#gdragon fluff

“Jiyong!” You rushed to his side, your heart hammering as you kneeled beside him. His skin was clammy, his breathing ragged as he tried to push himself up. You grabbed the water bottle you’d brought for him and shoved it into his trembling hands.

“Drink,” you urged, your voice softer now, laced with worry. He took a few sips, barely able to keep the bottle steady. “Ji, you’re worrying me,” you admitted, eyes searching his for any sign that he’d finally listen, that he’d see what he was doing to himself.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just have to make sure I’m ready for tour.”

You shook your head. “Ji, you’re overworking yourself. You’ve got everything perfected, okay? Give yourself time to rest.”

He exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet despite your hand reaching out to steady him. “You don’t get it, Y/n,” he said, brushing past you, already making his way back to the center of the room.

You stood as well, crossing your arms as you watched him stubbornly reset the track. “I get that you’re tired, Ji,” you said gently, trying again. “You’re just hurting yourself at this point—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, cutting you off as the first beats of the song echoed through the studio.

Your chest tightened. “I’m just worried… I mean, you fainted and now you just want to keep going like nothing happened?”

Jiyong clenched his jaw, his fists balling at his sides. He turned to face you, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, frustration, desperation?

“Look, Y/n,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, each word like a blade slicing through your chest. “You’re a bartender, alright? You don’t have to be that skilled at anything.”

The air in the room shifted instantly. You felt the words like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

Jiyong must have seen the way your face fell because for a split second, his expression flickered with something softer—regret, maybe? But then it was gone, replaced by a steely determination as he turned back to his practice.

“If I’m not perfect, then I’m done. Alright?” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “If you can’t handle it, then fuck off.”

Silence.

You scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips even as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Wow,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Fuck you, Jiyong.”

You turned on your heel, grabbing your bag with shaking hands as you stormed out of the studio. You half-expected him to call after you, to chase after you and take it back. But he didn’t.

The only sound that followed you was the relentless pounding of the bass as he started the song over again.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold night air hit you, but it did nothing to dull the sting of his words. Your vision blurred as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. You barely registered getting into your car, hands gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

You had always known Jiyong could be stubborn, obsessive even. But this? This was something else. This was him drowning, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull him back to the surface.

And worst of all, he didn’t even want you to.

You barely made it into your apartment before collapsing onto your bed, burying your face in the pillows as sobs wracked your body. You cried until there was nothing left, until exhaustion took over, pulling you into a restless sleep.

-

How is he? You texted Seunghyun, your fingers hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

A few minutes passed before your phone buzzed with his response.

Being a total prick.

You sighed, pressing your forehead into your palm. It had been three days since you last spoke to Jiyong. Three days since he spat those words at you, since you walked out of that practice studio, feeling like the ground had been ripped from beneath you. Three days of silence.

And now, with BIGBANG’s first show of the tour just four days away, all you could do was check in through the others. You had been messaging Seunghyun and Daesung, hoping—maybe even praying—that Jiyong would come to his senses, that he’d realize how badly he had hurt you. But instead, he was still working himself into the ground, still burning himself out, and in return, treating everyone around him like shit.

You bit your lip, debating whether to text him. Your fingers hovered over his contact, but your stomach twisted at the memory of his voice.

"You’re a bartender, alright? You don’t have to be that skilled at anything."

That one line alone still stung like hell.

Jiyong had always been intense when it came to his career, but never—not once—had he spoken to you like that. You had been his best friend for years, his shoulder to lean on when things got too heavy. And yet, the moment you expressed concern, he shoved you away like you were nothing.

Was that really how he saw you? Just some nobody?

You blinked back the fresh sting of tears. No. You refused to let yourself dwell on it anymore. Instead, you did what you always did when life became too much—you threw yourself into work.

Extra shifts, late nights, anything to keep your mind occupied. And it worked… for the most part. But when Saturday rolled around, that familiar ache settled in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

You had never missed one of Jiyong’s home shows. Not once. From his first-ever performance to the biggest sold-out stadiums, you were always there, watching from the V.I.P section, cheering him on. But this time? This time, you weren’t even sure if he wanted you there.

So, you made the decision. You picked up an extra shift at the bar. Saturday nights were always hectic, and if nothing else, at least the tips would be good.

Still, as you got ready for work, your heart ached. It felt wrong not being there.

You glanced at your phone. Zero messages from Jiyong. Nothing. He wasn’t even going to check in. Not even a half-assed apology. Your fingers tightened around your phone, debating one last time if you should reach out.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath before quickly typing out a message.

“I love you, Ji. Good luck at your show tonight.”

Short. Simple. To the point.

You sent it before you could overthink it, shoving your phone into your bag and focusing on finishing your makeup.

-

Meanwhile…

Jiyong sat in the dressing room, his body slumped against the couch. His vision swam as he stared at his phone, your message illuminating the screen. His hands trembled as he gripped the device tighter, reading and rereading your words.

"I love you, Ji."

God, his chest ached.

His head was pounding, his skin slick with sweat despite the AC blasting in the room. He was exhausted—more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. His entire body ached, his muscles screaming in protest with every movement. He had barely eaten in days, barely slept. And now, the crushing weight of knowing you weren’t here—knowing that he had done this, that he had driven you away—was suffocating him.

She should be here, he thought bitterly.

You were always there. Always in the crowd, always waiting for him backstage with a knowing smile and a bottle of water, telling him how proud you were. No matter what, you were there.

But not tonight.

And it was his fault.

“Jiyong, are you okay?”

He barely registered his stylist’s voice until he felt the cool press of her hand against his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” she muttered, concern evident in her tone.

“M’fine…” he mumbled, swatting her hand away weakly.

She frowned but didn’t argue, instead focusing on finishing his hair, even though the strands were already damp from the sweat clinging to his skin. No amount of styling product would keep it in place—not with the way his body was overheating.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to push through the exhaustion. One hour until showtime. Just one more hour.

But even as he tried to rest, the shivering wouldn’t stop.

“Jiyong!”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Seunghyun and Taeyang’s voices.

“What?!” he snapped, his patience paper-thin.

The two men exchanged a glance before Taeyang took a cautious step forward. “Dude… you don’t look so good.”

Jiyong scoffed, turning onto his side to face the couch. “Fuck off, I’m fine…” His body trembled violently, contradicting his words. “Just leave me alone.”

Seunghyun frowned. “You’re sweating like hell, and you’re shaking, Ji. You seriously think you can get through a full show like this?”

Jiyong gritted his teeth, forcing himself to sit up. “I said I’m fine,” he ground out, even though the room spun around him.

The others weren’t convinced. They had seen Jiyong push himself too far before, but this? This was different. He looked pale—too pale. And the way his shoulders trembled, the way his breaths came out shallow and labored, sent a deep sense of unease through them all.

“We need to tell the manager,” Seunghyun finally said. “If he collapses on stage, it’s gonna be bad.”

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh. “I won’t collapse.”

“Bullshit,” Taeyang muttered. “You can barely sit up.”

The room fell into tense silence before Daesung finally spoke up. “I’m gonna call Y/n.”

Jiyong’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “No,” he croaked, but it was weak, barely a whisper.

“She can help,” Daesung insisted, already pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, good idea,” the others agreed.

Jiyong clenched his jaw, his fists tightening in his lap. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—to see him so weak, so broken.

But deep down, past all the pride, past all the self-inflicted suffering…

He just wanted you.

Because no matter how badly he fucked up, no matter how much he pushed you away…

You were the one person who could always put him back together.

The moment you stepped away from the bar, you broke into a sprint toward the bathroom, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket, each vibration sending a fresh wave of anxiety through you. Hands trembling, you yanked it out, eyes widening at the flood of missed calls.

Daesung. Seunghyun. Taeyang.

Something was wrong.

You barely had time to inhale before hitting Daesung’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Y/n, Jiyong needs you.” His voice was tight, urgent.

Your stomach clenched. “What’s going on? I’m at work.”

“I think it’s a panic attack or something. I don’t know—he won’t let any of us help him. Y/n, please, just come.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I don’t… I don’t think he wants me there, Daesung. We had a fight. He—he said some things…”

“He’s shutting down, Y/n. Our manager is thinking of canceling the show.” His voice cracked, desperation seeping through the line. “You’re his best friend. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”

Your fingers dug into the bathroom counter. The things Jiyong had said to you still echoed in your head, sharp and unforgiving. But was that really him talking? Or was it exhaustion twisting his words, pushing him past reason?

He was your person. Your best friend. And right now, he needed you.

“I’m on my way.” You hung up, moving quickly to gather your things, but before you could slip out, your boss caught sight of you.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? It’s packed out there—we need you!”

“I’m sorry, sir. Family emergency,” you stammered, throwing your apron onto the counter.

“If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.”

You met his glare, then—without a second thought—flipped him off and stormed through the crowded kitchen to the back door, heart hammering as you reached your car. You tossed your bag onto the passenger seat and peeled out of the parking lot, heading straight for the stadium. The city lights blurred past you, neon signs flickering against the darkening sky.

Your phone rang again. It was Daesung. “Hey, I’m almost there. Where do I go?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’re on the list,” Daesung said. “Just head backstage.”

You barely parked before jumping out of the car, navigating through the maze of security and flashing lights. The walls of the venue were lined with photos of legendary musicians, their eyes seeming to watch you as you ran past. Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

Then you heard Daesung call your name. “Y/n!” Daesung waved you over, his relief evident.

You didn’t waste a second. Following him down the hall, you turned a sharp corner and stepped into the dressing room. The air inside was thick with tension.

Jiyong sat hunched over, his elbows braced on his knees, his face pale and drawn. A paramedic stood beside him, pressing an ice pack to his head, murmuring something you couldn’t hear.

“Ji…” Your voice came out softer than you intended, your heart twisting at the sight of him. “What happened?”

His head lifted at the sound of your voice. His dark eyes met yours, wide and glassy.

Then, as if gravity had yanked him forward, he surged up from the couch and threw himself into your arms. His entire body trembled against you, his grip so tight it nearly stole your breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking.

You barely had time to steady yourself before he buried his face in your shoulder. His weight pressed into you, as if you were the only thing holding him up.

“Ji…” you whispered, your hands sliding up his back, fingers threading into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

His breath came in shuddering gasps. “I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have said those things. I should have listened to you—I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I—” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I’m just so fucking sorry.”

The others watched silently as he clung to you, their faces a mix of relief and quiet concern.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles into his back. “I forgive you.”

His shoulders shook as he let out a quiet sob, the dam finally breaking. The weight of exhaustion, pressure, and regret poured out of him all at once.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” you asked over his shoulder, still holding him.

Daesung nodded, ushering the others out. The paramedic handed you an ice pack and a bottle of water, giving you a small nod before exiting.

Jiyong let you guide him back to the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh. He wiped at his tear-streaked face, sniffling as you handed him the water. You pressed the ice pack gently to the back of his neck.

“Ji, tell me what happened.”

He took a slow sip, his voice hoarse. “I fucked up, Y/n.” He shook his head. “You were right. I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m exhausted. And then you weren’t here, and I just… I don’t know. I lost it.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t think you wanted me here after what you said to me.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, guilt swimming in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it. Not for a second. I was out of my head, Y/n. I’ve been beating myself up over it for days, but I was too ashamed to call.”

Your heart softened. You reached for him, pulling him close and pressing a light kiss to his temple. “I know, Ji.” You stroked his hair gently. “I just worry about you.” A quiet pause. “I love you.”

His breath hitched. “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked, his voice small. His big, innocent eyes searched yours, raw and vulnerable.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Of course I can. Just don’t ever say some dumb shit like that again.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips. “Cross my heart.”

“Do you feel any better? Do you need to cancel the show?”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand. “You fix everything. You always do. You’re magic like that.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against them.

Shivers ran down your spine.

“Here.” You tugged him down gently. “Lay back. You have forty-five minutes until the show. Rest as much as you can.”

With a deep breath, he let himself relax against the couch, his fingers still loosely curled around yours. You ran a comforting hand through his hair, cooling him down with the ice pack.

-

“How’s he doing?” Taeyang and Seunghyun appeared in the doorway of the dressing room, their faces laced with concern but softened by the sight of Jiyong sitting upright.

“I’m fine,” Jiyong muttered, his voice still a little hoarse. He ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly before flashing them a sheepish smile. “Sorry for being such a prick…”

Taeyang let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “We’re just glad you’re okay, man.”

Seunghyun smirked, glancing between the two of you. “Y/n, I think we need to keep you around more often. Seems like you’re the only one who can get through to him.”

You grinned. “Well, I just lost my job, so I’m free whenever!”

“What?” Jiyong snapped his head toward you so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. His smile faded instantly, replaced by guilt and concern.

You waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Ji. My boss was a fucking dick anyway. I was gonna quit eventually.”

But Jiyong wasn’t convinced. He looked down, his fingers twisting the hem of his shirt as his jaw clenched. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind—this was his fault. Another thing to add to the weight he carried.

“Hey.” You softened, reaching out and tilting his chin up with your fingers, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You’re more important, yeah?”

His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly before he muttered, “M’sorry…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

Your heart clenched. Without thinking, without hesitation, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

He froze for half a second, as if his brain was struggling to process what was happening. But then, slowly, he melted into you, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss.

It was hesitant at first—uncertain, full of unspoken words—but then something shifted. His fingers tightened against your skin, his lips moving with more urgency, more need. Like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you both jolt apart.

“Uh… show time in five,” Seunghyun said, eyes wide with amusement before he and Taeyang practically ran out of the room, leaving you and Jiyong in breathless silence.

As you pulled back just slightly, your noses brushed, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes were searching yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“W-what was that for?” he stammered, voice cracking slightly.

You bit your lip, hoping you hadn’t just overstepped everything. “Good luck,” you whispered, offering him a small smile.

Jiyong blinked at you, stunned. Then, to your surprise, his lips curled into a slow, boyish grin before he cupped your face and kissed you again. This time, it wasn’t hesitant—it was filled with silent promises, unspoken confessions, and years of built-up longing neither of you had dared to acknowledge until now.

You smiled against his lips, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Now go!” you laughed, gently shoving him toward the door. “You don’t wanna miss your first show.”

Jiyong stumbled back slightly, his grin never faltering. As he reached the doorway, he hesitated, his fingers lingering on the frame as he turned to look at you.

“You’ll be here when I get back?” he asked, almost shyly.

Your expression softened. “I’ll always be here, Ji.”

Something in his eyes shifted, like he was silently thanking whatever higher power had brought you into his life. Then, with a final, wide smile, he spun on his heel and took off down the hall, his energy renewed.

From backstage, you watched him take the stage, his presence electrifying the entire stadium. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but all you could focus on was him.

And as he stood under the blinding lights, microphone in hand, he turned his head ever so slightly—just enough to catch a glimpse of you in the shadows.

A private smile ghosted across his lips.

Your stomach flipped.

This was only the beginning of a whole new chapter in your life.

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----------------

I am crying when Jiyong picks up.

“He broke up with me!”

No hellos. At first, no reaction either. Just silence on the other end while my blurry vision scans the rainy street in front of the dark, lonely bus stop where I sit.

“What? Weren’t you having dinner with his parents tonight?”

“I thought so too.” My voice almost hiccups from crying. “But then he showed up alone and told me we should take a break because he needs to grow emotionally instead.”

Ji curses under his breath. Apparently, he finds that reason just as pretentious as I do. When the words came out of my (now) ex’s mouth, I thought it was a joke for a second. His face said otherwise.

“What a… fuckface.” That’s one way to put it. “Where are you now?”

“I… I bought wine and gummy worms and a new vacuum cleaner and now I am sitting with all that in a bus stop and…”

“Okay, what… why… why did you buy a… ah, whatever. You want to come over?”

Obviously, I want to come over. That is why I called. That is why I always call.

It’s not like we only see each other when my heart breaks; Jiyong and I have been friends since our early twenties. We’ve shared the good times, even had a joint birthday party or two. Group vacations. If he weren’t usually busy being a superstar, I’d say he’s my best friend. Well… no, he is my best friend.

But I definitely always do call him when I get my heart broken. He’s nice to me, he has cats to cuddle and that huge bathtub in his apartment. It’s just good being around him when I feel bad. Everyone should have a comfort-Jiyong. And did I mention the huge bathtub?

“Yeah, is that okay?” I still ask and he scoffs, because it's a stupid question and hangs up. Rude?

I get an Uber. The driver looks a little confused at the mascara-stained woman with a vacuum cleaner box on her lap, headed to Hannam. He doesn’t ask. I lean back dramatically and stare out at the lights flashing past. 

A bit later, I kick Ji’s door with my foot because my hands are full. Half with the box and the grocery bag of cheap wine and candy, half with my pride in shreds. Jiyong stares like I’ve tracked mud into his spotless apartment, which I probably have. His hair is messy in a way that says he didn’t plan for company, but I don’t care.

“You look like hell.” he says.

“I look like a woman scorned.” I kick off my shoes, shuffle past him and collapse on the couch. The cats follow me like I’m a human jungle gym, climbing onto my lap before I can even open the wine. “Your children missed me.”

“They like whoever feeds them.” He sets the bag on the table, pulls out the wine and raises a brow. “You brought screw-top Merlot. Truly the taste of heartbreak. I have better stuff here?”

“Don’t mock me in my time of suffering. And of course I couldn’t come empty-handed.” He scoffs again. I always invite myself over and pretend cheap wine makes us even. And then we usually drink his expensive stuff. Not sure what happens to my bottles actually.

I hold out my hands. “Pour it, servant.”

He ignores me, twists the cap and takes the first swig himself, straight from the bottle. I gasp like he just stole my firstborn.

“I needed that.” he groans, but when I reach for it, he lifts it higher.

“You’re supposed to comfort me.”

“I am comforting you. By saving you from drinking this.” Still, he hands it over. I take a huge sip. It’s gross. When I finally come up for air, he asks “So what did this one do?”

I fling myself dramatically against the couch cushion. “He was nobody’s son.”

Jiyong blinks. “And what the hell does that mean?”

“It means he was pretty, charming, sweet and absolutely allergic to commitment. It means I wasted six months on another guy who only wanted the honeymoon phase, but didn’t bother to tell me.”

“You mean he was an asshole.”

“Yes, thank you, Detective Obvious.” I pat Zoa, bury my face in her fur and mumble, “I just want someone who’ll love me forever. Is that so much to ask?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Ji watching me. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just watching with that unreadable expression he gets sometimes, like he knows something I don’t.

I swirl the bottle, watching the cheap red slosh. “He told me he was busy. All the time. Business trips, late nights, family dinners. Turns out…” I tip the bottle toward Jiyong like it’s a mic and pretend to be a game show host when I reveal the answer to it all. “…he was busy dating two other women. At the same time. Like a fucking group project.”

Jiyong freezes halfway into sitting down beside me. “You’re joking.”

“I wish.” I laugh, but it comes out cracked. “One of them DM’d me. Sent screenshots. Said she felt sorry for me. I confronted him and he said he didn’t realise we were THAT exclusive. For some reason, I said whatever, as long as from now on I’m the only one.” I look down, embarrassed. I do believe everyone should live the relationship model they want, but this was bullshit. We had talked about being exclusive when we… became exclusive? I knew he was lying, but I was sad and decided to turn a blind eye. “Et voilà. A couple of days later and he already decided I’m not enough. ‘Needs to grow emotionally’, my ass.” Even now I am aware this is probably for the best… But he could have done it in a way that didn’t make me feel like I am the problem. Like I am too much and not enough at the same time.

Ji’s jaw tightens, sharp as glass. “Where is he now?”

I blink. “Why?”

“So I can have him buried in the mountains.”

Despite myself, I grin. “So you kill people now?”

Ji shrugs, ruffling his hair. “I wouldn’t get caught. Or at least the people I would pay wouldn’t get caught.” His eyes flick to me, the muscle in his cheek jumps. “He strung you along for months. Lied to your face. Made you think you were crazy for wanting more. Do you know how much I want to kill him right now?”

“Aw.” I coo, reaching out with the bottle like I might toast him. “You love me.”

Jiyong’s face twitches. “I do, which is why I’m angry.” He leans forward. “Why do you keep letting men like that near you?”

The smile fades. My heart sinks. “Excuse me?”

“You fall for the same type every single time. Pretty face, smooth lines, a little mystery and you jump headfirst like you’ve never been burned before. The next one will be different, sure. One was a chaebol heir, one was American, one was a lawyer. But inside they were all shit.”

I sit up, indignant. “So this is my fault now?”

“I didn’t say that.” His voice is tight, rising. “I’m saying you need to be more careful. You say you want something real, but you’re not even looking in the right direction.”

I shove the cat off my lap and set the bottle down too hard. “Thanks, Ji. Really supportive.” My voice a bit shriller than I would have liked it to be.

He drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. “I am supportive. I’ve been supportive for years. I’ve been here every time some idiot breaks your heart. Do you know how insane it drives me to watch you cry over men who don’t even deserve to know your name?”

The mood shifts. We always banter, sure. But this is different. He’s not play-annoyed. He’s actually annoyed. And it hurts.

My throat tightens. I fight it. “You think I like this? You think I enjoy getting wrecked every few months? I want something serious, Ji. I want flowers, anniversaries, a family one day. I want someone who stays and is crazy about me. It’s not like I’m asking for the moon.”

“You say that, but your actions don’t match.” His voice is sharp, almost a shout. “If you really wanted that, you wouldn’t keep choosing men who run at the first sign of responsibility.”

I push to my feet, heat flooding my face. So that’s what he thinks? Really thinks? That I’m some masochist who’d rather get my heart broken than date for real? Fuck him. Also: “And where the hell are these men you think I’m supposed to find, oh wise rapper GD? Point them out, please. I’ll go get one right now.”

At some point, he’s stood too. The air between us is heavy. His jaw flexes. We haven’t fought like this since the New Year’s fiasco in 2015. Then he jabs a finger at his own chest.

“Here. Right here. Open your damn eyes.”

I blink at him, stunned. “Very funny.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” His voice is low, rough. “You want someone who’ll stay? Who’ll give you family and flowers and big gestures? I would. I’d give you all of it. I’d love to make you happy. I’d love to have children with you.” His mouth twists into something like a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’d even enjoy the process.”

My heart stumbles. “Oh fuck off… you’re crazy.”

“No. I’m not.” His frustration is all over him: eyes sharp, shoulders tense, hands restless. “I’m just a good man you refuse to see. Because you’re too busy chasing idiots. And I would know… I used to be the biggest idiot. Still am often, actually. But not with you. For you, I’d be good.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. My pulse is thundering in my ears.

I grab my bag, because if I don’t leave right now, I’ll say something I can’t take back. “I need air.” I mutter, pushing past him. He doesn’t stop me.

…but outside, there’s not enough air to erase what I just heard.

“Clearly he’s doing harder drugs now.” I mutter in an Uber a couple of minutes later, even though he seemed perfectly sober. He was wearing pyjamas. Who does hard drugs in pyjamas? Ah, what do I know.

“What? Who is?” The cabbie looks confused, which is fair. These are the first words I’ve said to him.

“My best friend. Who just told me he wants to start a family with me. He must be using.”

Silence.

“Or… he wants to start a family with you?” the guy offers. I shoot him an evil look. He has a two-star rating coming his way.

At home, I sit by the window and feel like crying.

What the fuck happened tonight. Over the next couple of days, I try to convince myself he didn’t mean it. He MUST not have meant it. Maybe he was speaking figuratively. Like… good men like him. Not him. It’s not that I never thought about it, of course. Considering these things, especially when meeting someone new, is normal, right? And we even kissed once. Or twice?  But it was a dare when we got drunk and we were basically babies. Okay, maybe twenty-four, but I can barely remember it and we never talked about it again and… well… does it even count if it’s been so long?

I don’t text him. And he doesn’t text me either. A week later, while I’m at work, my phone finally buzzes.

Jiyong: Your vacuum cleaner is still here. Should I let someone bring it over to you?

----------------------------------------------------------------

JIYONG

Break-up no. 12 – Two years ago

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help with the move.” I say, collapsing a box of kitchen utensils.

She takes it and drops it with the others. “I mean… you are right now, right?”

I shrug, then nod. “Well, yeah, but you know what I mean…”

She waves it off. “You were busy abroad, I get it. Also… what would that have looked like? You? Signing autographs in front of my ex’s apartment instead of helping?”

She touches my arm, teasing like I couldn’t carry much anyway. I swat her hand away and grab a heavy stack of plates, trying to lift it to the highest shelf like it’s effortless. It’s not, but my ego needs it.

She’s right, of course. Still, I’m here now.

Even I thought this relationship might last. After my usual jealous streak when she found someone new, I admitted the guy seemed decent. Should’ve known something was off. Tax evasion on the level of jail time? New. Cheating on her with his lawyer? That’s a new record, even for her. She’s so fucking unlucky with men, my god.

“Still, thanks for always being there, Ji. I promise the next one will be the last. So you won’t have to pick up the pieces again.”

I can’t help smiling at her. She still believes in the next one. The one true love. It’s always the next person she dates. She’s a hopeless romantic and after all the shit she’s been through, I admire her for it.

Break-up no. 7 – Five years ago

“And so… basically… It’s a good thing.” She says it like she almost believes it. I don’t, but who cares. My job is to listen. “I can finally concentrate on what’s important.”

We’re at a bar. She looks incredible, hair freshly cut, outfit perfectly styled. She needs to believe she’s fine with the breakup. And even though I told her he was bad news from the start, I can’t gloat. At least she isn’t crying or drunk. This could still be a good night.

“Good, I’m glad. Whatever makes you happy.” I smile at her.

She scans my face, suspicious, but I just keep smiling and nudge the shared starter platter toward her. She takes some, then looks down. Her shoulders sink and my heart cracks.

Of course, she has priorities outside her love life. But I know her. Her number one priority has always been love. Lover girl. I relate.

“Man, I can already tell this will be good for you. You’re glowing. You look so good tonight.” I blurt it out without thinking, just trying to make her feel better.

She looks up again, smiling, beaming almost. Exactly what she needed to hear.

I’m getting too good at this.

Break-up no. 1 – Seven years ago, four months after they met

She calls me in the middle of the night. If I’m honest, I half-hope it’s a drunk booty call. Instead, she’s crying so hard she can barely talk. Eventually, I get a location out of her. Not far, but it’s pouring, a Saturday night, people everywhere. I throw on a hoodie and a mask and hurry there.

I find her sitting on the sidewalk, clutching a soju bottle in each hand. Pathetic, but also a little funny.

“Aish… what’s going on, it can’t be that bad…”

She looks up, face a mess, lets the bottles drop and raises her arm like a toddler who wants to be picked up. I can’t lift her, but I can sit beside her and wrap my arms around her.

“What happened?”

“He… he left me and I didn’t know who else to call…”

Her head is on my shoulder, soaking it with tears.

Let’s be honest. I’m not used to being friend-zoned this hard. When we met a few months ago, I flirted. She thought I was joking, laughed, kept telling me about her boyfriend. The guy’s good-looking, sure, but I’m cooler. Didn’t matter. To her, I was the party buddy. Then the hangover buddy. Now? The emergency-contact buddy. A “good friend.”

Not sure I’m comfortable with that.

But her sobs are loud, people stare and my heart hurts because hers does.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine, little one.” I say it softly, because I know how it feels. I just show it differently. Less crying, more angry lyrics.

“No, it won’t. I’ll never be happy again. There’s no one like him.”

I almost laugh. She’s so dramatic and I always liked that about her. That night we met at the club, she told me to remember her face, because meeting her would soon be one of my most cherished memories. I laughed, asked why and she just said Watch me, downed two shots and did the dumbest little dance under purple and yellow lights. Just ran straight to the by that time of the night emptied dance floor. No skill, no sex appeal, just pure fun. She indeed was unforgettable.

I think I fell for her right then and there.

So I hug her tighter, swaying. “Ah, bullshit. There are a million guys for you. All with great hair, dumb jokes, amazing in bed. It’s good he’s gone - you wouldn’t meet them if he was still around.”

She laughs a little, then cries again. But that’s okay. I’ll hold her until she stops.

I think I’ve been in love with her since that stupid dance. But she doesn’t love me back and being her friend is the next best thing.

HER

Two weeks later, I go to pick up the vacuum. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other, I guess. When he’s on tour, I sometimes don’t see him for months, but that feels different. I still get sleepy voice notes and cat pictures from his housekeeper. I’ve even hung out at his place when he wasn’t home - he thought it was weird, but I told him the cats shouldn’t be abandoned by me just because he did.

Every day, I had moments where I thought, I need to tell Jiyong about this. But I didn’t. It’s awkward. We both know it.

I’m low-key sweating in the elevator.

And then… It’s fine. Weird and different, but fine. He pretends nothing ever happened, so I do too. We chat. He tells me what he’s been up to. We eat ramen. I go home. Not how we usually are, but maybe we just needed to shake it off.

The next morning, I still feel weird. I miss my friend. I miss Ji.

My brain keeps circling. Maybe he only said it to prove a point. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he lost his mind. But sometimes, sitting at work, I wonder. What if…?

Wouldn’t being friends first be a solid base for something real? That’s what people with healthy long-term relationships often say. Ignoring the chaos of his fame, he’d make a good boyfriend, right? A caring one. He can be charming…

And then I wonder what he’s like in bed and I blush so hard my co-worker asks if I’m okay. Honestly, I’m not sure.

That night, my head and heart and body form an alliance against me and I dream about him.

We are on his couch. My safe space. Comfortable, familiar. We’re having tea - ridiculous, because I never drink tea, only he does. Probably just my brain trying to keep it as wholesome as possible before everything tilts. Good dramatic effect, I have to admit.

Because suddenly I’m pulling his arm, dragging him down with me until we sink into the cushions like it is quicksand. Physically impossible, but in dreams, anything goes. He looks startled at first, then his face softens and suddenly we’re tangled, half on top of each other. Somehow I’m on his lap. Somehow, my hands are in his hair, tugging lightly and he closes his eyes like he’s savoring it.

His mouth twitches and I want to kiss it so badly, but the dream won’t let me. It’s like there’s a string pulling me close, but never close enough. I whimper in frustration and the sound makes his eyes snap open. What I see there wrecks me - frustration, yes, but also longing. Lust. I want him even more.

And then his hands are on me. Sliding up my sides, slipping lower, tracing my waist like he owns it. Unfair. He can touch me, but I can’t kiss him? His body is solid beneath mine, his cock hard against me, my own body aching wet for him. Please, just…

A noise cuts through. We both look up. 

My mom is standing beside the couch. 

His too, actually. Both unimpressed.

“So… just so you know… he actually isn’t Nobody’s Son. He is mine.”

Oh god, there is nothing as scary as pissed momma Kwon.

And then I wake up.

I try to compartmentalize the whole following day. File it under random dream nonsense. Doesn’t work.

Because I get more the next night…

One moment I’m falling asleep, the next I’m watching him across a golden-tinted room that feels surreal. Makes sense, it’s a dream after all. He’s leaning back in a chair that looks more like a throne, one hand curled over the backrest, legs spread in that careless sprawl he does when he forgets anyone is watching. Except that he knows my eyes are on him. His grin is sly, slow, the kind you want to slap off - or kiss until you can’t breathe.

This dream is nothing like the other. The other one at least started cozy. This is… fae-smut-romance territory. Because somehow… he has a crown and wings and I should stop reading that shit, clearly.

He stands and even that is unfairly elegant. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, the sharp line of his ass in black tight leather pants. 

My throat goes dry. His grin sharpens into something dangerous. Half-promise, half-threat.

He doesn’t need to move closer, but of course he does. Each step is deliberate. Eyes locked on mine.

Then his hands are on me again - slim fingers skating over my sides, dragging across my ribs before sliding higher to cup my breast. Uhm, why am I naked? Unfair.

His thumb brushes my nipple and I gasp, embarrassingly needy. He laughs, low and delighted, then bends his head, lips pressing to my collarbone, tongue circling lower, slower.

I arch into him, already aching. His mouth lingers over the swell of my breast, teeth grazing, lips closing around my nipple until I moan. He knows. Of course, he knows. His palm drags lower, resting just above where I need him. Cruel. He kisses down over my ribs, my stomach, pausing to breathe hot against my skin until I clench around nothing while he kneels in front of me.

“Please” I whisper, though I don’t remember deciding to speak.

Instead of giving me what I want, he kisses the inside of my thigh. Wet, open-mouthed kisses that get closer, then retreat. His hand spreads my legs wider, thumb pressing just beside where I throb. He’s too good at this, every second orchestrated to make me ache harder.

I want his tongue, his fingers, his filthy voice. I can almost feel it, but the dream refuses. He stays maddeningly slow, teasing bites on my inner thigh.

I can’t take it. I push my hips up, chasing his mouth, but he only chuckles. Shakes his head. His tongue flicks once, fast, infuriating. I let out a sound that’s more growl than moan, but he just smiles, elegant and smug, as if he knows exactly how undone I am. 

And then I wake. Sheets twisted around me, skin damp with sweat.

It feels like his mouth is still on me, his laugh still low in my ear. I don’t even think before my hand slides under the sheets, slipping between my thighs.

I’m soaked. My fingers glide over my clit too easily and I moan into the pillow, embarrassed even though I’m alone. My body doesn’t care. It rocks into my touch like it’s his, like he’s finally giving me what I begged for.

When the orgasm crashes through me, I’m left panting, heart racing, the dream dissolving, but his face still sharp in my mind. 

That grin. That deliberate teasing. I press my palm to my face, half-laughing, half-mortified.

What the hell was that?

Except I know exactly what it was. I just got myself off thinking about my best friend.

--------------

So, there we are.

I kind of hate myself after I start wondering if I only like him because he suddenly gave me attention. Or maybe not so suddenly. I don’t know. Either way, it’s not a good reason to want someone, right?

But the next time we’re at a bar with friends, about three weeks after the incident, I look across the table at Ji and wonder how I didn’t see him before. Just like he said.

If I think about it… all those things he says I’m into - “pretty face, smooth lines, a little mystery” - he’s all of that. And I know he isn’t some innocent little angel; he messed up in the past. Sometimes badly, however, he left that behind him in recent years. But at the same time, he’s the guy who loves nothing more in the world than his cats and his parents and his friends. The one with a collection of cuddly blankets on the couch, who’ll watch a drama with you if you ask nicely, who remembers random details from things you told him ages ago and organizes amazing cakes and flowers for my birthday and…

…fuck.

Turns out Kwon Jiyong is fucking dreamy.

I realise it in the middle of this lively crowd. From one moment to the next, I know this isn’t a fluke.

I’ve loved him for the longest time.

But maybe I also… like… love love him.

Because right now I want to circle his name with a heart, just because he’s leaning over a napkin, sketching something no one else can see. Tongue sticking out a little as he concentrates. Around him, it’s drunk people, loud music, a whole dinner table. But he’s off in his own world. Only to snap out seconds later and rejoin the circle he built around us over the years, laughing, telling stories, cheeks flushed from the drinks and totally present. I love both those sides of him.

I don’t think he notices my stare, but then his head turns and his eyes find mine nevertheless. He looks surprised, like this is something he always does, but usually I’m not there glaring back. 

I almost look away. But I don’t. We just keep staring and I can’t help but smile. He smiles too. My eyes flick toward the hallway and then I get up.

Waiting there, I start to get nervous. Maybe he didn’t understand. But then he appears, confusion written all over his face.

“You good?” he asks.

His cheeks are red, his eyes spacy. He’s drunk and so am I. Not the only reason this isn’t a good idea.

I nod. Don’t speak at first, just stare until he slows down, frowning a little.

“What?”

“Can I try something?”

He shrugs, then nods hesitantly.

And then I just kiss him.

Let me say this again. Not a good idea.

Maybe realising I like someone like him is, but throwing caution to the wind and just trying something with your best friend? Really not a good idea.

But it doesn’t matter. No, screw that. It’s a great idea.

He tastes of soju and cigarettes. It doesn’t sound romantic, but in the moment, it’s perfect. Even before he reacts, his lips feel right on mine. I kiss into him, press him back against the wall. Ji freezes for a second, then jolts into action.

His arms wrap around me, not my waist exactly, more like a hug over my back. It feels like he’s holding on now that I’ve finally made it into his arms. And when he kisses me back - firm and determined and perfect - I lose my mind. Forget where I am. Forget who I am.

We stumble sideways into the wall, one of his palms now warm against my cheek, stroking my hair. His tongue gentle against mine.

It’s so good, it feels like I’ve been playing kissing on an easy level my whole level and now finally get to advance.

“How long…” he finally gets out between kisses “do you need to try before you have a verdict?”

I shut his mouth with mine and he chuckles into my lips.

I don’t know… Except for maybe that I don’t want to stop. 

We move further away from the light, deeper into the hallway and eventually he does halt us. His hand on my back steadies me, the other one gently pushes me away. I growl. But try to stand on my feet without needing his support, looking up at him a little pouty. A little embarrassed, a little upset, a little horny.

“Not like this…” he finally gets out and there are so many things visible in his eyes that I get overwhelmed as well. Hunger, but also a little sadness. 

“Like what?” I ask, breathless. My hands reach for him, wanting him back close.

“Like a drunk mistake.”

That halts me. Well, nah, don’t call me a mistake… 

I guess he didn’t; he did the opposite. He sees me pouting more and I can tell he is having a hard time resisting not at least hugging me. Instead, he moves a hand across my hair, putting a couple of strands where they belong. 

I let my shoulders slump. 

Jiyong leans in, whispers an almost apologetic, somewhat soothing. “I’m gonna head home…” into my ear. 

But instead of acknowledging that he is being good, I hold onto his shirt for a second. “Can I come?”

“Oh my god, you are the devil.” he says, laughing, creating distance between us again, but at the same time clearly enjoying that I am being that needy. “No, you can’t. But you can call me tomorrow when you are sober again, alright? No matter what the verdict of the trial was.” 

He lets go and smiles and disappears. And I stand there for a second, then I go back to the table and decide to get absolutely shitfaced. 

----------------------

The hangover the next morning feels like a movie one. I wake up disoriented with a headache from hell. Cry a little, moan a little, only leave the bed because I have to pee and drink at least two bottles of water. Feeling strangely accomplished because I even manage to brush my teeth and stand under the shower long enough to call it a shower, though just barely.

That is when I remember. The headache eases for a second, leaving room for the flash of Jiyong. Close and far away at the same time. At first, I thought it was another dream, but it wasn’t. That happened.

My heart rate spikes, my headache slams back into me and I crawl into my bathrobe, then into bed.

With every pounding throb behind my eyes, I squeeze them shut tighter. Oh god. What did I do? Regret floods me, but not entirely. The memory is too good. Still, I’m terrified. At some point, I remember him telling me to reach out, but I can’t bring myself to. It takes an eternity to grab my phone, battery almost dead, screen lit up with notifications.

No texts from him though. No calls. :///

Maybe he’s waiting for me to wake up. Maybe he wants to give me time to recover. Maybe… he changed his mind, maybe…

The doorbell rings. I think I might faint from how badly my head protests. Moving slowly, I shuffle to the door and then freeze, because it’s him.

I sigh, let him in and try to steady myself against the wall. When Jiyong steps into the frame, my heart does something weird, slowing and quickening at the same time. He just stares at me.

“Hey… I just wanted to see if you are… lucid?”

“Barely.” I groan, watching him close the door behind him. “I think I drank a lot after you left.”

“Yeah, you did.”

His hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions, clearly he is not what I would consider well rested and I can’t help but stare at him.

“How would you know?”

“The voice messages you left me were really hard to understand.”

“I did… no…”

Tears threaten immediately. Why do I always overdo everything?

“Did I really?”

He smiles, shoulders sinking deeper into his jacket as his hands slide into the pockets. “Nah, just kidding.”

“What? Don’t mess with me like that…”

“It was just the one.”

That’s all it takes. A couple of seconds later, I’m crying. My headache rages.

“Oh, hey, no…” he says, half laughing, half concerned and moves toward me, wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t mean to… It’s fine. Don’t cry over this, okay? You were being kinda cute, actually. It was just obvious you had a bit too much, so I figured I’d check on you.”

I sink into him right away, hiding my face against his jacket. The light still hurts my eyes, but in his arms, I feel a bit better. 

He smells good. He feels even better. Warm and real and steady.

“That bad?” His voice is right by my ear as he strokes my head.

I nod and sob a bit more. “Was I actually cute in the message?”

“Super cute.” His grin is audible.

“Did I tell you any secrets?”

He chuckles. “You want to listen to it?”

“Absolutely not. Just tell me what I said.”

“That you were walking home. That you really want to visit Spain at some point next year. And that I’m a very good kisser.”

Embarrassing, but not as bad as it could have been. I could have mentioned how dreamy he is. Or worse, the dreams. If I did, he’s keeping it to himself.

“Let’s get some hangover cure into you, hm?” he says eventually, swaying me gently. I nod.

A few minutes later, I’m back in bed, painkillers and herbal medicine downed. Ji stands over me like he pities me and I find myself enjoying the attention if I'm honest. I open my arms lazily, an unspoken plea for cuddles. He looks relieved, slides in beside me and holds my hand. Strokes my hair.

“You know…” I mutter after I have hidden my face a little. “You really are a good kisser.” It comes out soft, uncertain.

Ji grins. “I know.” The grin isn’t wicked, just full of quiet happiness. If I had the strength, I’d make sure he understood I wasn’t just drunk last night, but my thoughts move too slowly. For now, this is enough. 

This and clinging to him. My hands bunching his shirt, my face buried in the crook of his neck. I’ve known him long enough, seen him with women. He loves that shit; he is a cuddler. Love boy.

And the best part is… so am I. Maybe it really should have been obvious all along. Maybe I’ve been blind.

“Go back to sleep, okay?” he says gently. I want to protest, but don’t. I doze off instead, drifting in and out. Whenever I jolt awake, he’s still there, smiling at me, one hand resting on me while the other scrolls his phone. He soothes me back to sleep every time.

When I wake up properly, it’s almost evening. My headache has calmed down. At some point, he must have pulled a blanket over us both.

“Feeling a bit better?” Ji asks and I pause as if checking. Then I nod. I do. Still tired, but not in pain. The painkillers must have helped but so did having him here. I just know it. And I’m not ready to let go, leaning into his side until he turns to face me, no longer on his back but on his side as well.

As cheesy as it sounds, looking at him now feels different. Things I always knew about him suddenly stand out sharper, brighter. He is so fucking beautiful.

My hand drifts up his chest without thinking, resting against his cheek. Stubble rough under my fingertips, skin warm, the faint smell of his cologne tangled with my detergent in the sheets. It’s good. Too good.

“Do you need to try something again?” he asks, smiling gently, his thumb stroking my arm. I nod.

Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in and press my lips to his. A peck, soft and careful, like testing the weight of something precious. He freezes, almost forgets to breathe, so I do it again - this time with the tiniest smile tugging at my mouth. It’s nothing like the messy, drunken kiss at the bar. This one feels deliberate. Sober. A choice.

He exhales slowly, eyes lingering on mine as if he needs a second to come back to himself. Then he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and lets out a quiet laugh, almost to himself. He shifts upright. “You should sleep more. And I should head home.”

He’s probably right. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave and I don’t want him to. But it’s better that way and I do need the rest. Only…

“Without… without kissing me back?”

It comes out more desperate than I meant, but once the thought slips out, I can’t take it back.

His brow arches, amused. “What?”

“You… you’ve never…” I trail off, suddenly too awkward to finish. I pull the blanket higher, hiding in it, which is ridiculous because normally I never shut up. But right now, everything is too much.

A few seconds pass. Then he tugs gently at the blanket until I let go.

His grin could kill me. “Sorry, you’re right. I can’t go without kissing you back.” He cups my cheek and leans down, finally doing it.

Soft and careful, but insistent. He doesn’t stop, not until the moment stretches into forever. When he finally lets go, he sighs against my mouth. 

“There’s food in the fridge. Eat later, okay?”

I mumble something that might be a yes, still lost in the kiss. I want to pull him back, make him stay, but my arms are heavy and he’s already done so much. He leaves and I don’t stay awake for long. Just long enough to realise that if this is a bad idea, it’s already too late. And somehow I don’t think it is.

----------

A couple of days later - ugh, busy guy, always busy - I’m standing in the elevator up to his place. Waiting to see him again has driven me half-crazy. Sure, we texted and it was… cute. But not enough. I may not have waited as long as he has, but he’s clearly better at it than I am. Because when he opens the door, my coat is already undone and underneath I’m wearing nothing but a black underwear set.

Ji was about to pull me into a hug, but then stops. Then he bursts out laughing. Hard.

My brows knit immediately, because hello, this is supposed to be curves-curves-curves, not comedy hour. I push inside quickly, the door shutting behind me. 

He’s still laughing, hand over his face.

“What the hell - you can’t - stop, you -” He can’t even finish through his laughter. My ego stings, so I toss my purse down, kick my shoes off and stalk past him.

“No, oh god, noooo. You look amazing.” he gets out between laughs, following me. He tries to slide an arm around me. I resist, then give in with a pout. 

“It’s just… you surprised me, okay? I need a second to catch up. Oh my fucking god, you look so good. I can’t believe I—”

His eyes roam down my body and at least that soothes the sting. “

“Missed me THAT much?” he finally teases, cocky as ever.

I did miss him that much. But I wanted him flustered, not smug. Then again, this is Jiyong. Of course, he’s teasing. 

Doesn’t mean he won’t crack eventually. He can do both. He is both.

“And here I thought we needed to have a serious talk.” he says.

“We can talk instead, if that’s what you prefer.” I shoot back, shrugging.

His grin only widens. He closes the distance, fingers gliding across my hips, pulling me in. Goosebumps rise instantly. His hands shake though and that makes my pout soften.

“If it helps…” he murmurs “I missed YOU a lot.” Then he kisses me like he means it. No hesitation, no awkwardness - like this is what we should’ve been doing all along. My arms wind around his neck and for the first time, it feels less like crossing a line and more like finally stepping onto the right side of it. 

I drop the coat and go full drama. He stumbles a little, wordless, like he’s trying to put thoughts into sentences and they keep slipping away. I grin because I can see him unravel.

“Well, shit” he finally murmurs, looking up at my face. “Fucking finally.” He kisses me hard, then pulls back to grin. “Have you met my bed? You should. You two would get along.”

I laugh and let him herd me toward his bedroom. By the time we reach the bed, it’s chaos. Hands everywhere, his clothes half-removed, his laughter hot against my neck. The mattress swallows me and he’s on top of me. It’s not careful, not sweet. It’s everything that’s been waiting. He takes my lower lip between his teeth, groans when I arch up and grind. I can feel how much he wants this and it makes my head spin.

His hand slips between my legs and for a second, I can’t believe it’s real. It is real. It feels impossibly good. And the smug grin reappears when he realizes how damp my panties got simply from the thought of all this happening. Hands fumble my bra open, the little dimple appears when he smiles in the corner of his mouth because he has an idea… and then he pushes me onto my stomach, palm pressing into the small of my back. The change in position makes me gasp. I glance at the white sheets in front of me, wide-eyed and surprised, his fingers back between my legs, rubbing me until thighs shake.

His lips are at my ear. “I know you. I know how you like it.”

My eyes go even wider. Oh, good god. He does.

We’ve teased, we’ve joked, we’ve overheard each other’s stupid secrets for years. He knows the corners of me. He knows the way to make me melt and apparently even my favourite position. He moves my arms to lie beside my head, firm but careful, like he’s settling me in. Then he pulls my panties down, slides between my legs and I feel his cock press against my thighs.

“Shit, Ji… I…” The words fall out of me, jagged and useless.

“If you don’t want it, say it. That’s fine.” he murmurs, one hand gliding between the sheets and my stomach, then up to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple. His touch is patient for a beat, then intent.

“No. I want it. I want it so bad.” I try to tilt my pelvis and meet him, but he pushes me back down with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. He reaches for the bedside table and its contents.

When he pushes in, it’s deep, right away, an angle that steals my breath and punches the world to white noise but slow at the same time. My cheek presses into the sheets. I clamp one hand around a pillow as he finds a slow, hungry rhythm. God. He was right. I do love this. The angle, his weight, the fact that it’s him - it scrambles me.

Each thrust drags over every place that makes me clench. His hand fists at my hip, the other slides up my spine in lazy, claiming strokes. He leans close enough that his breath hitches across the back of my neck. “Good?”

I answer him with a sound, a needy, raw moan. My hips tilt back without thinking, chasing him. He groans louder and drives harder until the bed creaks. The friction builds until I’m tight and trembling and soaked.

Then I turn my weapon on him. I know him as well. I know what makes him lose it. He is into good old fashioned blowjobs. And maybe a bit of risky semi-public hand stuff. But he fucking loves a dirty mouth.

“You’re so good at this.” I gasp, breath shaking. “You’re fucking me so well.”

He stutters, hips stalling for the briefest second. “Don’t-” he breathes.

I keep going, breathy and taunting. “God, you knew exactly how badly I needed it, right?”

He growls now, the sound equal parts laughter and hunger. “You little shit.” he says, realising what I am doing, then thrusts harder.

I smirk into the sheets. “What’s wrong, can’t take a little praise?” The last word ends in a moan because he is so deep inside of me and one of his hands grasps my wrist.

“Fuck you” he mutters, laughing now, though he doesn’t stop moving. “You are” I shoot back, breathless and grinning, turning my head as far back as I can.

And that’s it - we both crack. Actual laughter, bubbling up between us, ridiculous and hot and so us. He’s still inside me, still moving, but the giggles shake through our bodies until finally he stills, forehead pressed to my back as he catches his breath. Why are we doing this? Just because we know each other so well doesn’t mean we HAVE to skip that slow close first time?

“I want to see you.” I manage, voice thick. I turn my head and he slides out, then rolls me over, easing me onto my back with the kind of slow care that makes my knees weak. He moves above me, hair falling into his face, eyes dark and searching. “Better?” he asks with that crooked grin, one hand on each side of my head. I nod and gently touch his face. He leans into the touch for a second.

So much better. Ji kisses me, mouth urgent and soft at once. When he pushes in this time, it’s even slower, more deliberate, a rhythm that makes everything feel like it’s aligning. Our mouths find one another between thrusts, messy and hungry. His hands cup my face, my nails drag his back until he groans. He traces lazy circles with his tongue across my chest and every noise I make summons a low groan from him.

It’s imperfect at times. Knees bump. We laugh into moans. His hair tickles my neck. It’s messy. It’s real. It’s gorgeous. 

When I come undone, it is less fireworks and more of a long, building wave. It hangs between us, warm and endless and somehow more satisfying because it is not sharp and quick. I shake beneath him. He collapses over me, breath hot against my collarbone, kissing the hollow under my ear.

My eyes open. He’s looking at me with that soft intensity that makes me feel cradled. Ji presses a thumb against my temple, tracing slow, lazy lines. I have never felt so seen. I think he loves me.

Panic bubbles up in me, old habits twitching, doubts spitting their rehearsed lines. What if this burns out? What if he leaves? My chest tightens.

He reads it in my face, then shifts, easing out and pulls me into a sideways hug. “Don’t… don’t get over me now that you have me, okay?” The words come without plan. I wasn’t even aware of that fear myself, but now that I can see how fucking happy I could be with him, the thought of losing that again is terrifying. Not sure if this is the moment I would like to do this… I wanted to bask in afterglow… Jiyong looks surprised, his eyebrows move around in all sorts of emotions. “Are you really worried about that?” I shrug a little and then nod. Because… yo, even I think I am annoying. Fun as well. Even funny sometimes. But fucking annoying!

“I can’t… I can’t be too much this time. Not with you.” I murmur, scenes flooding my brain of exes telling me different versions of the same story, so I close my eyes again. Ji looks at me for a second. Then he uses his arms to push up, detangling our bodies. Only to then lean farer over me so I have to look at him.

“Okay. I need you to really hear this, yeah? You are… dramatic as fuck. You are so loud and… sometimes crazy annoying, I am not gonna lie.” I pout. Great. “But that is my favourite thing about you. And you are my favourite person. So basically it is what I like best ever… ever ever.” My face is hesitant, so he keeps going. “You’re a fucking weirdo. Why do you always have to drink so much when you know you can’t handle it. And why… why have you kept on dating these idiots? Why the hell did you buy that vacuum cleaner? Like… I am serious. That was so weird. None of that makes sense, but I love it… You have… passion for everything you do and I could never ever think you are too much. You showed up in underwear and a coat? That was so cool and random? And we just had like… fantastic sex, but also laughed during that? I… love… everything about you…” His face is so close to mine, Ji is pressing his lips gently against the corner of my mouth. “I have loved everything about you for years, so please don’t ever be scared of that. Not with me. You were looking for the one? The person who will be the last? Fucking hell, let it be me…”

My mouth twitches. I want to believe him with my whole body. The old scripts about being left whisper like ghosts. I push them down because he would not say this if he did not mean it. I know his coffee order, his kinks, his offbeat habits. And that he would not lie about this.

“Okay” I manage at last, a small sound that feels huge.

He laughs, delighted. “Okay? That’s it? I finally made you speechless?”

I nod and trace his cheek with my finger. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

He squeezes me close. “It’s fine. You’ll be in love with me in no time, I am just giving you time to catch up.” He winks, cockily sure, moving in for another kiss.

Maybe he’s joking to lighten the mood. But I think I won’t need very long.

Actually… I am probably already there.

<3

------------------

Weeeeee, how are we feeling?

Wiping a smudge of blue washable paint from her cheek, she let out a breath and stood up. The school bell chimed, indicating the frantic morning drop-off rush was finally over. The toddlers were safely corralled, the assistant teachers had the circle-time reading under control, and Y/n finally had a three-minute window to step out onto the shared brick patio and grab the morning mail.

The moment she stepped outside, the humid morning air hit her, but so did the heavy metallic buzz of a tattoo machine coming from next door.

 Studio Noir was the shop that occupied the other half of the duplex building. The shop's door swung open at the exact same moment Y/n reached into the mailbox. Out stepped Jiyong, holding a steaming cardboard cup of black coffee.

To anyone else on the block, Jiyong looked like an advertisement for beautiful, bad decisions. Intricate black ink crawled behind his neck and disappeared down his side. He was built to intimidate.

To Y/n, however, he was just the neighbor who always left his bright neon parlor sign on late at night so she wouldn't have to walk to her car in the dark.

Jiyong stopped on the patio, lowering his sunglasses just enough to look at her over the wire rims. His brown eyes scanned her face, tracking the blue paint on her cheek up to the top of her head.

"You have glitter in your hair," Jiyong mumbled. His voice was a low.

Y/n didn't even blink at the blunt observation. Instead, she beamed up at him, her sunshine energy bouncing right off his solid exterior. "Good morning to you too, Jiyong, It’s craft day. Glitter is an occupational hazard."

Jiyong let out a low grunt that sounded suspiciously like a huff of amusement, though his lips didn't curve in the slightest. He took a slow sip of his coffee. "It’s a biohazard. It gets everywhere."

"It adds sparkle to the neighborhood," she countered playfully, flipping through the stack of envelopes.

Before Jiyong could retort, the fenced-in playground area right next to the patio erupted. A couple of student's noticed Y/n standing outside and instantly charged the fence, their tiny faces pressing against the wire grid.

"Teacher Y/n! Look at my rock!"

"Teacher! Min-jun took the blue block!"

But then, a little girl with pigtails named Sara spotted the tall, dark-clad man standing next to you. Instead of crying or running away from the imposing figure, Sara frantically waved both arms above her head.

"Hi, Mr. Tattoo Man!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

Jiyong froze. His coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. He looked left, then right, as if hoping the toddler was addressing a different tattoo artist standing on the pavement. No such luck. Within three seconds, four other toddlers joined in, yelling greetings at him and showing off their light-up shoes through the fence.

Y/n watched out of the corner of her eye, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress a grin. Jiyong always claimed he found the daycare noise entirely irritating. He complained about the kid-friendly pop music bleeding through the shared drywall.

Yet, Jiyong didn't walk away.

Instead, he lowered his sunglasses completely, looked at Sara, and gave the toddler a tiny wave.

Sara giggled hysterically.

They adore you, you know," Y/n whispered, stepping a little closer to him as she organized the mail.

Jiyong quickly jammed his sunglasses back up his nose, "They’re loud. And they have sticky hands. I'm trying to run a reputable business here.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n agreed, her voice dripping with teasing sarcasm. "You’re terrifying. Terrifyingly bad at hiding how sweet you are."

Jiyong scoffed, taking another gulp of coffee. He turned on his heel, as he retreated into the safety of his dark, ink-scented studio. But Y/n didn't miss the slight soften of his shoulders right before the door shut.

Smiling to herself, she walked back into the daycare, the bright chaos of the classroom welcoming her back. An hour flew by in a blur of snack time, story time, and a quiet free-drawing period where the kids finally settled down with buckets of crayons and construction paper.

Y/n walked between the low tables, checking on her students. The kids bubble over with excitement, scribbling along. One little boy shouts that he wants to draw a purple dinosaur with wings, while a little girl next to him insists she is going to draw a castle made entirely of candy. You spend the next half hour listening to their wild ideas, helping them pick out their perfect crayon colors. The room erupts with glitter and stickers as each kid runs back and forth from the crafts table to grab something to add to their drawing. Y/n's classroom was a chaotic mess, and she loved it. Each picture was put up on display around the classroom so that every one of her kid's can see their artwork every day.

Once the creative brainstorming wraps up, it is time for fresh air. You gather the children at the door, guiding them to hold onto the "walking rope"—a bright canvas rope with soft handles that keeps them safely aligned in a neat, adorable row.

"Alright, little ducklings, hold tight," you say, checking the front and back of the line.

As your neat little parade walks down the sidewalk toward the local park, you pass by the familiar, neon-lit window of the Jiyong's shop. Through the glass, you see him. He is sitting back, dressed in his usual streetwear, adjusting his tattoo machine. But the moment his brown eyes catch sight of your line outside, his tough exterior completely vanishes. A soft, gummy smile breaks across his face. He drops his tools and enthusiastically waves his hand

Right on cue, the entire line of kids erupts into giggles. Still holding tightly to the rope with one hand, all the kids raise their free hands, waving back furiously. Hearing the commotion, you look up and catch his eye. The exact second Ji-yong notices you looking at him, his face turns pink and he pushed his sunglasses back up to cover his eyes as he turns his attention back to the tattoo machine.

You can't help but giggle just a little as you lead your happy line past the shop.

The rest of the morning flies by in a blur of crisp autumn air and laughter. The park is right across the street from the daycare, making it the perfect spot for the kids to burn off their energy. They spend hours running through the fallen orange leaves, swinging on the swings, and playing tag until their cheeks are flushed pink from the cool breeze.

As the afternoon rolls in, the energy finally settles down, and the daycare routine shifts into pickup mode. One by one, parents arrive to gather their children. Soon, the sky begins to deepen into a warm twilight, and you are left waiting with the very last child in your classroom. It wasn't long before the front door clicks open, and the child's mother walks in, looking exhausted.

"Hi, sorry I'm a little late today, traffic was a nightmare," she says, kneeling to wrap her arms around her running toddler.

Oh, don't worry about it at all!" you reply, handing over the child's backpack. "We actually had a wonderful day. We went across the street to the park so someone might fall asleep early tonight."

"You are a lifesaver," the mother laughs, adjusting the heavy bag on her shoulder. "Thank you so much. Have a great night!"

"You too! See you tomorrow!" you wave as they walk out.

With the building completely silent now, you head back into your classroom to tackle the mess. You stay late, wiping down tables, stacking tiny chairs, and sweeping the floor. As the sun fully sets, you kneel down with a wet paper towel trying to scrape up the stubborn leftover bits of colorful glitter from this morning when a low deep rumble of a motorcycle engine vibrates through the glass window.

You raise your head and peer out into the darkening street. Across the road, you see Ji-yong walking out of his shop. his dark hair shifting slightly in the autumn wind as he swings a leg over his sleek motorcycle. You sit back on your heels, watching him through the glass for a long moment with a soft smile. You have always thought he was incredibly handsome, even with that tough, intimidating exterior he tries so hard to keep up.

Ji-yong kicks the bike into gear and drives off into the night, the engine roar fading down the street. But just like every single night, he leaves the vibrant neon lights from his shop burning bright. The neon glow spills straight across the asphalt, perfectly illuminating the dark walkway so you can see safely as you walk to your car.

Smiling at the silent gesture, you finish locking up the daycare, head out to the parking lot, and make the quiet drive back to your apartment.

Once inside, you instantly shed the stressful day. You twist your hair up into a messy bun, change into your coziest clothes, and brew a hot, steaming cup of herbal tea. Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you pull your heavy briefcase over and open your laptop to carefully organize tomorrow's arts and crafts project.

The apartment is perfectly quiet, save for the soft clicking of your keyboard and the occasional sip of your tea. You get so completely lost in the zone that before you even realize it, the clock on your screen reads 1:00 AM.

With the sleeve of your shirt you rub your eyes to do a double take of the time, ''Crap'' you whisper. This was a bad habit of yours, always getting so lost in the groove of doing something special for these kids.

With a long stretch you yawn, shut down your laptop, and slide the briefcase away. As you prepare for bed you think of how excited your students will be for tomorrow's project, just thinking about it makes you smile.

After a phew more brushes, you rinse your mouth and shut off the bathroom light, patting across the floor to your cozy bed. You turn off the bedside lamp, pull the warm blankets up to your chin and finally drift off to sleep, dreaming of the family you pray one day you'll have.

The next morning, the autumn air is noticeably crisper, but you don't have a care in the world as you drive to work with the window rolled down. The back of your car is completely packed with heavy bags from the arts and crafts store, you had woken up extra early just to hit the place before work to make sure everything was perfect for the big project. As you grip the steering wheel, you can't help but notice the stubborn remnants of yesterday’s glitter still trapped under your freshly polished nails, getting distracted by the mess you forget for a moment that propped up on the car phone holder on speaker is your mother.

"Okay, sweetie, that sounds so fun!" your mom says. "I'm sure the kids will absolutely love it."

Your mom has always been supportive of your career and almost every morning the two of you spoke so you can tell her the activities for the day.

"Oh, they will, Mom! Ugh, I just cannot wait to see their faces," you beam, adjusting your grip on the wheel.

"Gosh, Y/n, you've gotta have your own kids one day. You would be a fantastic mother," your mom says softly.

You smile to yourself, feeling a warm blush creep up your neck. "I know, Mom, I know. Oh, I'm just pulling into the daycare parking lot now. Love you, but I've got to go!"

"Love you too, sweetie. Have a good day!"

After hanging up, you step out into the chilly morning and quickly button up your jacket against the biting breeze. You walk around to the back of the car, open the trunk, and begin fumbling with the massive pile of plastic bags, trying to loop as many as possible onto your arms.

Across the street, Jiyong is standing outside his shop, holding a steaming cup of hot coffee. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he watches you struggle and sway under the weight of the crafts. Shaking his head in amusement, he sets his coffee down on a ledge and makes his way right over toward you.

"Need some help with that?" his deep voice suddenly rumbles.

You jump, completely surprised, nearly dropping a roll of construction paper. "Oh! Good morning, Jiyong," you say, your words coming out completely mumbled because your car keys are clenched tightly between your teeth. You quickly bow your head then softly kick your car trunk shut with your foot. "Um... maybe. Thanks."

With an effortless chuckle, Jiyong steps in and grabs the vast majority of the bags from your arms, leaving you to hold only two light ones.

You take the keys out of your mouth, unlock the main daycare door, and lead him down the quiet hallway toward your room. When you unlock your classroom door and step inside, Jiyong follows, pausing in the doorway to take a look around. It is his very first time seeing your world, and he looks genuinely amazed. Twinkling fairy lights cascade softly across the ceiling, and the walls are completely covered in colorful, messy drawings from the kids. The entire space feels warm, vibrant, and almost magical.

"You can just set them right there on the table," you say, gesturing to crafting station.

Jiyong walks over, sets the heavy bags down, and immediately claps his hands together, trying to shake off the stray glitter that had instantly transferred from the bags onto his knuckles.

You break out into a laugh "Yeah, it’s not coming off anytime soon. Trust me."

He lets out a low laugh of his own, rubbing his hands against his dark jeans. But as the laughter fades, a sudden, heavy silence fills the room. The two of you stand there for a profoundly awkward second, the air thick with unsaid words, until Jiyong nervously clears his throat.

"Well... I, uh, I better go open up shop," he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "Have a good rest of your morning."

''Yeah, you too," you reply softly.

The two of you exchange another polite bow and he turns to head out the door. A huge smile spreads across your face the second he is out of sight. Heart fluttering, you turn to the bags and happily begin setting up the grand arts and crafts project. Before you know it, the front bell rings, the heavy doors open, and your busy day officially begins.

The kids are more than thrilled about the project. They all lean in over their tiny tables, eyes wide and completely silent as you pull the heavy tape away from the hidden structure like a magician. Beneath the wrapping is a massive, towering pile of cardboard boxes, intricately painted and constructed to look like a giant dragon.

"Alright, everyone," you announce, throwing your arms out wide. "Today, we are going to decorate Mister Dragon!"

You gesture dramatically toward the craft table, which is practically overflowing with giant tubes of neon glitter, buckets of googly eyes, feathers, and bottles of liquid glue. The classroom instantly erupts into a deafening chorus of screams. The kids scramble out of their seats, rushing toward the craft table in a wild stampede. You don't even bother putting on your usual apron; at this point, you know the glitter is going to find its way onto your clothes anyway.

The kids decorate that dragon like crazy. For hours, they glue googly eyes onto his nose, stick bright feathers onto his tail, and dump entire bottles of glitter onto his cardboard wings, turning him into a wonderfully sparkly, colorful mess.

The project takes up almost the entire day, but you naturally pace it out with the usual routine. There are breaks for a snack time, a quiet afternoon nap time, and a structured learning block. During the lesson, you write giant, colorful letters on the whiteboard for the kids to trace on their own papers, reading aloud from the exact same picture books they are looking at. Your classroom is noticeably ahead of all the other groups in the building, and you couldn't be more proud.

By the end of the day, you leave the classroom with a giant, tired grin stretched across your face.

For the next few weeks, the evening routine stays exactly the same. Every single night, you stay late to clean up, hear the familiar rumble of Jiyong’s motorcycle, and watch him drive away through the window. Then, you close up your classroom and walk out to your car, with the glowing neon lights from his tattoo shop safely illuminating your path.

But after that one morning where he helped you carry the heavy craft bags into your classroom, something subtly shifts between you two.

A comfortable routine begins to form. Every single morning, Jiyong meets you near the sidewalk, and the two of you share short, sweet conversations. On the mornings when you aren't rushing to set up a massive project, he brings over an extra cup of hot coffee, and you sit on the daycare steps together. It is a swift, natural change that neither of you explicitly talks about, but both of you thoroughly enjoy each other's company more and more each day.

The change is so obvious that even the children start to notice. It doesn't take long for the kids to start calling the "Mr. Tattoo Man" Miss Y/n's husband. Whenever you hear them saying it, you just laugh it off. You are incredibly grateful that they only ever say it inside the safety of the classroom, far out of Jiyong's earshot.

Until one crisp afternoon.

You are outside with the kids on the daycare's front sidewalk, enjoying the autumn sun while everyone draws with colorful sidewalk chalk. Next door, Jiyong steps out of his shop to grab something from his motorcycle.

Before you can even react, one of your most energetic little boys breaks away from the group. He rushes toward the Jiyong waving a crumpled piece of drawing paper in his hand.

"Here, Mr. Tattoo Man! This is for you!" the little boy shouts.

Ji-yong pauses, looking surprised. A soft smile touches his lips as he crouches down to be perfectly at eye level with the boy. He reaches up, lowering his sunglasses slightly over his nose, and extends his hand. "Well, thank you, buddy," his deep voice rumbles warmly.

He takes the paper and smooths it out. Your breath hitches in your throat from across the pavement as you realize what it is.

There, drawn in bright, messy crayon colors, is a picture of you and Jiyong standing side by side, smiling and holding hands.

The little boy beams pointing a finger at the crayon drawing. "I drew you and your wife!"

Your heart completely drops. Your face flushes a deep, burning red, and you instantly rush across the pavement, your sneakers squeaking against the concrete. "Oh my goodness! Okay, sweetie, thank you, let’s go back and finish your chalk drawing over here!" you say in a panicked, high-pitched rush, gently ushering the boy back toward the rest of the classroom.

Behind you, Jiyong slowly stands up to his full height. He folds his sunglasses, slipping them into his jacket pocket, and watches you struggle to handle the situation with an entertained smirk on his face.

You frantically clear your throat, smoothing down your jacket as you try to regain your composure. Turning back to him, you let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. "Don't... don't mind them! You know how kids are. Just wild, active imaginations!"

Jiyong doesn't say anything at first, he just looks down at the drawing as his eyes soften with a hint of amusement.

Anxious to get the embarrassing drawing out of his sight, you step forward and offer a hand. "Here, I can take that back for you so you don't have to carry it—"

"Oh, no," he interrupts smoothly, pulling the paper slightly out of your reach. "This is going up in my shop."

You stop in your tracks, blinking in surprise. A playful grin tugs at your lips despite your blushing cheeks, and you cross your arms over your chest. "Oh yeah? What about your icy, tough-guy reputation you must uphold?''

Jiyong lets out a genuine laugh as he looks down at the drawing one more time. "Well," he says, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an undeniable spark. "It's a picture of me and my wife. How can I not keep it?"

You stand there completely stunned, your brain completely short-circuits. Before you can even gather the vocabulary to formulate a coherent response, Jiyong chuckles softly at your frozen expression, turns on his heel, and starts walking back toward his parlor.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/n," he calls back over his shoulder.

And that was the moment that began your love story: a simple, messy crayon drawing.

A few days after that sidewalk incident, Ji-yong finally built up the courage to officially ask you out to dinner. One dinner turned into dates every other night, and eventually, the two of you were officially a couple. It was a love story you never saw coming, but everyone around you—and especially you—couldn't have been happier. Despite his tough-guy demeanor, Jiyong was actually a complete puppy when it came to you. He would leave breakfast sitting on your classroom desk almost every single morning, surprise you with fresh flowers at work, and even insisted on driving you to work and home every night since you fortunately lived so close to each other. It was an absolute fairytale.

When your one-year anniversary mark hit, life handed you both a beautiful unexpected surprise: you were pregnant. You hadn't even been trying yet, but you both couldn't have been more thrilled. The tough guy you fell for also happened to be a natural family man, stepping into his new role with absolute pride.

Now, four years into marriage, you stand in your warm kitchen flipping a batch of golden pancakes. Across the living room, you watch the absolute loves of your life.

"And one, two, three... airplane!" Jiyong yells.

He carefully swoops his tatted arms under your daughter's tiny frame, lifting her high above his head and flying her through the air. Sarang giggles loudly, her little legs kicking with pure joy.

"Appa, again! Again!" she squeals.

Jiyong laughs, a bright, gummy smile lighting up his face as he brings her down for a tight hug, peppering her cheeks with kisses. You lean against the kitchen counter, a look of absolute contentment on your face. You know you couldn't possibly be any happier.