at once. The world narrows to the sensation of his touch, the way he reads my body so effortlessly, coaxing sounds from me I didn't know I was capable of making.

A sharp gasp leaves my lips as he changes pace, teasing, pulling me to the edge only to draw me back. I don't realize I'm begging until the words tumble out between breathless moans.

"More," I plead. "Please, more—"

Subin hums in satisfaction, the vibration sending another shudder through me. His fingers join the slow, intoxicating rhythm, pushing me closer and closer until the pressure finally snaps.

I come undone with a strangled cry, the pleasure crashing over me in waves, my vision hazy as I struggle to catch my breath.

When I finally open my eyes, he's already moving, crawling back up to meet me, his lips capturing mine in a slow, lingering kiss.

"Holy shit," I pant against his mouth, still breathless.

He chuckles, brushing his nose against mine. "Gonna be honest—I didn't think you had it in you."

A breathy laugh escapes him. "Ouch."

"Well, I'll have you know—that was just the beginning." His voice is low and teasing, lips grazing my jaw as he speaks. "Up for more?"

A thrill rushes through me, my pulse quickening all over again. But I'm not about to let him take the lead this time.

"Aht," I murmur, flipping us over in one swift motion. His eyes widen, startled, before he lets out a low, surprised chuckle.

"My turn."

He barely has time to react before I'm kissing him, slow and purposeful, trailing down his neck. His breath hitches as I find a sensitive spot, his hands twitching at his sides.

"You're so beautiful, YN," he murmurs, his voice rough with admiration.

I pause, lips still brushing his skin. "You can't say stuff like that."

"What?" He exhales sharply when I nip at his collarbone. "I'm telling the tru—ahh—" His words cut off as I continue my descent, leaving him breathless beneath me.

I smirk against his skin. "Stop talking."

And then I go lower.

Slowly and deliberately, I trail my lips down his neck, savoring the way his breath hitches beneath me. My hands roam over his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under my touch as I move lower. When I reach his waistband, I glance up through my lashes, then tug at the fabric with my teeth.

"Mind if I?" I murmur, a teasing lilt in my voice, throwing his own words back at him.

He exhales a breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he replies. "Ha ha, very funny."

But the humor barely lingers as I pull his pants and boxers down, freeing him. He's painfully hard, the tip flushed deep red, glistening in the dim light. I take a moment to admire him, wrapping my fingers around his thick length, barely able to close my hand around him.

"Jesus, YN," he breathes, his head falling back against the pillow as I give him a slow stroke. His hand twitches at his side like he's fighting the urge to grab and guide me.

I let my lips ghost over him, just barely touching, teasing. "Impatient?"

He lets out a low groan, lifting his head to glare down at me. "You have no idea."

I smirk, but before he can say anything else, I take him into my mouth, inch by inch.

A sharp inhale leaves him, his fingers threading into my hair as I begin to move. I start slow, testing, teasing, feeling the way he shudders each time my tongue swirls around him. With every downward motion, I take him deeper, feeling his grip tighten slightly, his restraint slipping.

"Fuck," he hisses, his voice strained. "Feels so—shit, just like that."

On the next descent, I pause halfway, letting my tongue press against that sensitive spot just beneath his tip. His reaction is instant—a deep, guttural moan as his grip in my hair tightens, his thighs trembling beneath my palms. He's holding himself back, barely. I can feel it in the way his muscles tense, in the way his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust deeper.

"God, YN, you're gonna drive me insane," he groans, voice shaky.

I smirk around him, giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze before I start moving again. This time, I hollow my cheeks, increasing the suction. The effect is immediate. His breaths turn ragged, his moans raw, his fingers flexing in my hair with every stroke.

"Shit—" His voice cuts off into a choked gasp as I take him deeper, my tongue teasing along the underside.

"You're—fuck—you're so good at this," he breathes out, his head dropping back against the pillows. "I—God, I wanna—"

He stops himself, breathing heavily, hands tightening in my hair like he's barely holding on.

I pull back slightly, stroking him slowly, looking up at him. "What do you want, Subin?"

His half-lidded eyes meet mine, dark and desperate. "I wanna come, but—fuck—I don't wanna stop."

His words send a thrill through me, and I hum around him in response. The vibrations make him shudder, his whole body tensing.

"Shit, YN—" He swears under his breath, his thighs trembling. "I'm close. You need to—"

His hand moves as if to gently pull me away, but I press my palm against his abdomen, pushing him back down. Not yet.

"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back against the pillow. "You're really not gonna let me stop, huh?"

I shake my head, keeping my mouth on him, making sure he feels every inch of warmth, every flick of my tongue.

His restraint finally snaps. His hips jerk up, his hands tightening in my hair, and a deep, broken moan rips from his throat as he unravels completely.

I swallow every last drop, milking him through the aftershocks, until he finally lets out a shaky breath and pulls me off, the sensations too much.

I rest my head against his knee, licking my lips as the taste of him lingers on my tongue. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hand dragging through his damp hair as he blinks down at me, still dazed.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice wrecked. "You're actually trying to kill me."

I smirk, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. "That was the plan."

His lips twitch, still catching his breath. "Evil."

I laugh softly, kissing his knee. "You love it."

He reaches for me then, tugging me up until I'm straddling his lap. His fingers thread through my hair, his eyes dark but playful as he pulls me in for a kiss.

"You're dangerous," he murmurs against my lips. "And I fucking love it."

I grin, letting my hands roam over his chest. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

"Oh, is that so?" he laughs and flips us over as begins to hover over me. His eyes scan over my face as if he's trying to memorize every inch of it before leaning down to kiss me deeply.

I moan softly, lifting my hips to press against him, feeling the heat of his body and the new hardness pressing between my thighs. A sharp inhale leaves his lips as he positions himself, sliding his length between my folds before pushing into me with one deep, unrelenting thrust.

I gasp, pleasure and the slight sting of fullness mixing into something intoxicating. My fingers grasp at his arms, needing something to hold onto.

"Move, please," I beg, voice breathless.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, he obeys, setting a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against mine with an intensity that has me unraveling in seconds.

"Harder. Please. Harder," I plead, needing more.

A groan rumbles from his throat as he shifts, angling himself just right, his thrusts now deeper, sharper, faster. His fingers dig into my hips with a bruising grip, as if he's afraid to let go. My moans echo through the room, feeding his desire, and his own noises—low, desperate, absolutely sinful—only push me further toward the edge.

I claw at his back, nails raking against taut muscle, trying to ground myself in the overwhelming pleasure. My orgasm builds rapidly, my body coiling tight as I pant his name. He already knows. He can feel it.

"I want you to cum for me, baby," he rasps, voice rough with restraint.

I whimper at the pet name, clinging to him, needing to feel him everywhere.

"Subin..."

"I've got you, gorgeous. Let go for me."

With one more deep thrust, pleasure crashes over me in violent waves. I cry out, body shaking beneath him, mind going blank except for the feeling of him.

Subin works me through it, slowing his movements just enough to let me breathe. When my body stops trembling, he gently rolls me onto my stomach. I try to lift my hips to accommodate him, but he presses me back down with a firm hand on my lower back.

"I've got this, pretty," he murmurs, lips grazing my ear. "Just get comfortable."

He slides into me again, his body covering mine like a heated blanket, his weight grounding me. The new angle has me gasping, pleasure striking through me like lightning.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his breath hot against my skin. "You're so fucking beautiful."

I feel myself tightening around him. Each thrust sending me spiraling, my body a mess of sensitivity and pleasure. I can barely breathe, barely think.

"You're close again, aren't you?" His lips brush against my shoulder. "I can feel it."

I can only moan in response. My words lost in the pleasure he's giving me. His pace remains relentless, his hips driving me further into the mattress.

"Tell me what you need, pretty."

"Don't stop—" I gasp.

He doesn't. He knows exactly what I need, keeping his rhythm steady, dragging me toward another high. His lips hover over my shoulder, teasing, waiting—until he bites down gently, just enough to send me over the edge.

I scream his name, my body shattering around him, pleasure blinding and all-consuming.

He slows his motions but doesn't stop, still chasing his own release. He kisses the bite mark soothingly, whispering praises against my damp skin.

When my breathing steadies, Subin eases me onto my back, still buried deep inside me. He starts slow and gentle, letting me feel every inch of him as he waits for my eyes to meet his.

When I finally focus, he smiles down at me. "There you are."

"Subin..." I whisper voice barely there.

"I'm right here, baby." He strokes my cheek, his touch impossibly tender.

"I want you to finish," I say softly, running my fingers through his damp hair.

He groans, dropping his forehead against mine. "You keep squeezing me and looking at me like that, and I'm a goner."

A weak smirk tugs at my lips, and I clench around him just to prove a point. He gasps, his hips stuttering.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"Cum for me, please," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

His body tenses, his rhythm faltering as he chases his release. "S-so close," he pants.

I wrap my legs around him, holding him tight, my palm pressing gently against his cheek, forcing him to keep his eyes on me. His thrusts grow erratic, his breath hitching, and then—

"YN—" he groans, his body shuddering as he finally lets go, spilling into me with a deep, guttural moan.

His hips slow to a stop, his body trembling slightly as he presses kisses against my flushed skin. He stays inside me for a moment, letting the aftershocks settle before finally collapsing onto me, breathless and spent.

For a while, neither of us speak, both lost in the lingering warmth of each other. Then, finally, he exhales a breathy laugh.

"Fucking hell," he murmurs, voice still wrecked. "That was... wow."

I smile, tracing my fingers lazily along his back. "Yeah," I whisper. "Wow."

He lifts his head, looking down at me with tired but adoring eyes. "You okay?"

I nod, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "More than okay."

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. "Good," he murmurs, letting his eyes slip closed.

As we both come down from our highs, the heat between us settling into a quiet hum, Subin lets out a deep breath and presses one last kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are our breathing and the faint rustling of the sheets.

Then, he props himself up on one elbow, glancing down at me. "You okay, pretty?" His voice is rough, still laced with exhaustion and satisfaction.

I nod, stretching slightly. "Yeah. Just... tired."

He smirks. "I would hope so."

I roll my eyes, too spent to fire back. Instead, I groan as I attempt to sit up, but Subin is already moving. "Stay put," he says, pushing himself off the bed. "I'll be back."

I watch him walk toward the bathroom, his bare back disappearing behind the door. A few seconds later, I hear the water running. When he returns, he has a warm, damp towel in his hand.

"You really don't have to—" I start, but he raises a brow, giving me a look that immediately shuts me up.

"Relax," he says, kneeling onto the bed. "Let me take care of you."

I sigh, letting my head fall back against the pillow as he gently wipes between my legs, cleaning me up with slow, careful movements. I squirm slightly at the sensitivity, but he keeps his touch light. When he's done, he tosses the towel toward the laundry hamper and leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my thigh before pulling the blankets up over me.

"Better?" he asks, slipping back under the covers beside me.

"Much," I murmur, already feeling the pull of sleep.

Subin lets out a satisfied hum and tugs me against him, his body warm against mine. "Good. Because I'm not carrying your ass to the shower."

I laugh sleepily, my fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. "Noted."

After we both showered and dressed, the sun has fully set, casting a soft glow through the window. The night air hums with distant city sounds, a soothing backdrop as we lie tangled together in bed, warmth radiating between us.

"So," Subin starts, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my arm. "How was it?"

I glance up at him. "Are you seriously asking if the sex was good?" I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"Jeez, YN." He scoffs, feigning offense. "I was asking how it felt to do absolutely nothing all day. But, hey, if that's where your mind went..." He smirks.

I nudge his side, suppressing a grin. "Well, for starters, I wouldn't exactly call what we did 'nothing.' But yeah, it was nice. No responsibilities, no stress... just us." As I speak, I absentmindedly intertwine our fingers, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

"See? Lazy day was a success!" He fist-pumps triumphantly.

I snort. "You're such a nerd."

"Oh, really?" His voice takes on a mischievous lilt. Before I can react, his fingers find my sides, tickling me mercilessly.

"Stop, Subin—oh my god—" I gasp between uncontrollable laughter, squirming beneath him.

"Never!" he declares dramatically, peppering my face with playful kisses.

When he finally relents, I'm breathless, my stomach aching from laughter. He stretches with an exaggerated yawn. "On a serious note, I'm wiped. Wanna call it a night?" He starts to sit up, making me frown.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To the doghouse," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"...What?"

"The couch," he clarifies. "You know, so I don't overstay my welcome."

I sit up, gaping at him. "Subin. You just had your tongue down my throat and—inside me. And now you think I'm making you sleep on the couch?"

He raises his hands in surrender. "Whoa. That was wildly vivid."

"Oh, now you want to act innocent?" I deadpan, patting the empty space beside me. "Get back here."

He shakes his head but climbs back in any way, grinning like an idiot. "You're funny," he murmurs, bopping my nose before flopping onto his side.

"Nerd."

He pulls me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck with a deep, exaggerated sigh.

"Goodnight, beautiful," he mumbles sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of my head.

I smile against his skin, my body sinking into his warmth. "Goodnight, Subin."

I wake up to the sound of my bedroom door opening and closing, the soft creak of the hinges pulling me from sleep. The sunlight filtering through the blinds is just bright enough to sting my barely opened eyes, making me instantly regret waking up. I groan and burrow deeper into the sheets.

"Oh, you're up? I was just about to wake you," a familiar voice teases.

Blinking against the light, I force my eyes open to find Subin standing near the door, already dressed. He looks effortlessly put together, his tousled hair the only sign that he was in bed with me just moments ago. I frown at the realization.

"Running out on me already?" I mumble, voice still thick with sleep.

He chuckles, stepping closer. "I got a call from Nayeon. She needs me to cover her shift—something about her mom's car breaking down."

I stretch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Ah, got it. No worries. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Of course. I should be off in time," he assures me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. It's warm, lingering just enough to make me wish he didn't have to leave.

He pulls back with a smirk. "If you miss me too much, you know where to find me."

"Smooth," I deadpan, though I can't help but smile. "Now go before you get yelled at. Again."

He groans dramatically. "You bring it up one time, and suddenly, it's a pattern."

I laugh, shooing him toward the door. He hesitates for a second, then calls over his shoulder, "Oh, by the way—I made you breakfast."

My head snaps up. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me!" he yells back, already halfway down the hall. "Enjoy it, princess!"

I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through my chest. After a few more minutes of lounging, I finally drag myself out of bed, curiosity getting the better of me.

Padding into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks at the sight before me.

On the counter sits a beautifully plated breakfast—perfectly golden pancakes stacked neatly with fresh fruit and syrup drizzled over the top, alongside scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. A fresh cup of coffee stands beside it, and a small sticky note sits beside the plate.

I pick it up, smiling as I read Subin's messy scrawl:

"Breakfast for my queen. Hope it's edible. If not, pretend it is. See you tonight. :) - S"

I shake my head, a laugh escaping me as I take a seat at the counter. Picking up my fork, I take my first bite, and to my surprise—it's actually good.

"Okay, chef," I mutter under my breath, grinning as I eat.

Even though he's already gone, I feel his presence lingering in the apartment, and somehow, that makes the morning a little brighter. But, after finishing the last bite of breakfast, I sit at the counter for a few extra minutes, sipping my now-lukewarm coffee, staring at nothing in particular. The weight of tonight's engagement party slowly creep back into my mind, and with it, a wave of nerves.

I push the thought aside and force myself to move, heading toward the bathroom. Maybe a shower will help clear my head.

The warm water cascades over my shoulders, loosening my tense muscles, but my mind refuses to relax. Tonight should be a celebration—good food, good company, and, most importantly, Subin by my side. That alone should make me feel better. But I can't shake the nagging feeling that not everyone will be thrilled about my presence.

I think about the forced smiles and the passive-aggressive comments disguised as well-meaning advice. The silent stares from certain people who still see me as an outsider, no matter how much time has passed.

I let out a frustrated sigh, resting my forehead against the cool tile.

"It's just one night," I murmur to myself. "You can handle this."

Just as I shut off the water and step onto the bath mat, my phone buzzes from the sink. Wrapping a towel around myself, I glance at the screen.

Sonya.

I exhale, already knowing she's about to go full interrogation mode.

I swipe to answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I reach for my lotion. "Hey."

"Okay, tell me the truth," she says immediately. "On a scale of one to completely losing your mind, how stressed are you?"

I let out a breathy laugh. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? It is your engagement party, after all."

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "I'm thriving. The centerpieces are perfect, the playlist is fire, and my fiancé is obsessed with me. Nothing can ruin my night."

"Must be nice," I mutter, rubbing moisturizer onto my arms.

"Knew it," she sighs. "You always do this. It's just a party, babe."

"An engagement party," I correct, reaching for my hairbrush. "Big difference."

"Right, because people getting engaged totally means everyone else suddenly stops having basic human decency," she deadpans.

I snort, shaking my head. "You say that like you don't remember how these things go."

"I do remember," she says. "I also remember that you're not the same person you were the last time you dealt with this kind of thing. And, hello, you have Subin now. That man is obsessed with you. Let him take some of the stress off your shoulders."

I pause, staring at my reflection in the mirror. "I know. I just—"

"Just what?" she presses.

I hesitate. "I guess I just don't want him to see... all of it. The weird looks, the whispered comments. The fact that some of them hate me."

Sonya is quiet for a second before sighing. "Did you tell him about everything? About Seungcheol?"

I chew on my lip. "Last night."

Her silence is loaded. "And?"

"And..." I take a deep breath. "He took it well, actually. He listened, asked questions, and didn't judge me. When I told him about the accident, how things spiraled after that, and how messy it all got the second, I saw everyone again after two years... he didn't flinch. He didn't run."

Sonya lets out a soft hum as if processing the situation. "Okay, that is a good sign."

I let out a short laugh. "Right? I mean, considering everything? I wouldn't have blamed him if he did."

"Well, I would," she says flatly. "Because he's not some random guy. He knows you. He wants to know you. And if he stuck around after hearing all of that? It means he's serious, YN. He's in this."

I swallow, letting her words sink in. "Yeah. I guess he is."

"And that means tonight? You don't have to face it alone."

I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face. "Yeah."

"Speaking of tonight," she continues, "Jihoon and Jeonghan can stay mad about the whole Seungcheol situation if they want. And Seungcheol? He can pout all he wants. They finally know the truth about why you left, and yeah, they have the right to be upset about how things played out, but if they can't at least accept it? If they can't let it go? Then you need to move on."

I close my eyes, gripping the bathroom counter.

"You did what you felt you had to do," Sonya reminds me. "You don't owe them anything. And you especially don't owe Seungcheol your guilt. He, of all people, should know that was the hardest decision you've ever made. So, if he wants to sulk, let him. If Jihoon and Jeonghan want to be bitter, let them. But you?" She pauses for emphasis. "You deserve to have fun tonight. You deserve to enjoy yourself, with your man next to you, at a party that has nothing to do with all that old drama."

I exhale slowly.

"You're right," I finally admit. "You're annoyingly right."

"I usually am." I can practically hear her smirk. "Now, are you gonna stop spiraling and start getting hyped for tonight?"

"I'll try," I laugh.

"That's all I ask."

I hear a muffled voice in the background, followed by Sonya groaning. "Ugh, I have to go—apparently, I'm 'needed' at work. Disgusting. But I better get a full recap after the party."

"Of course," I say, a small smile forming. "Thanks, Sonya."

"Anytime, babe."

As the call disconnects, I take a deep breath, standing a little taller. Maybe tonight won't be as bad as I'm making it out to be. Maybe, with Subin next to me, I can handle whatever comes my way.

And if not? At least I'll have Sonya to vent to afterward.

I spend the next few hours mentally preparing for the evening ahead. To ease my nerves, I indulge in a comprehensive self-care routine.

I start with a full skincare regimen, applying a soothing face mask and allowing it to work its magic as I lounge on the couch, ambient music playing softly in the background. After thirty minutes, I rinse off the mask, feeling a renewed sense of calm.

Returning to the bathroom, I meticulously pluck my eyebrows, ensuring they frame my face just right. I then section my hair, carefully rolling each piece into curlers, anticipating the soft waves they'll create.

As the hours pass, I focus on the positive, envisioning laughter, reconnections, and the joy of celebrating Sonya's special moment. With each step of my routine, I feel more grounded, ready to face whatever the evening holds.

As the final hour before the engagement party ticks away, I find myself standing before my closet, deliberating over what to wear. The anticipation of the evening's events mingles with a lingering apprehension, but I remind myself of Sonya's unwavering support and Subin's steadfast presence.

I select an outfit that exudes confidence—a deep emerald dress that complements my complexion and brings out the warmth in my eyes. As I slip it on, the fabric feels like a protective armor, bolstering my resolve. I remove the rollers from my hair, letting soft waves cascade over my shoulders, and apply makeup that enhances my features without masking them.

With each step of my preparation, I focus on the positive aspects of the evening: celebrating Sonya's happiness, reconnecting with old friends, and introducing Subin to the people who have shaped my past. I take a moment to breathe deeply, centering myself and embracing the excitement that now outweighs my anxiety.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The reflection staring back is one of strength, resilience, and readiness. Tonight is not just about facing the past; it's about embracing the present and looking forward to the future.

My phone vibrating brings me out of my thoughts, and I walk over to see a text from Dokyeom.

New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔: Please tell me you haven't backed out and are still coming tonight

I sigh. I love Dokyeom. And I hate that he's in the middle of all this drama. He's probably the most kind-hearted person out of all of us and definitely an empath. I know he's just looking out for me, so I unlocked my phone to respond.

Me: Kyeomie. I wouldn't miss tonight for the world. Don't worry about me so much, okay?

New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔: Whew. That's a relief!!! (✿ŎヮŎ) cheer up, YN!!

Just as I hit the heart reaction on Dokyeom's text, a knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I assume it's Subin, so I smooth down the fabric of my dress, do a quick once-over in the mirror, and head toward the door.

But when I open it, my breath catches in my throat.

Subin stands there, looking—well, amazing is an understatement. He's dressed in a sleek black suit, the jacket perfectly tailored to his frame, the dark fabric contrasting against his warm skin. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, revealing just a hint of his collarbone, and his hair is styled effortlessly like he just ran his fingers through it, and somehow it turned out perfect.

His eyes flicker over me in return, widening slightly before a slow, appreciative smile spreads across his lips.

"Wow," he exhales, stepping closer. "You look... stunning."

I feel heat rush to my cheeks as I tuck a loose curl behind my ear. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He tilts his head, smirking. "Pretty well? That's all I get?"

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Okay, fine. You look ridiculously good."

"That's more like it," he chuckles, then reaches out, his fingers gently brushing my waist before settling there. "Are you ready?"

I take a deep breath, nodding. "As I'll ever be."

Subin searches my face as if checking for any signs of doubt. "Hey," he murmurs, squeezing my waist. "No matter what happens tonight, you've got me, okay?"

His words settle something deep inside me, the lingering nerves still present but slightly less suffocating. I nod again, more sure this time. "Okay."

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before stepping back and offering his arm. "Then let's go show them how good we look together."

I laugh, linking my arm with his. "You just want to make everyone jealous, don't you?"

"Absolutely," he grins. "And because you deserve to enjoy tonight. No weird looks, no whispered comments—just us celebrating Sonya."

I squeeze his arm as we step out the door. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all.

The drive to the venue is quiet at first, the soft hum of the car filling the silence between us. The city lights blur past the window, a gentle reminder of how much time has passed since I was last here, last surrounded by all the people I once called my closest friends.

Subin glances over at me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console. "You're doing that thing again," he says lightly.

I blink, turning toward him. "What thing?"

"That thing where you get stuck in your head," he replies, stealing another glance at me before focusing back on the road. "Whatever you're overthinking, stop."

I huff out a small laugh. "Easier said than done."

He chuckles, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Alright, then, let's get your mind off it. How about this—if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

I tilt my head, considering it. "Anywhere?"

"Anywhere," he confirms.

I pretend to think for a second before smirking. "Somewhere far away from this party."

Subin laughs, shaking his head. "Okay, that was too easy. But really, if you could be anywhere, no obligations, no expectations—just you, picking a place."

I sigh, leaning back against the seat. "Maybe... a quiet beach somewhere. Somewhere warm, with soft sand and water so clear you can see straight to the bottom."

He hums in approval. "That sounds nice."

"What about you?" I ask.

Subin grins. "Same place, but only if you're there too."

I roll my eyes, but I can't fight the small smile tugging at my lips. "Smooth."

"Always," he teases, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

I glance down at our intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing soothing circles against my skin. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.

"Thank you," I say softly, turning to him.

"For what?"

"For coming with me. For... making this easier."

Subin squeezes my hand again. "You don't have to thank me, YN. I'd follow you anywhere."

His words settle something deep in my chest, pushing away some of the lingering nerves.

As we pull up to the venue, I take one last deep breath.

Whatever happens tonight, at least I won't be facing it alone.

As we pull up to the venue, I take one last deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. Subin turns off the engine, and for a moment, the quiet of the car wraps around us like a cocoon. I glance at him—his steady gaze and gentle smile remind me that, no matter what tonight brings, I'm not alone.

"Ready?" he asks softly, his hand still resting on mine.

I nod, swallowing away the last remnants of anxiety as we gather our things. The cool night air hits me as we step out of the car. The venue is bathed in a warm glow—string lights crisscross overhead, and soft laughter mingles with the hum of conversation. I can see familiar faces through the large windows, some smiling in recognition, others offering cautious glances.

Subin squeezes my hand. "Let's go show them how good we look together," he teases, a playful lilt in his voice.

I manage a small smile as we walk toward the entrance. Inside, the room buzzes with energy. The soft glow of chandeliers, the clink of glasses, and the murmur of reunions all blend together into a comforting symphony. I catch a few nods of acknowledgment from Sonya's family and even a few tentative smiles from those who might have once doubted my place here.

Sonya had mentioned that Joshua had reserved a private area just for us—and she wasn't kidding. We make our way to the roped-off section, and as we pass, several heads turn in our direction.

"Speak of the devil," Joshua calls out with a grin.

"Joshie, my goodness, it's so good to see you!" I hug him tightly.

"Looking beautiful as always. I've missed you," he says, letting go slowly, his eyes warm with genuine affection.

"Oh, stop it. I've missed you too—missed all of you!" I reply, moving through the small crowd to hug everyone. I awkwardly navigate around Seungcheol and the woman beside him.

"Jeon! Congratulations. I'm happy for you two," I say as I give him one last hug, and he places a friendly kiss on my cheek.

"About damn time!" DK chimes in, and we all burst into laughter.

"Hey, who's this, YN?" Chan asks, nodding toward the quiet figure lingering behind me.

"Oh, this is Subin—YN's friend," Sonya announces with a playful smirk. I sigh inwardly, feeling the weight of recent awkwardness.

"Sorry about that awkward encounter last week. We were just worried," she adds quickly.

Subin steps forward with an easy smile. "No need to apologize. You were just looking out for her. It's a pleasure to finally meet you—and congratulations to you both," he says, bowing slightly in a manner that makes everyone chuckle.

"Everyone, this is Subin," Sonya declares. I roll my eyes affectionately as I turn to him. "Subin, meet Jeonghan, Joshua, Soonyoung, the man of the hour Wonwoo, Jun, Mingyu, Minghao, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan—also known as Dino. You've kind of met DK and Jihoon already. And that's Seungcheol, and—sorry, I didn't catch your name," I say, nodding toward the stunning woman next to him.

She's striking: long, sleek black hair, a dazzling smile, a red dress that slips off her shoulders just enough, and matching deep red lipstick. I see Seungcheol tense beside her as she speaks.

"Hello! I'm Haneul. It's so nice to finally meet you; I've heard so much about you," she chirps brightly.

God, I hate how effortlessly kind she seems.

"Hm. Haneul, what a pretty name. Nice to meet you, too," I reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. I steal a glance at Jihoon, who's watching me, and offer a small wave—only to see him turn away, and it stings a little more than I'd like.

"Big friend group you've got there. You sure there's room for me?" Subin jokes and laughter ripple through the crowd—everyone except Jihoon and Seungcheol, whose expressions remain guarded.

"Ah, plenty of room. The more, the merrier, right?" Joshua adds with a light laugh.

"Well, now that introductions are over, let's get this party started!" I declare, and Sonya shoots me a look that's both amused and a little puzzled.

The room erupts in cheers as drinks are poured and conversations overlap. Subin and I find seats across from Seungcheol and Haneul. I can feel his eyes on me—steady, calculating—and it reminds me that tonight is bound to be complex.

I spend a moment absorbing the scene—the clink of glasses, the buzz of reuniting voices, and the undercurrent of tension in every sideways glance. Despite the festive chaos, my mind flickers back to all that I shared with Subin last night about Seungcheol, the accident, and how things got so messy the moment I reappeared after two long years.

Later, during a lull in the mingling, Sonya corners me near the bar. "So," she says in a hushed tone.

"Sonya, you know I love you. But, this is your party. You do not need to check on me every five minutes," I groan.

Before she can respond, Dokyeom makes his way over.

"You and Subin look cozy," DK teases, and I shoot him a playful glare.

"Not a dig, I swear! You two look good," he insists, grinning.

Sonya chimes in, "Yeah, so, what's the status on that?" Her tone is light but curious.

I roll my eyes. "It's not official, I think... I don't know. He's been staying over," I admit before their eyes practically pop out in shock.

"He what!?" they all exclaim in unison.

"Oh, my bestie finally got a man!" Sonya teases and I lightly smack her arm in mock reprimand.

"Speaking of," DK says from behind me, and I turn to see Subin approaching with two cups in hand.

"Those better both be for him," Sonya remarks as Subin hands me one of the cups. I offer her an awkward smile and clink my cup with his before downing the mysterious liquid. I scrunch my nose as the alcohol burns down my throat.

"I told them to surprise me. Remind me never to do that again," Subin grumbles, setting the cups aside.

Sonya shoots me an unamused look. "We'll talk about this later," she warns, and I roll my eyes in return.

"Jihoon's been shooting daggers at you all night," DK continues. "I get Seungcheol's grumpiness, but how come you two still haven't made up? We were always three peas in a pod."

I laugh, "It's two peas, Kyeomie. And besides, he'll get over it." I cringe when Seungcheol's name is mentioned.

DK's expression darkens. "You get what I mean. He's been up Jeonghan's ass all night, too. Won't even drink with me. Why's he mad at me!?" he pouts dramatically.

I put my hands up in surrender. "Love, can we table this? Tonight's about Wonwoo and Sonya. Save the intervention for later—just give him time."

He sighs, clearly frustrated. "Whatever. I'm going to find Mingyu," he mutters, storming off.

"Seokmin, come on!" I call after him, trying to stop him, but Sonya places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Let it go. Enjoy the night," she says softly before walking away.

I lean back, smiling to myself. Even amidst all the teasing and drama, it's moments like these—full of laughter, banter, and genuine care—that remind me why tonight is worth embracing.

Subin sits on the stool next to me and places his hand on my knee.

"How are we feeling?"

I sigh. "Honestly, it could be worse. Enough drama, though. How are you? They seem to like you. Well, most of them, anyways," I let out a breathy laugh.

"I'm alright. If it becomes too much, just say the words, and we can leave," he squeezes my hand, and I give him a small nod.

"You should mingle. I want to check on DK, and I need to stop avoiding Jihoon—for his sake," I say firmly, pulling away with determined resolve.

"Good luck," Subin replies, kissing me one last time before we part.

I stride over to the table where Jihoon, DK, and Seungcheol are gathered, their faces drawn into a silent tableau. The room's buzz seems to pause around us for a moment.

"This is a sight for sore eyes," I remark, attempting to pierce the tension. Jihoon scoffs.

"I thought you two were just friends?" he mutters under his breath.

"Is that all you have to say? Really? Come on, Jihoon," I plead, frustration lacing my tone.

"Not mad. Just... I have nothing to say," he replies coolly, his eyes avoiding mine.

I lean over toward Seungcheol. "Is he giving you the silent treatment, too?" I ask, trying to catch even a flicker of concern in his gaze.

Seungcheol merely shrugs, his expression unreadable, his tone flat. "Pretty much."

That is the final straw. I straighten up, my voice rising over the pulsing music. "Alright, listen up!" I snap louder than I intended. "I know this isn't ideal, but can you guys at least pretend to care about your best friends getting engaged? Put your pride aside for two fucking seconds!"

For a split second, their eyes—some amused, some indifferent—are on me.

"What she said!" DK chimes in.

"And you, Seokmin, stop instigating," I added sharply.

"Hey!" Seokmin protests.

I turn back to Seungcheol, my gaze piercing. "Seungcheol, you're here with a beautiful woman, why are you sitting there pouting like you couldn't care less? Go dance with her! Jihoon, find a cute girl to dance with—or even dance with Seokmin if that's your style. Stop being mopey and act like you care about something other than yourselves tonight!"

The words hang in the air. Jihoon grumbles, "Alright, alright! Damn," and he stands, clapping DK on the back. "Seungcheol, if I have to, so do you. Get up," Jihoon adds with a nudge.

Seungcheol finally stands and grabs his crutch, his movement is sluggish, his eyes cold and indifferent as if my outburst barely registers. "Still scaring people, I see," he mutters, his voice void of any real emotion. His detached gaze sends a jolt through me—a reminder that beneath all this chaos, some wounds run deeper than playful banter.

"Told you. She hasn't changed," DK jokes and the rest of them start to disperse under my parting death glare.

For a moment, the tension lingers like a heavy fog, and I can't help but feel that sting of indifference from Seungcheol as it slices through the festive atmosphere. The noise of the party swells back around us, but a piece of my mind remains fixed on his icy detachment.

Two hours later, after rallying Jihoon, DK, and the others into a semblance of celebration, I find myself immersed in the dance floor's energy. The music pulses through my body, and laughter mingles with the clink of glasses. I let the moment wash over me, trying to forget that earlier confrontation.

Yet, even amid the swirling joy, I can't shake the memory of Seungcheol's unmoved expression. His indifference lingers like an aftertaste, a stark contrast to the warmth of our shared memories. Still, I push it aside. Tonight, I'm here to celebrate new beginnings—even if some old ghosts refuse to be exorcised completely.

As I dance with friends, I catch glimpses of their encouraging smiles, and even Jihoon eventually joins in, his earlier aloofness replaced with reluctant amusement. DK claps me on the back during a particularly energetic song, and for a fleeting moment, the night feels bright, unburdened by past dramas.

In the midst of it all, I steal a glance toward the quieter corner of the room, where Seungcheol stands apart, still wrapped in his-whatever you want to call it. A mixture of longing and frustration wells up in me—but then Subin squeezes my hand, grounding me with his reassuring warmth.

With each beat of the music, I choose to let the laughter and camaraderie carry me forward. Tonight, I decide, I will dance, I will celebrate, and I will embrace every moment—knowing that despite the lingering shadows, I am not defined by them. And if Seungcheol's indifference remains, so be it. I have Subin, I have friends, and most importantly, I have the strength to keep moving toward a happier tomorrow.

As the night slowly winds down, the energy in the room begins to shift. The once pulsating beat of the music softens, and the vibrant chatter mellows into gentle murmurs. Groups that had been dancing wildly now huddle in small clusters, sharing stories and laughter laced with fatigue and contentment. Some guests, still buoyant on a heady mix of excitement and alcohol, stagger out with bright, unsteady smiles, while others lean back into worn couches or chairs, their eyes heavy with tired joy.

I watch as the party gradually empties. Glasses clink softly on nearly empty tables, and the once-busy dance floor now hosts only the occasional slow sway of a few lingering souls. In the midst of it all, Subin catches my eye and offers a warm, understanding smile—a silent promise that our night isn't over just yet.

Just then, as the final strains of music begin to fade, Subin moves closer. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans in and whispers, "One last dance?"

I can feel my heart skip a beat at his request. Without hesitation, I take his hand, and together, we step onto the near-empty dance floor. The soft lights bathe us in a gentle glow as we sway slowly, our bodies moving in quiet harmony. The world around us has nearly vanished, leaving only the rhythmic pulse of our hearts and the lingering warmth of the night.

As our final song drifts softly over the dance floor, I catch a glimpse of Seungcheol standing abruptly, his face a mix of anger and sadness. Without a word, he slips away from the group, leaving an uneasy silence in his wake. For a split second, I worry—wondering if his departure might cast a shadow over the night.

But just as the tension begins to rise, Sonya and Wonwoo make their way over, grinning and determined to turn the moment around.

"Alright, let's show them how it's done," Wonwoo declares, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Before I can protest, Subin slides back, giving my Wonwoo permission, and a lighthearted ritual quickly unfolds. Subin and Wonwoo take turns dancing with me—a slow, teasing waltz that blends silly twirls with genuine laughter. Every awkward step becomes a joke, every shared glance a burst of fun that chases away the earlier gloom.

As if catching the contagious joy, Sonya can't resist any longer. With a bright laugh, she steps onto the dance floor, joining in the merriment. Soon, Subin, Sonya, and Wonwoo rotate partners, swapping off with me in a series of impromptu slow dances. Our playful banter fills the air, and even as I steal a fleeting glance at the spot where Seungcheol had been, the energy around me feels overwhelmingly joyful.

In the midst of our dancing, Jihoon steps onto the floor and catches Subin's eye with a questioning look. Before I know it, Subin gently takes my hand and places it in Jihoon's, then makes his way back to the table. I meet Jihoon's gaze, and unexpectedly, tears begin to well up in my eyes. He sighs, lowering his voice as if afraid the noise might shatter the fragile moment.

"YN, I'm sorry," he says softly.

I remain silent for a beat, the memories of that long-ago day at the park—the promise we made to stay together no matter what—flashing unbidden through my mind. Finally, Jihoon continues, his tone laced with regret. "I just... I don't know what got over me. I couldn't help but think about that day at the park when we promised we'd never let anything tear us apart. And then you left... I never understood why. It's not fair to you, and I am so sorry."

Tears stain my cheeks as his words sink in. "You hurt me, Ji," I manage to whisper, the pain of abandonment mingling with the bittersweet nostalgia of lost promises.

"I know. I'm sorry," he replies, his voice barely audible, before pulling me into a tight, apologetic hug that speaks of longing and regret.

After a moment, he releases me gently. "Subin seems good for you. I'm happy you have him," Jihoon adds, glancing sideways at Subin, who now watches from a distance with quiet composure.

I pull back, meeting Jihoon's eyes, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Are you saying you enjoy him?" I tease softly, the tension easing into a fragile humor.

"Don't make it weird," Jihoon retorts with a playful roll of his eyes. "I now understand that you did what you needed to do."

A charged silence passes between us—a mixture of apology, acceptance, and the unspoken acknowledgment that things have changed. Then, with a slight shrug and a tentative smile, Jihoon turns back toward the edge of the dance floor, leaving me with a heart that feels both heavy and strangely hopeful.

In that moment, surrounded by the fading energy of the night and the lingering warmth of our impromptu slow dance, I realize that tonight is a tapestry of emotions—joy, regret, acceptance, and the promise of new beginnings. And though the past still echoes in the quiet corners of my heart, I'm learning to embrace the present, one step—and one dance—at a time.

Sonya catches my arm and pulls me aside near the bar. Her eyes, usually brimming with playful mischief, now hold genuine concern.

"Hey, YN," she says quietly, "what was that conversation with Jihoon all about?"

I pause, glancing over at the remnants of our earlier dance with Jihoon and the others. Taking a slow breath, I meet her gaze. "It wasn't anything explosive," I reply softly. "Just a quiet understanding between us. I guess I realized that, despite everything, it's all going to be okay."

Sonya's expression relaxes, and a small, reassuring smile tugs at her lips. "That's good to hear," she murmurs. "I just needed to know you're alright."

"I am," I say, giving her a gentle squeeze of my hand. "Sometimes a quiet moment says more than all the drama in the world."

With that, Sonya nods and gives me one final hug before Subin and I head out. I step away, still feeling the warmth of her embrace as if it were a promise that everything will be alright. Outside, the cool night air greets us like a gentle reminder that a new day is on the horizon. Subin catches my hand as we make our way toward the exit, his grip firm and reassuring.

I glance back at the fading lights of the venue, letting the lingering hum of laughter and music sink in for a moment—a farewell to the chaos of the night and a silent vow to carry its lessons forward. "Everything's going to be okay," I whisper to myself, echoing the quiet understanding I just shared with Sonya.

Subin smiles at me, and in that smile, I see both comfort and resolve. "Let's go," he says softly, and together we step into the night, leaving behind the remnants of a bittersweet evening. Each step away feels like a small act of defiance against the past—a step toward new beginnings.

I step into my apartment, exhausted from another long day. I toss my bag on the couch and stretch, feeling the tight knots in my shoulders relax just a little. The rain outside tapped softly against my windows, a soothing rhythm that made me look forward to nothing more than a warm shower, a cup of tea, and my favorite book.

I head to the bathroom, brushing my hair back and running the water, letting the steam fill the room. As I reach for my toothbrush, my phone buzzes, startling me. Wiping my hands on a towel, I glance at the screen. An unknown number was calling. I hesitate for a moment but then ignore it. "Probably a telemarketer," I mutter to myself, returning to my routine. A few minutes later, I hear the familiar chime of a voicemail notification. Curious, I play the message.

"Hello, this is Dr. Kim from SVT Hospital. We're calling about Choi Seungcheol. He was brought in following a car accident earlier this evening, and you are listed as his emergency contact. Please return our call as soon as possible."

My heart stops as the words begin to echo in my head. Seungcheol. I hadn't heard that name in a little over a year. Yet here it was, suddenly bringing me back into a past I thought I had left behind. I stood for a moment, frozen, my mind racing. Why was I still his emergency contact? What had happened to him? Is he alive?

Without a second thought, I grab my jacket, keys, and phone and rush out the door, my hands shaking as I fumble to lock it behind me.

Outside, the storm had intensified. Rain lashes against the windshield of my car, the wipers struggling to keep up as I drive through the dark, slick streets. Lightning flickered in the distance, followed by the rumble of thunder, but I barely noticed. My mind was fixed on Seungcheol, on the possibility that he was hurt, on why he still had me listed as the person to call in an emergency. I hadn't prepared myself for this, for the sudden rush of emotions I thought I had buried long ago.

The drive felt endless, the storm making every turn and stoplight an agonizing wait. I begin to think of the last time we spoke and how cold and final our breakup had been. But now, all I can think about is getting to the hospital and seeing him, making sure he is okay.

When I finally arrive, I run through the rain, my shoes splashing through puddles as I rush into the emergency room. The harsh, sterile lights and the buzzing sounds of monitors greet me as I approach the front desk, out of breath. I tell the receptionist my name and Seungcheol's, and they direct me to the waiting area, where I'm told to wait for an update.

I sit down, my wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin, my mind swirling with thoughts and memories. I look around at the other people sitting in the room, each lost in their own concerns, and try to steady my breathing, but it feels impossible. I clasp my hands together as if holding on to something slipping away.

As the minutes stretched on, my mind began to wander. I remember the first time I met Seungcheol through Jihoon, how he had shyly asked me out after multiple failed attempts. I thought of the late-night drives we used to take with no destination in mind, just enjoying the sound of each other's voices and the quiet moments in between. I could almost see his smile, hear his laugh, and feel the warmth of his hand in mine.

Thunder rumbled outside, louder this time, and I glanced at the window, seeing the rain still pouring down. The storm mirrored the turmoil inside me, a churning mix of worry, regret, and something else I couldn't quite name.

I close my eyes and lean against the wall, trying to steady my racing heart. I don't know what I would say when seeing Seungcheol if I even see him. Would he be surprised to see me here? Would he even want me here? But none of that mattered right now. All I can do is wait, hope, and let myself daydream, just for a little while, about what it would be like if things had been different if I hadn't let go.

Laughter.

The sound of my friends and boyfriend fills the room, pulling me back to reality. I feel a tightness in my chest, a sense of entrapment creeping in.

I don't want to be here.

I flinch slightly when Seungcheol's hand moves up and down my arm, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "Speaking of presents, everyone! Gather around!"

When will this day end? I silently plead.

"I'm happy that you all could join us tonight to celebrate YN's birthday," Seungcheol says. The room erupts in applause, a few cheers echoing. I cringe at the sound.

"I'll keep this short and sweet," he continues, taking a deep breath. "YN's, it's been ten years since we first met and five years since you finally caved and started dating me. I guess I wore you down, huh?" The crowd chuckles, but I tense up in my seat.

Please don't do what I think you're about to do, Seungcheol. My thoughts grow louder, nearly drowning out his voice.

"Over the years, we've shared so many moments—some amazing, some awkward, and a few where you probably questioned your life choices." He walks over, kneeling in front of me, and grabs my hand. "But honestly, I can't imagine my life without you. YN, will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife?"

"YN...?" A voice breaks through the haze. I blink and suddenly realize I wasn't dreaming. I now face Lee Jihoon, the man I once called my best friend.

"Jihoon..." I murmur, dazed.

"It's really you," he replies, his voice carrying disbelief. I haven't seen or spoken to him in two years, yet he still looks the same.

"Um, have you heard anything...?" I ask cautiously.

"Still no update. And, before you ask, some of the guys are on their way. Chan, Seungkwan, and Mingyu couldn't catch a flight until tomorrow, and a few others didn't respond. So, it's just us for now," he explains.

I nod and sink back into the chair. More questions swirl in my head, none of which I can answer. Why was he driving so late? In this weather? What was he thinking?

"What the hell was he thinking?" I mutter aloud.

"He knows about your dad. We all do..." Jihoon's voice pulls me back.

"What?" I ask, confused. He's about to explain when a soft voice interrupts, drawing both our attention.

"I'm here for Choi Seungcheol," a new arrival says to a nurse.

"Seokmin..." I breathe, catching his eye. His face lights up in shock.

"Y-YN?!" he stammers.

"Hi," I manage, my voice cracking. I stand up, and he rushes over, pulling me into a tight hug that makes my eyes sting with tears.

"Shhh, it's okay. He's going to be okay. He has to be..." Seokmin murmurs, his hand gently rubbing my back.

As he lets go, I see more familiar faces trailing behind, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion.

"YN?!" Jeonghan exclaims, unable to hide his surprise.

"In the flesh," I reply with a weak laugh, sending a slight wave to Vernon and Soonyoung, who look just as bewildered.

"Choi Seungcheol?" A doctor calls out, and we all rush forward.

"How is he?" Jeonghan asks his voice tight with anxiety.

"He—"

"Is he okay?" I interject.

"It w—"

"Did he make it?" Soonyoung adds, causing all of us to glare at him.

"Guys."

"Sorry," we chorus, silencing ourselves. The doctor sighs.

"I'm sorry to inform you that the patient has a severe concussion and a torn ACL. The anterior cruciate ligament is crucial for knee stability, and the tear means it's no longer intact, leading to pain, swelling, and instability. This most likely happened due to the impact of the steering wheel colliding with his knee. We'll discuss treatment options with him in the morning. Rest assured, we're doing everything we can to aid his recovery."

"What..." I whisper.

"He's okay. He made it," the doctor reassures. We all stand there, wide-eyed and speechless.

"'I'm sorry to inform you' was a wild way to start that sentence, Doc," Vernon mutters.

"Wait, but I heard—" Jihoon starts, but the doctor cuts him off.

"My apologies. He was unconscious when paramedics found him. It's a natural response when someone's in shock."

Silence fills the room.

"You can stay if you like. We've given him medication for the pain, and he'll be out for the rest of the night," the doctor continues.

"Thank you," Jihoon says. With that, the doctor leaves.

"That lucky motherfucker," Vernon mutters as he and Jihoon embrace while I remain frozen.

"YN?" Seokmin's voice calls out to me, but I can't move.

"He's okay..." Jihoon adds gently.

He's okay.

My knees give out, and before I hit the floor, Seokmin catches me, pulling me into another hug. I finally break, sobbing into his chest.

"Shhh, he's okay, YN," Jihoon murmurs soothingly.

We sit on the floor, my cries filling the otherwise silent space. Eventually, we go to Seungcheol's room, and I pray he's not awake. I don't know what I'd say. Hi?

Thankfully, he's still asleep. The sight of him shatters me. His face is swollen and bruised, and there's a brace on his leg. How can someone look so peaceful while in so much pain?

"Cheo—" I try to speak, but the words catch in my throat.

I step closer, scanning his features. My hand touches his face, but he stirs, and I freeze. When he settles, I gently cup his cheek, feeling the burn of tears in my eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking, Cheollie?"

The room falls silent. Outside, the rain softly beats against the windows, punctuated by the steady beeping of machines.

"Let's all just rest for now. It's been a long night," Jeonghan suggests.

We all try to settle in, but sleep doesn't come quickly. As Dokyeom, Vernon, and Soonyoung drift off, my mind refuses to quiet.

"I had a moment a few months back," I say to no one in particular.

"A moment?" Jeonghan asks.

"I was at a bookstore, and a group of friends came in. They were loud but not annoyingly so. They were laughing,... genuinely happy to be together. They reminded me of..."

"They reminded you of us," Jihoon states softly, more than he asks. I chuckle, looking up at them.

"I was finally starting to accept that I'd never see you guys again..."

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Jeonghan snaps, clearly still hurt.

"Jeonghan!" Jihoon hisses, but I shake my head.

"No, he's right. I don't blame you for being mad. You all should be. I know these aren't the best circumstances, but I've really missed you."

Silence hangs heavy, and I drift into a restless sleep.

"What a way to end a wonderful day, am I right?" Seungcheol's voice echoes through our apartment as I head to the bedroom.

"I can't believe you're my fiancé! We're actually getting married!" He trailed behind me, his excitement palpable, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed me pacing back and forth.

God must be laughing at me.

"Hey, I know that was probably a lot. I'm sorry if it was. I couldn't wait any lo—"

"I can't marry you, Seungcheol."

"What?"

"Please... don't make me say it again."

He makes a nervous, suspicious sound. "Ha! You almost got me there for a second." But his smile fades, and I see the realization creeping across his face.

"You're not— you're not joking."

I stand there, completely at a loss. In the twenty years I've known him, I've never been so unsure of what to say.

"Don't just stand there! Say something!" His voice cuts through the silence, sharp and desperate.

"Cheol, I—"

"I proposed to you in front of our friends... our families!"

"I never asked you to do that."

"That's not the point, YN!"

"Please stop yelling, Seungcheol," I say, my voice trembling but firm.

"Why?" He stares at me, his eyes blazing.

"Excuse me?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow.

"I think we should be able to have a civil conversation like adults, no?"

"That's not— God dammit!" He slams his hand against the dresser, the sound echoing in the room.

"Why won't you marry me?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Actually? Yeah."

"Fine. Maybe because I don't want to."

"Bullshit," he snaps.

"Oh, really?"

"YN, you've been talking about wanting to get married someday since we met."

"I'm just not ready, okay?"

"You're acting like we're getting married tomorrow. We can set a date for later when you are ready. No one said we had to rush." He steps closer, reaching for my hand, but I pull back, my legs hitting the edge of the bed.

"Look, I get it. Your mom's passing... it's not easy. I know—"

"Seungcheol, don't you dare bring her into this. You asked for a reason. I gave you one."

"It's okay if that's the reason. I know how much you wanted your mom to be there—"

"For God's sake, Seungcheol! You are suffocating me!"

The words hang in the air, sharp and raw, and I instantly regret them. My hands fly to my mouth, my eyes wide with shock, and he freezes.

"Cheol, I didn't—"

"Don't."

"Seungcheol, I didn't mean that!"

He doesn't say another word. He turns and walks out of the room. I hear the jingle of keys, and panic surges as I run after him.

"Seungcheol!" I call out, but it's too late. The door slams behind him, cutting off my voice.

════════════════════════════

There's a faint knock on the door, and my eyes snap open. A nurse enters, and I lie still, listening as she greets him. She checks his vitals and, before leaving, makes a comment that causes me to tense up.

"I hear your girlfriend stayed all night. She's beautiful. You're lucky to have her and your other friends. They were worried sick about you."

"Ah, she's not my girlfriend, but thank you. I'll be sure to tell them. See you later!" he responds, probably shooting her that gummy smile.

Once she's gone and the door shuts, he speaks again. "You still talk in your sleep, you know."

I freeze. "Wait, how did you—"

"Your breathing changed," he replies. Great.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, turning over to face him fully.

"I've been worse, honestly," he says.

"Cheol, what were you thinking?"

"Dokyeom told me about your dad," he replies, catching me off guard.

"H-How does he know about that?" I stammer.

"Sonya."

"Of course," I chuckle slightly.

"She was worried. We all were. She called Wonwoo when you locked yourself in your apartment and no one had heard from you for weeks. Wonwoo called Dokyeom, and when he told me, I tried to get your number, address, anything. I even drove to Sonya's to beg for any details. He meant a lot to all of us. After a few days of nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm sure you can figure out the rest," he explains.

"Seungcheol, at 3 in the morning? You couldn't have waited until morning, or at least until the rain stopped? All this to check if I was okay. That was the stupidest thing you could've done. You could have died!"

"But I didn't. I'm here, aren't I?" he chuckles.

"This isn't funny!"

"You haven't changed one bit," he says.

"I—What's that supposed to mean!?" I sit up, and his chuckle turns into full-blown laughter.

"Glad to see you two haven't killed each other yet," Soonyoung says as he walks through the door, and Jihoon punches his arm.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Stop talking," Jihoon responds, glaring at him.

Seungcheol and I exchange an awkward glance before he clears his throat.

"The guys said they'll be landing later this afternoon," Jihoon adds.

"Why are they flying back?" Seungcheol asks, confused.

"We didn't know how serious it was, so we thought—"

"You thought you'd scare everybody? Great," Seungcheol interrupts and Jihoon shoots him a glare.

"Anyway... we brought food," Jihoon says, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that's filled the room.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," I say.

"Eat," Seungcheol says, his tone firm.

"Excuse me?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, genuinely concerned.

"Coups," Jihoon and Soonyoung warn.

"What? Let's not pretend everything's fine. She may not be in a hospital bed, but she should be. Look at her!"

"Hello! I'm right here, and I am—"

"Don't you dare say you're fine because we all know you're not. Remember how that went two years ago? Why aren't you backing me on this?" Seungcheol's voice rises, irritation creeping in.

"You know what? I'm not doing this right now. I'm glad you're okay. It was nice seeing you all, but I'm going to leave now," I say, getting up to gather my things.

"Typical," Seungcheol mutters, but I ignore him.

"Going to change your number again? Ghost everyone? Disappear like you did last time?"

"There it is," Soonyoung whispers.

"You know what, Seungcheol? Screw you! You think what I did was easy?" I turn to face him, my voice rising.

"Sure seemed like it," he snaps back.

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Choi."

"Oh? Please, enlighten us."

I scoff, feeling my frustration boil over.

"Exactly."

"Hey, maybe now's not the time to—" Soonyoung begins, but Seungcheol cuts him off, clearly annoyed.

"No. I'd love to hear this."

"You weren't there for me the way I needed you to be! Instead, you ignored all the signs and threw a surprise party! I was depressed for months, practically begging for help. My mother had just died, and you thought a party was the answer? And to make things worse, you proposed to me in front of everyone. What the hell was I supposed to do, Seungcheol? I know you meant well, but I didn't need a ring—I needed you!"

The room falls silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy.

"Believe it or not, leaving was the hardest decision I've ever made. I've spent every second of the past two years regretting it. I nearly—" I stop myself, taking a shaky breath.

"I'm so sorry I left. I'm sorry I couldn't communicate how I felt better. I've never forgiven myself for what I did to you. Trust me, every day has been hell because of it. And now, not only do I not have my mother, but I've also lost my dad. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I get a call saying you were in a terrible car accident. I thought I'd lost you, too!" My voice cracks, and tears start to fall.

"So you can take your little comments and shove them up your—"

"Enough!" Jeonghan shouts as he, Vernon, and Dokyeom enter the room.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving," I say to him, tears I'd tried to hold back now streaming down my face.

"YN..." Dokyeom begins, but I can't handle it.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this right now," I say, glancing over at Seungcheol, who looks stunned as if he's finally realizing why I left. Before anyone can say anything else, I walk out.

════════════════════════════

It's been a week since that unexpected reunion. Dokyeom and Jihoon have been calling and texting non-stop, but after a while, I stopped checking. The last message I saw said Seungcheol was back home, resting.

Dragging myself out of bed, I head to the kitchen to make some coffee. Just as I start pouring a cup, there's a knock on the door. I groan, muttering under my breath, "Please, just leave me alone."

Expecting Sonya, my best friend, I shuffle to the door. But when it swings open, my eyes widen in surprise.

"Ji? What are you doing here?"

"Hey... I hope it's okay. Sonya gave me your address," he says, stepping inside.

"Oh, um... sure, come in," I stutter, stepping aside to let him through.

"Nice place. It looks spacious," he comments, glancing around.

"Yeah, I work from home now, so I needed the space."

"You work from home?" he asks, turning to me in surprise.

"Yeah... It hasn't been easy since... well, everything. And then losing my dad on top of that... I just couldn't handle it." I trail off, my voice barely above a whisper. His gaze softens, and I feel a pang of discomfort under his worried eyes.

"Please, stop looking at me like that," I sigh.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm helpless."

"I'm sorry. I just hate that you had to go through everything alone. You could've talked to us. You could've talked to me..."

"Ji, you know it's not that simple. Everyone seemed so... happy, caught up in life. I felt awful, not just about Cheol but all of you. I felt like I was drowning while everyone else was thriving. I didn't want to—"

"Don't say you didn't want to burden us," he cuts me off. "YN, we've known each other forever. You never need to feel like you can't talk to me. I'm sorry you felt that way, but I'm always here for you. Good or bad, okay?"

"I'm sorry..."

"And you need to stop apologizing for expressing your feelings. I think I speak for all of us when I say you can come to us about anything. Even now. We're here for you. All of us. I wish you'd believe that."

"I do... it's just—ugh! I don't know. I'm sorry," I say, rubbing my face in frustration.

"It's okay," he chuckles, and soon, we're both laughing.

"I missed you, goofball," he says, pulling me into a tight hug.

"I missed you too," I sigh, feeling a bit of relief.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly. "I have to ask, though..."

"Please. Don't," I warn.

"Okay, but seriously... that was intense."

"Any chance of being in his life again is ruined. Even if I wanted to, it's over. You saw how he acted."

"Maybe if I just—"

"No!" I snap, startling him. "I'm sorry. But what's done is done. What Seungcheol and I had was special, and even though it ended badly, I'm grateful for the time we had. Maybe it's best left in the past."

"And who exactly are you trying to convince?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Jihoon, please. Just drop it. For me?"

"Fine. But only because I miss hanging out with you. I miss us," he says, pouting.

"How are you still the same person?" I laugh, and we both ease into a more relaxed mood.

We spend hours catching up, and it feels like a weight has been lifted. He fills me in on everything I missed, and we joke around like old times.

"God, I can't believe you convinced Dokyeom and Mingyu to go bungee jumping!"

"It took Dokyeom 20 minutes to finally do it. Poor guy was terrified," he laughs.

"Remember when we went rock climbing?" I chuckle.

"When Mingyu called Chan 'hyung'? I'll never forget that," he says, making me laugh even harder.

"Those were good times. My dad laughed so hard that day. I miss him..." My laughter fades, and a sad feeling settles over the room.

"So... When was the service?" he asks.

"Three months ago."

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't Sonya? We should've been there!"

"Don't be mad at her. I asked her not to. I didn't want you guys to feel obligated to do anything. Besides, I needed to heal. After my mom... I never properly dealt with it. So when my dad... well, I let myself grieve. I cried, laughed at memories, and forgave them for things I held onto. It only got bad recently. Everything became too much, and I needed to be alone," I explain, and he nods.

"And I shouldn't have taken that opportunity away from you guys. I'm sorry..."

"I get it. It's okay... Do you feel like it helped?"

"A bit, yeah. You're the first person I've seen in months, and this is the first real conversation I've had in just as long. So, I think I'm starting to get there. I hope."

"Well, I'm glad I get to share this moment with you," he says, placing his hand on mine.

"Me too," I smile, resting my head on his shoulder.

We sit in comfortable silence until his phone vibrates, interrupting the peace. He glances at it, his eyes widening briefly before he tries to hide it.

"It's him, isn't it? You don't have to hide it from me. I'm okay, I promise," I say, giving him a reassuring smile as he answers the call.

"Woozi, where the hell are you?" Seungcheol's voice boomed through the phone.

"Well, hello to you too," Jihoon said, making me stifle a laugh.

"Everyone's already here, so hurry up!"

"You're a bit sassy, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, just don't forget the beer," Seungcheol added, and I couldn't hold back my laughter anymore.

"Who was that?" he asked, and Jihoon quickly responded.

"Okay, I gotta go. See you soon. Bye!" He abruptly hung up, then looked at me, and I patted him on the head.

"The eldest awaits," I teased, and he swatted my hand away.

"Seriously, though. If you ever want to hang out, don't hesitate to call," he said earnestly.

"I promise," I replied, guiding him to the door before we shared a hug.

"Oh! I forgot to ask. Are you coming to the engagement party? I know you haven't been out much, but—"

I cut him off, "Engagement party? Who's engaged?"

"Sonya didn't tell you about...?"

Dumbfounded was the only way to describe how I felt at that moment.

"Tell me what, exactly?"

"She and Wonwoo are engaged?"

I stood there, jaw practically on the floor, stunned.

"Wait, wait, wait. PARDON?"

"Uh, maybe you should call her..." he said with a nervous chuckle.

"Anyway, I gotta go! Talk soon," and with that, he was gone.

════════════════════════════

"Jeon Wonwoo did what?! Why am I hearing this from Jihoon and not from you?"

"Oh, come on! We've been together for three years, YN. It was bound to happen."

"That still doesn't explain why I had to hear it from someone else," I stand there, arms crossed, feeling slightly offended.

"You've got a lot going on... I didn't want to just drop it on you..."

"Sonya. You're my best, BEST friend. No matter what I am going through, THIS is something I needed to know!"

She has the nerve to laugh.

"Why does everyone keep laughing at me? This is serious!" I whine.

"Full transparency?"

"I'll entertain it."

"I wanted to tell you, okay? I WAS going to...Eventually. But I didn't because..."

"Please don't say it was because of Choi Seungcheol. Sonya, we've had this conversation. I even told Ji—I'm fine," I insist.

"You're not."

I open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a finger.

"Before you try to lie, I know you better than anyone. Maybe even better than you know yourself. You can pretend everything's fine, but we all know it's not. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't think you ever will be completely okay—and that's okay."

"Let's not get dramatic."

"It's been two years. Why haven't you dated anyone?"

"My dad just died."

"That was months ago. You've had two years. And you can't keep using the 'dead parent' card. It's not fair!"

"I know, I'm sorry. But saying I'll never be happy is dramatic!"

"Fine, happiness will find you again blah blah blah, but deep down, you'll never forgive yourself for what happened with him."

I hate how she's always right. I roll my eyes, and she chuckles.

"I'm still mad you didn't tell me," I say, refusing to give her the satisfaction of admitting she's right, but she just smiles brightly anyway. Annoying.

"Oh, poor baby," she pats my head.

"So, does this mean you're coming?"

"Will... Will he, um, be there?"

"The fact that you're asking proves my point."

"SONYA!"

"Wonwoo is family. Of course, Cherry Boy will be there," she says, and I can't help but chuckle at the nickname.

"I don't know..."

"If you skip my engagement party after barging in here like this, you'll regret it," she warns.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"I'll go! God," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Wait, really?!"

"But I'm not promising it'll be a drama-free night. He definitely hates me."

"I heard about your little lover's quarrel at the hospital."

"Don't call it that," I say, scrunching my nose.

"That's what it sounded like! Dokyeom and Soonyoung said you could cut the tension with a knife," she teases.

"They were being dramatic. Seems to be everyone's thing these days," I sigh.

"Seungcheol's expressions said otherwise."

"Wait, what?"

"I went to check on him with the guys, and they told me what happened, even though Coups didn't want them to. But, you know how they are. Anyway, he seemed uncomfortable. Like he regretted it if that helps?"

"It doesn't. Great, now everyone knows I'm just a sulky mess who can't keep her temper in check."

"Hey, don't do that. He needed to hear it. I'm glad you got it off your chest. Now he knows there was a reason and that you did—and still do—have love and respect for him."

"I never said that," I snap back, but she just chuckles.

"You didn't have to."

"Oh god, not you, too," I groan.

"YN..."

"You and Lee Ji Hoon are ridiculous."

"I get that, but—"

"But nothing! What's done is done. Why can't you all just let it go?" I sink into her sofa.

"You still love him."

"Of course I care about him. He was my first everything. I'll always care for him."

"You know that's not what I mean. You're still IN LOVE with him," she says, and there's a beat of silence.

"At least let us try to help you be friends again—"

"Let's compromise," I cut her off.

"Hm?"

"Let me get my life together first, and MAYBE we can revisit the whole Seungcheol thing."

"That doesn't sound like a compromise."

"All of this is already a lot for me. I'm willing to hear you out. Take it or leave it."

"Deal."

"Deal."

"Now that that's settled... How are you?"

"I just told you—"

"I'm not talking about Seungcheol. How are YOU?" she presses.

"I'm okay?" I say hesitantly.

"Are you still drinking? Eating healthy?" I roll my eyes.

"No, and yes."

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

"No, Sonya. I'm not drinking. I haven't in a while. As for eating, I promise."

"Okay, I believe you," she raises her hands, surrendering.

"So, were you ever planning to tell me about the engagement party?"

"I was going to!"

════════════════════════════

To say I'm running on almost no sleep is an understatement. Tossing and turning all night, I couldn't stop thinking about Sonya and Wonwoo. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for them, but I can't shake this bitter feeling that keeps surfacing. Desperate for a distraction, I grab my phone and start scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. My eyes widen at what I see.

Jihoon and Seungcheol. I stare at the picture, hesitating before tapping on the tags and navigating to Seungcheol's page. To my surprise, I realize I've been unblocked. I scroll through his feed, noticing he's been working out a lot—something that was already obvious when I saw him at the hospital. As I scroll further, I see pictures of us together.

"He didn't delete them..." I mutter to myself, feeling a dull ache in my chest. I quickly set my phone down, sighing deeply before rolling over, forcing my eyes shut until I finally drift off.

A loud bang on my door jolts me awake, and the sun streams through my window, blinding me. The knocking persists, and I groan, throwing a pillow over my head to muffle the sound. When it doesn't stop, I realize it must be Jihoon and reluctantly stomp to the door.

"What the hell do you want?!" I shout as I fling the door open.

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine," Jihoon says, stepping inside with a grin, and I notice Dokyeom trailing behind him.

"Remind me to yell at Sonya for giving you my address," I say, crossing my arms.

"Noted!" Jihoon responds, and I roll my eyes before hugging DK.

"He gets a hug, and I get the death glare? Wow," Jihoon says, clutching his chest dramatically.

"Why are you here at..." I glance at the clock, then roll my eyes, "8 a.m.?"

"Just wanted to check in, see how you're doing," Dokyeom says, but there's something off about the way they're both looking at me.

"You're not telling the truth," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"Is it a crime to want to see our dear best friend on a beautiful Sunday morning?"

"Jihoon?" I turn to him, and he's smiling uncomfortably.

"Lee Seokmin, what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

Silence. Too much of it.

"Oh, for crying out loud. DK told Seungcheol you were coming to the engagement party," Jihoon finally admits.

"Oh, that's it?" I chuckle.

"Not quite..." he continues.

"Okay... you're scaring me..."

"He's bringing... his friend," Dokyeom says hesitantly, "who happens to be a girl..."

Oh. I get it now. He has a girlfriend. Act. Normal.

"Oh! Good for him," I say, forcing a strained smile.

"Whew, that went better than I expected," Dokyeom says, oblivious to the looks Jihoon and I exchange.

Jihoon sees right through me. His eyes silently ask if I'm okay. I nod, pretending I'm not falling apart inside.

"Let's go get brunch!" Dokyeom announces, too cheerful for the situation. I love him, but he's terrible at reading the room.

"You can't just barge in and demand we get brunch. What if I had plans?"

"Do you?"

"Not the point."

"Oh, come on!" he whines. I glance at Jihoon, who scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish.

"You two are unbelievable," I grumble, heading to my room to get dressed. I hear them snickering as I close the door.

"I can hear you!" I shout.

I have to admit, it's nice to be out instead of sulking in my apartment. The weather's perfect—a welcome bonus.

"No mimosa?" Dokyeom asks as our food and drinks arrive.

"Not today," I reply, picking up my utensils, hoping to avoid further questions.

"You're no fun," he pouts.

"Anyway, I should thank you for this," I say, ignoring him.

"For what?" Jihoon asks.

"For dragging me out of the house. It's beautiful out, and I hate to admit it, but I miss being around people."

"Oh, hush. No need to thank us," he says.

We dive into random conversations, and after about 45 minutes, we finish our food and decide to head to the park to enjoy the weather.

"So tell me more about working from home," Jihoon says as we sit on the swings.

"Well. I thought about taking a leave, but then I wouldn't have anything to distract me during the day, so this seemed like the best option."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Honestly? I wouldn't say I like it. I've considered going back, but the thought of facing people, with everyone staring and whispering, is too much right now."

"Fair enough. Still, I admire you," he says, turning to me.

"Why?"

"The past two years have been tough, yet here you are, still moving forward. I've always admired that about you. You're strong, YN."

"I'm glad you think so, but I'm definitely not as strong as I seem. I've had my moments, trust me."

We sit in comfortable silence, watching Dokyeom try to flirt with a woman near the bike rental.

"God, he's shameless," I laugh.

"Poor girl," Jihoon comments, and we both chuckle.

"Can I ask you something?" I turn to him.

"Go for it."

"Seungcheol. Is he... okay?"

Jihoon's expression changes, and he sighs.

"You want the truth?"

"That bad?"

"It hasn't been great."

I sigh.

"The first year was rough. Really rough. He was angry at everyone and shut himself off completely. We didn't realize how bad it was until one night Joshua called, saying Seungcheol was in holding for getting into a bar fight."

"He did what?!" I exclaim, wide-eyed.

"Yeah. He shut us out. For a while, he barely left the house. It took us by surprise when he mentioned he was... seeing someone. We didn't even know he was dating or considering anything serious."

He glances at me, gauging my reaction. I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.

"If he's happy, that's all that matters, right?"

"It's bullshit if you ask me," he mutters.

"Ji..."

"I know, I know," he mumbles.

"Even now, he's never told us what happened the day you left," he adds softly. I inhale sharply, feeling a familiar tightness in my chest. There's a long pause before I respond.

"I hurt him. We can all agree on that. Whatever he chooses to do with his life is up to him. He deserves to be happy," I say, deflecting.

"You didn't just hurt him, you know," Jihoon says quietly.

"I—"

"No need to apologize. I get it, I guess. But it sucked not having you around. I really missed you, YN."

"I missed you too, Ji..."

"It's nice hearing you call me that again," he smiles.

"It's nice having you guys back, and maybe one day, when I'm ready, I'll tell you everything," I say, and he nods, his concern evident but unspoken.

"Guys! Guys! Guess what!" Dokyeom yells, running towards us, waving his phone.

"The girl I was talking to—she gave me her number!"

"She did what?" I ask, and Jihoon laughs.

"She has no idea what she's in for," he smirks.

"Hey! I'm a great catch! She even said I was charming," Dokyeom huffs.

"Charming..." Jihoon and I say in unison, breaking into a fit of laughter. Dokyeom groans.

"You're both mean!"

"Oh, come on. I want ice cream," I say, hopping off the swing and leading the way as Jihoon and Dokyeom follow.

════════════════════════════

After spending the day with the guys, I head back to my apartment. DK tried to convince me to have a sleepover "like old times," but I reminded him they had work tomorrow. He pouted until I agreed to a sleepover on Friday.

Later, as I lie in bed, my thoughts drift back to Sonya's engagement party next week. Why is he bringing her? I shake my head, trying to clear my mind.

"No more thinking about Choi Seungcheol," I mutter, rolling over and closing my eyes until sleep takes over.

One drink, I told myself.

I don't know how I ended up finishing almost an entire bottle, but I stopped caring. I dance around my empty apartment, bottle in hand, as music blares from the TV. When "Ocean Eyes" by Billie Eilish starts playing, I freeze.

As her voice fills the room, a familiar pain rises in my chest, and tears fall before I can stop them. I slump over the back of the couch, overcome by the ache. Anger surges, and I hurl the bottle at the wall. The rage grows, and I head to the kitchen, grabbing dishes and smashing them, one after another.

I storm into the living room, kicking the TV with all my strength and sending it crashing into the wall. I finally collapse, sliding down the wall and burying my face in my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. I don't know how long I stayed like that until I heard the front door open, followed by a gasp.

"Oh my god, YN!"

Sonya.

"What happened?!"

I can't answer. I can only cry.

"You're okay... shhh, it's going to be okay," she says, pulling me into a tight hug and rubbing my back with her hand.

"You're going to be okay."