#romances

The soulmate route doesn't automatically lock MC into a relationship, but it does mean that Rue/Prue is MC's endgame. Until there's an official commitment, MC will remain technically free (and I do plan more than one moment to commit). An uncommitted MC won't get truly intimate with their soulmate, though.

Mark is “special,” so he would probably tolerate MC's bond with Rue/Prue as long as he didn't know about it… but with him, that's a big maybe. Question: How long would MC be able to keep it a secret?

Heeseung

The morning air was already thick with late August humidity, but Lee Heeseung walked like he didn’t feel a thing.

Maybe because he didn’t.

Not the weather, not the heat licking at his collarbones beneath the black button down he hadn’t bothered to button properly, not the pair of assistants practically jogging to keep up with his long strides as he entered the towering building of SOLACE Entertainment the glossy high rise that housed some of the country’s most powerful actors, models, and screenwriters.

Heeseung was one of their most prized gems. A-list actor. Box office magnet. Tabloid favorite. And secretly? Very, very tired.

“Morning, Heeseung-ssi!” someone called maybe from PR, or styling. He nodded. A flash of his trademark smile. Effortless. Perfect. Practiced. Like slipping into character.

Heeseung didn’t walk through the halls. He glided. That’s what the headlines always said. “The Prince of Modern Cinema,” they called him. “Doe-eyed and deadly on screen.” But no one ever talked about the fact that his love for acting had started dimming the day it stopped being about the art and became about the brand and money.

Heeseung Lee.

"You're scheduled for a few test shots before the ad rep comes by," one of his assistants said breathlessly, tapping away on an iPad as they entered the elevator. “They sent new concepts this morning. It’s a watch ad. Luxury. Paris based. They want you to look like you're seconds away from devouring someone.”

He smirked. “You mean how I look when someone steals my banana milk from the fridge?”

No one laughed. They never really did. Not unless he made it clear they were supposed to.

Heeseung’s personal dressing room sat on the 18th floor gold plated name plaque and all. Not a green room. Not a shared prep space. His room. Reserved for the people who’d been with him since his rookie days, his stylists, his managers, the few people who still called him just Heeseung instead of his full damn name.

The door swung open before he could reach for the handle.

And there she was.

Li Weiyin. Hair in a claw clip, sleeves rolled, a brush already tucked behind one ear and a powder puff in her left hand. She didn’t even look up.

“You’re late,” she said. Not rudely. Not kindly. Just a fact.

Heeseung’s brow twitched. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Still no glance. Just a turn of her wrist as she unscrewed a jar of primer, like she hadn’t just scolded one of Korea’s most beloved actors like he was a student arriving late to homeroom.

And God help him, he liked it.

There were other staff in the room, three stylists, two brand reps already bickering over light palettes but all he could really see was her. Maybe it was the way she always moved with precision, always calm. Or maybe it was the fact that she was the only one in the room who didn’t treat him like he was made of glass or headlines.

He eased into the makeup chair, letting his eyes settle on his reflection for a second. Hair too flat. Dark circles are worse than usual. No amount of BB cream could hide the fatigue in his bones.

“You sleep?” Weiyin asked offhandedly, finally tilting his chin to start on his base.

Heeseung hummed. “Define sleep.”

“Did your eyes close at any point between midnight and sunrise?”

“They were closed between my third and fourth cup of coffee milk. Does that count?”

She snorted barely. But he caught it. He always caught her.

It wasn’t much. Just another day. Another ad. Another smile that would grace billboards. Another small, private moment where he could sit quietly and let someone else take care of him even if it was just in foundation and setting spray.

Heeseung tilted his head just a little as she worked, watching the way her lips parted when she concentrated, how she leaned close without hesitation, how he could smell her shampoo from here.

Three years she’s been doing my makeup, he thought. And I’ve never asked her out.

Maybe because she wasn’t a fling.

Maybe because she’d never looked at him like he was anyone other than a man with breakouts and bad sleep hygiene.

Maybe because he didn’t deserve someone like her.

Heeseung closed his eyes, letting her work.

He didn’t know that in a few short days, his lips would be on hers. That the flash of a camera would change everything. That personal belonging would be mistaken for something more. That ‘just coworkers’ would no longer be an option.

For now, he let the silence sit between them.

Uncomplicated. Comfortable.

For now.

Weiyin

Li Weiyin had always known how to make people beautiful.

She didn’t need ring lights or Photoshop or bold filters. She understood faces. The shadows that softened jawlines, the way powder curved around the temples, how warmth on the cheeks could bring someone back from the dead..or at least hide the evidence they hadn’t slept in three days.

She never said much while working. She didn’t have to. Her brushes did the talking. Her fingers worked in careful rhythm as she dabbed the puff beneath his eyes now, the purplish tint of stress and too many instant ramyeon cups slowly giving way to illusion.

Dark circles again, she thought. Worse than last week.

Lee Heeseung stared ahead blankly, his long lashes barely fluttering as she leaned in closer. She had to hand it to him, he always sat still for her. Even on his bad days. Even when he smelled faintly of hangover and missed calls.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” he muttered, voice low and dry. His lips curved into the kind of smirk women sold their souls for. “People might think I come here just to see you, Sunshine.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t roll her eyes.

Just tapped his cheek lightly with the back of her hand to get him to tilt his face. He obeyed.

Sunshine. He always called her that.

Even though she wasn’t.

She was meticulous. Composed. Detached. The kind of woman who kept her personal life pressed flat beneath concealer palettes and soft, lined brushes. She wasn’t cold she just didn’t give herself away easily. Not anymore. Not since, well. Not since him.

But still, she checked in.

Not in words. In the way she made sure Heeseungs makeup wipes were never cold. In how she always adjusted the lighting when she saw him squint. In the extra hydrating serum she slipped into his routine without asking, because the stress was starting to show around his eyes, and if no one else noticed, she did.

She didn’t ask if he was okay. He never asked either. They weren’t friends. They didn’t talk like that.

But God, when she caught glimpses of his reflection between blending strokes, when she looked at his eyes, really looked she saw something hollow. Something familiar.

She used to look like that too.

Not that he noticed.

Heeseung was famous. Untouchable. Charming in that slow, careful way that made every woman feel like she was the one person he was really looking at. Even when he wasn’t. Especially when he wasn’t.

And Weiyin…she was background. She knew how this worked. He was the moon and she was the tide, quiet, consistent, invisible unless you really looked.

She never did his hair. Only makeup. And only because he’d requested her specifically two years ago after a stylist poked him in the eye and he complained for a week. His exact words had been: “Get me someone who doesn’t try to blind me with mascara wands.”

That someone had been her.

Since then, it had been a rhythm. They had a system. He sat. She worked. He flirted lazily. She ignored him. And when he left, he always glanced back once.

“Thanks, Sunshine,” he said now, eyes meeting hers in the mirror for a brief second. A flicker of warmth passed between them. Real? Maybe. Probably not.

She stepped back as he stood, tall and effortless, his shirt hanging loose as his stylists swarmed to adjust it.

She nodded once. “Don’t smudge your under eyes.”

He winked. “You wound me. I’m a professional.”

Then he was gone, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Weiyin exhaled through her nose. Not a sigh. Not exactly.

Just air. Just routine.

Another day. Another face. Another ghost in the chair she couldn’t quite touch.

She turned back to her brushes, cleaning each one slowly. She didn’t linger on his scent still floating in the air. She didn’t think about the faint tremble in his hands when he thought no one was watching.

She didn’t think about how she’d noticed that tremble six months ago and hadn’t said a thing.

She didn’t think about why that bothered her. Or why her chest always felt tight when he left.

Who was she?

She was the one behind the scenes. The girl who painted faces and kept quiet. The one who’d learned the hard way that love, in its ugliest form, could make you invisible.

So no. Weiyin didn’t believe in fantasy anymore. Not in fairytales. Not in scandalous headlines and stolen glances. She didn’t believe in love like the movies.

She just made the people in them look believable.

And Lee Heeseung? He was just another actor.

Right?

Heeseung

The overhead lights had long since been shut off. Only the soft blue glow from the vanity and the dim hallway light slipping in through the crack in the dressing room door lit the space.

Lee Heeseung sat alone on the velvet couch, legs splayed, head tipped back, a half empty carton of banana flavored coffee milk resting loosely in his hand. The kind you buy from any convenience store, and the kind his nutritionist would kill him over if they knew.

It was past midnight. Probably close to two. He wasn’t supposed to still be here.

But the idea of getting up, leaving, walking through the parking garage to his car, turning the key, driving home to silence was too heavy tonight.

So he stayed.

Maybe no one would notice if he just passed out on the couch for a few hours. If he slipped out around 4 a.m., beat the stylists in, washed his face and said nothing. Maybe no one would care.

He wasn’t even sure if he’d sleep.

Insomnia had been gnawing at him like a parasite lately. Pulling at the edges of his sanity. Every time he closed his eyes, the stillness only made the noise louder.

Memories. Pressure. Flashes of cameras and headlines and the creeping, awful thought that he didn’t love any of it anymore.

Heeseung stared ahead at the darkened wall, the banana milk now warm in his hand.

He could end it.

Not everything. Not that. Just…this.

His contract had a year left. One more year and they’d expect him to re-sign. Lock himself in for another five. Another half decade of carefully constructed smiles and calendar tight schedules. Of being everyone’s dream man but no one’s reality.

But what if he didn’t?

What if he walked?

He could. He had enough money. The fans would be upset. His agency would call him impulsive, dramatic. The press would chew him up and spit him out for a few weeks.

But he’d still have peace. Maybe.

He used to dream about this life. Used to want this. All of it. The stages, the scripts, the spotlights. The validation. He used to chase it like it meant everything.

But somewhere in the last few years, the dream had started to rot at the edges.

He had become a man of habit, wake, shoot, promote, repeat. And for what? Fans adored him, but didn’t know him. Women kissed him onscreen but never stayed after. Managers praised his professionalism, but never noticed the nights he left the building long after the janitors.

No one saw the man.

They only saw Lee Heeseung. A-list actor. Heartthrob. The one with the big sad eyes and flirty press conference charm.

Not the man drinking banana milk alone in the dark like a saddened widow.

He tipped the carton back and finished it off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His fingers trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of something heavier.

I don’t want this anymore, he thought.

Not like this. Not with all the lights and none of the warmth.

He remembered how it used to feel. His first role. The first time he stepped on set and believed in what he was doing. The first time his mother cried watching him on screen. The first fan letter he read at age 20 that said you made me feel something.

But now? Now it was all business. All carefully manufactured scandals and tight lipped damage control. Smile here. Laugh there. Don’t date. Don’t speak. Don’t feel.

And God, he missed feeling.

He missed being real.

His fingers tapped the edge of the carton as he stared down at the floor. The silence clung to him like a second skin. His phone buzzed somewhere in his jacket pocket but he didn’t check it. He didn’t care.

What would he do if he walked away?

Start over? Try something new? Teach? Disappear?

He didn’t know. But not knowing felt less terrifying than the thought of five more years of this.

He rubbed his thumb against the base of his palm, a nervous tick he hadn’t noticed until Weiyin had gently moved his hand last week, saying, “You’re gonna rub your skin raw if you keep doing that.”

She always noticed the small things. Said little. Watched a lot.

He liked her hands. Steady. Skilled. Kind in a way that didn’t ask for anything.

He wasn’t supposed to think about her.

But lately, she was in more of his quiet moments than he wanted to admit.

Heeseung dropped his head against the cushion behind him and let out a long, weary sigh.

One year.

Could he make it through just one more?

He didn’t know.

But tonight he just needed a few hours where he wasn’t anyone but Lee.

Just Lee.

Weiyin ( Four weeks later)

The lights above the mirror were warm and soft, diffused just enough to flatter the skin but bright enough to catch every imperfection. In the silence of the dressing room, the gentle pat of her brush against Heeseung’s cheekbone was the only sound. She moved with care, calmly focused, and steady.

Her fingers worked like clockwork. Concealer tapped in with her ring finger, a cool touch under the eyes. A little powder. A bit of bronzer across his temples. Even now, three years into this job, she still found it oddly calming. There was something soothing about routine. About control.

Especially when the rest of her life had always felt like a storm.

“Your dark circles are a war crime,” she murmured, not even realizing she had spoken out loud.

Heeseung gave a breathy laugh, low and amused. “That bad, huh?”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t answer.

Heeseung was unusually quiet today. Usually, he joked. Teased. Called her sunshine in that lazy, too handsome way of his. But right now, he just watched her. His eyes softer than usual. Like he was thinking too much again.

She didn’t ask. She never did. It wasn’t her place.

“Weiyin,” came a voice from the doorway.

She turned slightly to see Mr. Han, one of the older logistics staff, clipboard in hand and always moving at full speed. He gave her a brisk smile. “When you finish here, could you stop by Stage Three? The new guy’s a wreck. Needs help with his base. Please.”

She gave a small nod. “Of course.”

Heeseung’s eyes didn’t leave her.

Mr. Han lifted his hand to gesture down the hall as he spoke, something about needing to move fast because they were behind schedule, but his hand was fast, sudden, sharp.

And it was nothing.

But Weiyin’s body didn’t know that.

Her eyes widened. Her shoulders jerked violently back. The brush slipped from her fingers, and she stumbled with a sharp intake of breath, too quick, too harsh and tripped sideways against the man seated in front of her.

Her hip knocked Heeseung’s knee. Her hands braced automatically on the arms of his chair, and her head dipped low as if expecting something worse to follow.

But nothing came.

Just the silence.

Just the stillness.

Then, gently and carefully Heeseung straightened in his seat.

His hands reached for her before she could retreat. One at her elbow. One at her wrist. Light, not restraining. Just steady.

“Weiyin?” His voice was low now. Serious. “Are you okay?”

She stayed like that for a second too long. Breathing in slowly. Trying not to shake. Trying not to let it show. Her eyes flicked toward the hallway. Mr. Han was already gone, oblivious. Just a shadow in the distance.

She swallowed. “I’m-” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I will be.”

Heeseung didn’t move. Didn’t say anything right away. But his grip on her wrist didn’t loosen either, thumb brushing just barely against her pulse like he could feel how fast it was racing.

She gently pulled her arm free.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, already kneeling to pick up the fallen brush. “Just…tired.”

Liar.

She resumed her work, hand trembling only slightly as she moved to touch up the powder she’d smudged. But the quiet had shifted. She felt his gaze on her, not playful, not teasing but concerned.

She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Not yet.

“Let me know,” he said quietly, voice like velvet over gravel, “if you ever need anything.”

She didn’t respond. Just nodded once, barely noticeable. But in that nod was a thousand unspoken things.

And the room settled into silence once more. But not the same kind.

Not at all.

Heeseung

She had left just a few minutes ago, the swish of the door still faint in his ears.

Now, alone in the dressing room, Lee Heeseung stood in front of the mirror, slipping his shirt over his head with a slow drag of fabric across skin. The collar snagged slightly on damp hair at the nape of his neck, but he didn’t notice.

His mind was far too loud.

He couldn’t stop seeing it. The way her body had jerked back like someone had aimed a gun at her. The way she’d collided against him making her body small, trembling, all panic and instinct. The way she hadn’t looked at him, not really. Not until she’d forced out that broken little sentence.

I will be.

Bullshit.

Heeseung pulled his coat from the hanger and tossed it onto the sofa instead of shrugging into it. He leaned forward, hands braced on the dressing table, and let his eyes meet their reflection.

He looked normal.

He didn’t feel normal.

That had been something. Something real. Something sharp.

And the part that scared him most?

It hadn’t been the first time she flinched like that. Maybe not that obviously, but there were memories now bubbling up in his brain that he’d shrugged off before. The way her whole body tensed when someone moved too fast behind her. How her fingers sometimes clenched into fists at her sides when someone raised their voice across the room even if the yelling had nothing to do with her.

And god. The shaking. He hadn’t missed that either.

His jaw flexed.

Was someone hurting her? Had someone hurt her?

The thought twisted in his gut like barbed wire.

He didn’t know her past. That was true. He wasn’t owed it either. Heeseung wasn’t one to pry, and Weiyin was kind but private. Always polite. Always professional. Just a little smile here and there, a soft voice asking if the lights were too bright or if he wanted more concealer under his eyes. And yes, she always remembered how he liked his foundation a shade cooler in the winter. She didn’t talk much but she noticed things.

And maybe she didn’t know, but so did he.

He’d watched her more than he probably should’ve, not like that, not in some predatory way. He wasn’t a creep. But he noticed her. In between shoots, in the early mornings before coffee had passed around, while she worked in a quiet rhythm beside him.

She made him look like a star even on the days he felt like dust.

And she never asked for anything.

So yes, he was worrying.

Not because she was his staff. Not because she was talented. But because she was her.

Because Weiyin, with her steady hands and shaking lashes, with her professional silence and the occasional ghost of a smile, had become something quietly important.

A friend.

Even if they never used the word.

Heeseung sighed and sat down heavily on the couch, one hand dragging through his hair. His stomach churned with a restlessness he didn’t know what to do with.

He shouldn’t care. He knew that. Don’t get involved, Heeseung. You’re a client. She's a staff. But he couldn’t not care. Not now. Not after the way her entire body had screamed danger even when no one was yelling. No one was threatening her. No one had touched her.

And that look on her face. That deadpan "I will be."

No. No, she wouldn’t. Not alone. Not if this was something she carried quietly. If she thought no one saw her trembling.

Well. He did. He saw her.

And for once, he didn’t care about the line between professionalism and personal.

Because some things were too human to ignore.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do yet. But one thing was certain.

He wouldn’t let her walk around pretending that kind of pain was normal.

Not if he could help it.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

Weiyin

It was way too late. The kind of late that made everything feel a little too bright, a little too loose around the edges.

And Weiyin was laughing.

Really laughing. The kind that started in her chest and spilled into the dimly lit room with ease, the kind that had been buried under quiet days and sleepless nights for longer than she cared to admit. Her head tipped back as another shot glass slid across the glossy table toward her. Heeseung’s doing, of course.

“That’s six,” she warned, half playful, half serious as she reached for the clear liquid with two fingers.

Heeseung grinned, his eyes glassy and lips flushed like bitten fruit. His hair had fallen forward over his forehead, and his shirt half unbuttoned was a far cry from the polished movie star version of himself that walked into dressing rooms with perfectly timed winks and flirty jokes.

This was different.

Raw.

Real.

“Five,” he corrected, though his count was wrong. “I saw you fake one earlier, Sunshine.”

Her cheeks warmed at the nickname. He always called her that. From the first week she’d been assigned to his team, brushing concealer under his tired eyes while he blinked at her like she was an alien.

But tonight, it sounded different. Softer. Warmer. Maybe that was the alcohol talking.

Or maybe not.

“I didn’t fake anything,” she said as she picked up the shot glass. “You just lost count.”

He chuckled full and bright, head falling to the side like even gravity was a little drunk with him.

God, he was gone.

His usually calm gaze was blurred at the edges now, too much warmth in his pupils, too much pink in his cheeks. His voice was looser, his posture lazy and draped like he owned the whole plush booth they’d taken over in the private back corner of the bar. A sea of staff and co-stars moved and buzzed around them, but somehow none of it touched them here.

Not tonight.

She clinked her glass to his. “To the final wrap.”

Heeseung raised his own. “To not dying in a sandstorm in the middle of the desert on the last day of filming.”

She giggled. “To not actually drinking gasoline during that reshoot.”

He fake gagged, then downed his shot.

She followed with hers, grimacing as the burn clawed its way down her throat.

When she blinked through the heat of it, he was staring.

Not in a way that made her uncomfortable, not quite. But there was something in the tilt of his head, the barely there curve of his smile, that made her heart do that annoying, traitorous skip.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You’re fun when you’re not working.”

She raised a brow. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m a buzzkill Monday through Friday?”

He laughed, louder this time, a real sound that filled the corner booth like the echo of something too honest.

“No. I mean…” His eyes dipped, and when they rose again, there was a flicker of something uncertain, but unmistakably soft. “You just seem lighter tonight. Less in control of that mask”

Weiyin blinked. The warmth in her chest had nothing to do with alcohol this time.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

So she looked down and rolled her wrist absently, twisting the ring on her middle finger one of five she wore tonight, silver glinting faintly in the light.

Heeseung noticed. She knew he did.

He noticed everything lately.

In the two weeks since that day, he hadn’t brought it up. Not once. No awkward glances. No intrusive questions. But she felt it, the shift. He didn’t flirt like he used to. He asked her if she was comfortable, if she’d eaten, if she wanted five minutes between clients to breathe.

And it should’ve annoyed her.

She didn’t ask for concern. Or gentleness. She’d been doing just fine surviving in the margins of other people’s chaos. But there was something about the way he did it without pity, without pressure that made her loosen the invisible guard she kept locked tight around her ribs.

And now they were here. Laughing. Drinking. Sharing a booth while his hand kept brushing hers when he reached for more napkins or slid a lime wedge across the table.

It was fun.

Weiyin leaned her cheek on her fist and just looked at him for a moment.

Lee Heeseung. Golden boy. National treasure. A-list heartthrob. And yet here he was, eyes glazed with too much liquor, posture like a melted marshmallow, and smile crooked but sincere.

She wondered if he even realized how human he looked like this.

He turned toward her, lashes fluttering as he blinked slowly. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

His voice dropped to something conspiratorial. “Wanna go find more shots?”

She snorted. “I think we’re cut off.”

He pouted. Pouted.

And that’s when she laughed again. Harder this time, her stomach aching as she shoved his shoulder, which was a bad idea because he almost tipped over onto her.

They stayed like that for a second close, warm, laughing. His breath puffed against her collarbone from where his head had tilted too far. And she didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And in that moment, for just one breath too long, she wondered…if we weren’t drunk, would we still feel this warm? This safe?

The thought passed as quickly as it came.

Heeseung sat back up, groaning dramatically, and reached for his water.

And Weiyin?

She just smiled to herself.

This was nothing.

Just fun. Just a good night. Just her client…her friend.

That was all.

…Right?

Heeseung

Six.

No, seven. Wait, maybe eight.

Heeseung wasn’t sure anymore.

All he knew was that his blood was buzzing like a live wire under his skin, the world tilting just enough to feel like he was flying and grounded only by the sound of her laugh.

Weiyin.

Sitting across from him in that booth, cheeks flushed, lips curved, eyes brighter than any spotlight he’d ever stood under.

She was dangerous. So, so dangerous. And he didn’t even think she realized it.

One more laugh like that, and he might do something stupid.

“Sunshine,” he drawled, fingers lazily swirling the bottom of his glass. “If you keep smiling at me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like me.”

Weiyin choked on her water, giggling so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “You’re so drunk.”

“You’re so pretty,” he shot back without missing a beat.

She blinked. “That was not an appropriate response.”

“Wasn’t it?” He leaned forward, eyes wide and glassy. “I thought it was poetry.”

Weiyin covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her snort. “You’re going to combust if you sit here any longer.”

He smirked. “From the alcohol or your face?”

“That-” she pointed at him, laughing again, “..was not poetry.”

“It was something,” he muttered as she grabbed his arm and tugged him out of the booth.

“We’re going outside. You need air.”

Heeseung followed easily, stumbling once because the floor moved, clearly, and it wasn’t his fault. Her fingers curled around his wrist and it was such a small thing, such a gentle touch, but it shot straight through him like lightning on wet skin.

Outside, the night air hit them like a wall, cool, thick with city dust, and laced with a sharp breeze that pulled the heat from their skin.

They stood near the entrance, half shielded by the building’s side, where a soft amber streetlamp flickered above their heads.

She wrapped her arms around herself, the shift pulling her shirt tighter at her waist.

He looked away.

He should not be looking at her like this.

Not tonight. Not like this.

She leaned against the wall, glancing at him from under her lashes. “Feeling any better, superstar?”

“No.” Heeseung tilted his head, staring openly. “You’re still too pretty. That’s the real problem.”

“God.” She laughed again. “You’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But right now? I don’t wanna stop.”

“Stop what?”

He turned to face her fully, swaying just a little, but his expression was weirdly serious.

“This,” he said, motioning between them. “You. Me. Us. Talking. Laughing. Breathing the same air. I-” He paused, then said too honestly, “I think I could stay in this moment forever.”

And she blinked, startled quiet by his sincerity.

That was the thing about Heeseung when he was drunk. He didn’t lie. He didn’t even know how.

He grinned again, slower this time. “Hey, Sunshine…”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah?”

“…What do your lips taste like?”

Weiyin froze.

Eyes wide. Breath caught. Blood rushing to her face in a full on blush that colored her from neck to cheekbones.

She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, maybe to scold him she’d never know. Because in that heartbeat between inhale and answer, Heeseung moved.

Sloppy, drunk, probably misjudging the angle entirely.

His lips missed hers on the first attempt, bumping awkwardly into the corner of her mouth. He cursed softly, laughed under his breath, then tried again, slower this time, messier.

His mouth crashed into hers like he’d been waiting for it his whole life. It was warm, clumsy, and desperate. His hands found her waist, clinging to her like gravity didn’t exist.

And hers. God, her hands flew up to clutch his shoulders, anchoring herself there, not because she meant to, but because her knees damn near buckled.

Heeseung made a sound in his throat. Something like awe. Something like a curse.

She pulled back first, breathless, blinking at him with wide, stunned eyes.

He was already staring.

Like she’d just handed him the moon and slapped him with it.

“…Angel,” he whispered, completely dazed.

“What?” she breathed out.

“You taste like an angel.”

And then, like the idiot he was, he grinned.

Because in his tipsy, spinning world, he had just kissed the prettiest girl he’d ever met.

And it was the best fucking kiss of his life.

Even if he wouldn’t remember all of it in the morning.

Heeseung

Heeseung woke up to war drums.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

His head was pounding, relentless and brutal, his brain pulsing behind his eyes with every faint thump of his heart. The ache curled down his neck, his mouth was dry as sandpaper, and there was a faint, lingering taste on his lips that made no sense.

Pineapple?

His brows scrunched, groggy confusion sweeping over him as he blinked himself awake.

Why the hell do I taste pineapple?

There were no pineapples in his house. Definitely not on his lips.

He sat up with a groan, realizing he was on the couch, not his bed. Still dressed in last night’s clothes, a pair of jeans crumpled, shirt half unbuttoned, belt somehow off and looped around one ankle like a forgotten battle prize. A throw pillow was stuffed halfway under his back like it had tried and failed to provide any support.

He winced. “What the hell happened last night…”

Bits and pieces flickered through his mind.

The wrap party. Laughing with the staff. Sitting in a booth, Weiyin across from him, close enough to reach.

…Baby giraffes?

Oh God.

He groaned again.

There was a loud, frantic knock knock knock at his front door, practically shaking the hinges off.

He hissed, covering his ears like the sound might break through his skull. “Okay, okay, I hear you, Jesus Christ…”

Stumbling to his feet, Heeseung shuffled across the hardwood in mismatched socks and dried shame. The taste of pineapple was still there, haunting and confusing. He rubbed at his mouth like it could scrub away the proof of… something.

The door practically shuddered with the next knock.

“I’m coming!” he shouted hoarsely.

He pulled it open and immediately regretted it.

His manager stormed in like a hurricane, hair wild, eyes blazing. Right behind him were two of his PR staff, faces twisted in expressions of cold fury and quiet dread.

“Morning?” Heeseung offered, voice cracking halfway.

“Don’t you dare ‘morning’ me, Lee Heeseung.”

The door slammed behind them.

“What the hell is going on?”

Something flew toward his chest.

He caught it on instinct.

A magazine. A glossy one. Still warm from someone’s hand.

His eyes dropped to the front page.

SCANDAL IN SEOUL: A-LIST HEARTTHROB LOCKS LIPS WITH MYSTERY GIRL OUTSIDE LUX BAR. ENGAGEMENT RINGS SPOTTED?!

His face. Weiyin’s face.

In a kiss.

No, full kiss.

His lips smashed to hers, one of his hands clearly gripping her waist, the other…hovering like he couldn’t decide between her jaw or her hip. Her hands were in his hair. The shot was blurry, but intimate. Too intimate. And at the very bottom corner of the photo her hand.

Five rings. One on her fourth finger.

It looked like an engagement ring.

His stomach bottomed out. “Oh…shit.”

“Oh shit?” his manager shouted. “You think that covers it?!”

“I,” Heeseung blinked rapidly. “I don’t even remember..”

“Oh, fantastic. Even better. You blacked out while publicly proposing to your makeup artist?”

“I didn’t propose! That’s not!” Heeseung ran a hand down his face. “That’s Weiyin, my staff, I-I didn’t..”

“You kissed her. On a public street. Outside a high profile venue.” One of the PR team hissed through clenched teeth. “Do you know how many reporters camp outside those places hoping for one scandal? Congratulations, you gave them one with perfect lighting and ideal framing.”

Heeseung’s mind was spiraling.

He remembered the alcohol. The booth. Weiyin smiling so pretty it hurt. Her fingers tugging his wrist toward the door. Fresh air. Then…his voice whispering something like what do your lips taste like?

And then nothing.

Except, now, a goddamn tabloid cover and the world thinking he was either in love or engaged. Or both.

He slowly looked back down at the photo.

Weiyin’s flushed cheeks. Her eyes half lidded. The grip she had on him.

His heart skipped.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

His manager pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Oh who cares about the scandal!

Because this wasn’t just a scandal.

This was about to go nuclear.

And Heeseung…

He had no memory of the best kiss of his life.

“...Shit.”

-

Heeseung sat in the polished, glossy hell known as the PR conference room at the entertainment company, elbows on the table, knees bouncing, eyes half focused on the shine of the table surface beneath the flickering LED lights.

The AC was too cold. The silence was way too loud.

And beside him, quiet, smaller than usual, her dark hair covering part of her face sat Weiyin.

She hadn’t looked up once since they arrived.

Her head was lowered, hands clasped between her knees like she was praying or bracing herself. She wore no rings today. Not one. Her shoulders were tight. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the chair.

Heeseung hated that. Hated that he was the reason.

He tilted his head just slightly toward her. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to look.

She was wearing the same perfume she always wore. Something light, something that didn’t linger, but somehow still stuck in his memory. He’d recognize it anywhere. And under the lingering air of corporate deodorant and coffee breath from the PR team pacing the room, it was the only thing grounding him.

It was his fault. He knew that.

He kissed her.

He kissed her.

And yeah she kissed him back. He was sure of it, even if the memory played like a broken VHS. He wasn’t delusional. He’d seen the photo. Her fingers had been in his hair. Her lips parted. The way she leaned in, even if hesitant.

But he wasn’t going to throw that in her face. Not now. Not with the way her lashes trembled against her cheeks like she was seconds from retreating into herself.

It wasn’t her fault. This was all on him.

He was the actor. He was the face. The one who should’ve known better.

And yet, as he leaned back in the uncomfortable leather chair, listening to his manager curse under his breath while someone frantically refreshed a screen showing a tsunami of online comments, all Heeseung could think was that this is the best thing that’s happened to him in years.

Seriously.

He almost smiled. Almost.

Because for all the chaos, for all the shouting that would come, for all the headlines and rumors and PR hell, they finally had an excuse to let him go.

He only had a year left on his contract. But maybe now, they’d fast track it. Let him walk out of this industry without a word, a clean break masked by scandal.

Finally.

He could stop pretending he loved acting when it had turned into a cage.

He could stop putting on smiles for people who never asked how he was, only what he could give.

He could stop chasing stories he no longer believed in.

But what did bother him, what made his jaw tighten, his foot tap harder against the floor was that he couldn’t remember the best kiss of his life.

How was that fair?

He’d waited years to feel something real.

And he got it, finally, in the form of pineapple flavored lips and fingers tugging his shirt…and he blacked out?

Heeseung leaned forward and rubbed both hands over his face, muttering something close to a groan.

So unfair.

Next to him, Weiyin shifted slightly, her knee bumping his.

He didn’t move away.

He didn’t speak either.

No one did.

Because on the other end of the room, three people were hunched over their phones and laptops, furiously scanning headlines and hashtags.

He caught snippets.

“Top trending worldwide…”

“Some are saying it’s a PR stunt…”

“…but look at how intimate this is…”

“…ring theory’s spreading fast…”

“…they’re already shipping them—”

The lights above buzzed faintly. Someone’s coffee steamed.

And in the middle of it all, Heeseung turned his head toward the silent woman beside him.

The woman who had sat beside him every shoot, who had done his makeup through hangovers and heartbreak, who’d flinched and shaken and still come back the next day.

Heeseung didn’t say it aloud.

But he didn’t care about the scandal. Didn’t care about the press. Didn’t care about damage control.

All he wanted truly was to remember that kiss.

And maybe kiss her again.

This time sober.

This time awake.

His lips twitched. Then stilled.

And still no one had spoken.

Weiyin

Li Weiyin hadn’t moved in nearly an hour.

The seat beneath her was too stiff, the office too sterile, and the silence too loud. Her palms were clasped tightly in her lap, fingernails digging into the seam of her jeans as if pain might anchor her to the moment.

Across from her, the gleaming table stretched out like a barrier between her and the world, and beside her sat him. Lee Heeseung. Casual in posture. Ridiculously beautiful. Silent.

She hadn’t dared to look at him since the magazine had been slammed onto the table hours ago.

The photo. God, that photo.

His hands on her waist, her fingers gripping his blazer like she wanted him. And the kiss...messy, warm, and unmistakably real, even if neither of them remembered the exact moment it had happened.

Her head was still bowed, the image burned into her mind, when someone finally cleared their throat.

The sound felt like a bomb detonating in the quiet.

She looked up slowly, lashes fluttering, gaze landing on the sharp dressed woman at the head of the table. Seo Dami, Head of Public Relations at Solance Entertainment, and currently the woman who held both their careers in her well manicured hands.

Dami’s red lips pressed together in a firm, polite smile. “We’ve discussed all possibilities,” she said, eyes flicking briefly to Weiyin and then lingering on Heeseung. “The consensus is unanimous.”

Oh no.

“There is no controlling the narrative anymore. The image has been shared across platforms like a wildfire. Instagram, Twitter, X, Dispatch, Chinese portals, even German morning shows. You’re trending. And shockingly, the feedback is…” Her smile stretched. “Glowing.”

Weiyin’s stomach sank.

“We’re going public,” Dami continued smoothly. “Not with damage control. With a love story.”

Weiyin blinked. “…A what?”

A younger staff member beside Dami piped up, eyes gleaming. “We’re spinning it as a surprise engagement. A private romance that blossomed behind the scenes. Sweet, organic, unexpected. People are eating it up.”

“Engagement,” Weiyin repeated slowly, like the word had sprouted thorns in her mouth.

Then the door burst open.

Another junior staff member, hair wind blown and cheeks flushed like he had sprinted through the building, stumbled into the room carrying a long, velvet jewelry box.

“Got it!” he said triumphantly, stepping past the shocked silence and placing it right in front of her like it was a birthday gift and not her impending emotional death.

She stared at the box.

She blinked.

She almost blacked out.

With trembling fingers, she cracked it open and immediately wished she hadn’t.

The ring glimmered like sin.

A massive round diamond sat at its center, surrounded by smaller halo stones, all perched on a delicate platinum band. It looked like it had been plucked straight out of a royal engagement announcement. It sparkled. It mocked her.

It was also exactly the kind of ring she would never wear. It screamed flash. It screamed lies.

It screamed her worst nightmare.

“This’ll go live in about thirty minutes,” Dami said, checking her phone. “We’ll do a statement first, soft and romantic. Then a photo release. We have a few options from the night of the party, arms linked, some decent lighting. The one outside the bar is obviously the centerpiece.”

Weiyin could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

She opened her mouth, about to protest to say wait, or this is insane, or even what if I just jump out the window but she didn’t get the chance.

Dami stood. “Of course, we’ll handle the details. Scheduling appearances, wardrobe, the whole domestic fantasy.” She turned to Weiyin with a practiced smile. “We’ll send your things to his place this evening.”

His what?

“Heeseung’s residence will be your shared space for the remainder of the year. A couple in love, remember? You’ll be seen together casually, formally, everywhere in between.”

No one asked if she wanted to.

No one asked if she was okay.

By the time the last staff member had left the room, and the heavy office door clicked shut behind them, Li Weiyin was still staring at the ring.

And the man beside her finally let out a low whistle.

“Wow,” Heeseung said, leaning back in his chair. “I knew they’d be dramatic, but…engagement ring on delivery?”

Weiyin didn’t answer.

He turned to look at her fully, head tilting just slightly. “Hey.”

She slowly turned to meet his eyes.

They were soft. Clear. The kind of soft she hated because it made her feel like someone was trying to see her.

“…You okay?” he asked, voice low now that the room had emptied.

And then, with a sigh that tasted more like defeat than anything else, she closed the velvet box.

“No,” she muttered. “But I will be.”

The lie was bitter on her tongue.

And the ring, even closed away, burned hot in her lap.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Li Weiyin could feel his eyes on her. Even without looking up, she could feel the weight of his stare curious, unreadable, maybe even a little amused. Like he wasn’t currently part of the most absurd PR scheme in the history of Solance Entertainment. Like this wasn’t completely insane.

And maybe to him it wasn’t.

Maybe when you were Lee Heeseung star of every screen, charmer of every crowd, loved even when the lights were off, this was just another Tuesday. A glitch in the image to be fixed with expensive suits and smoother headlines.

But for her?

This wasn’t part of her script. She lived in reality, and right now it felt like hell.

She closed the velvet box and pushed it aside. She still refused to look at him.

Instead, she pressed her fingers to her temples and forced herself to breathe. Once. Twice. 

“We need rules.” Her voice was hoarse. Quiet, but firm.

Heeseung shifted beside her. She heard the creak of leather as he turned more fully toward her. “…Rules,” he echoed.

“If we’re going to do this,” she said, finally looking up, her gaze sharp despite the hollow panic still tucked behind it, “we have to keep it clean. Clear.”

“Okay…” Heeseung leaned his elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand, eyes glinting. “How clean are we talking? PG-13? Or full Disney channel-”

“I’m serious.”

His smirk faded. Not entirely, but enough.

Weiyin folded her arms, grounding herself. “I know how these things go. You play a part long enough, you start to believe it. You fall into a rhythm. You start getting used to each other. And that’s how people get hurt.”

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Listening now.

She took that as permission to continue.

“Rule one,” she said, lifting a single finger, “no real kissing. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary for the public. And even then…minimal. No tongue. None of that intense stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow like he wanted to comment, but wisely held back.

“Rule two,” she added, “no pet names. No honey, no jagi, no angel, or whatever else you normally throw around.”

He winced like she’d just scolded a puppy.

She kept going. “Rule three. No sleeping in the same bed. Separate rooms. No exceptions.”

He actually pouted. She glared.

“And rule four,” she said more quietly now, gaze softening as she picked at her own sleeve. “No getting attached. No mixing fake with real. Because when this ends in August, it ends. We go back to our own lives. You get your freedom. I get my job.”

She didn’t say what scared her the most.

That pretending might start to feel safer than reality.

That someone like Lee Heeseung. Someone warm, charming, constantly smiling with those impossible eyes, might feel like a home she’d never had, even if it wasn’t real.

She wouldn’t let herself want that.

She couldn’t want that.

He was watching her again, something unreadable stirring behind his lashes.

“…Okay,” he said softly. “I agree to the rules.”

She blinked.

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “I get it, Weiyin. You’re not wrong.”

She studied him for a long second, waiting for the punchline. But he only looked thoughtful, a little tired, and oddly…sincere.

And then, without warning, he stood up and extended a hand toward her.

“Shall we go, fiancée?” he said lightly, eyes sparkling now. “The world awaits.”

Weiyin narrowed her gaze but took his hand anyway.

As they stepped out of the meeting room into the hallway, where two junior staff members were waiting to escort them to the car and paparazzi, Heeseung leaned in slightly, voice a whisper in her ear.

“You look beautiful today, jagiya.”

Weiyin stopped in her tracks. Her jaw dropped. She whipped around.

“That’s rule two, you bastard!”

But he was already walking ahead, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, the other giving the staff a little wave.

“I said no pet names!” she hissed, rushing after him.

“Right,” he called over his shoulder, smirking now. “I’ll workshop something new.”

God.

This was going to be hell.

And Li Weiyin was very afraid…that she already kind of liked it.

Heeseung

This was weird.

New.

Okay, weird and new.

Because Li Weiyin was in his house.

In his house.

And not in the way he’d fantasized a few times after long shoots, when he let exhaustion and low light fill in the blanks imagining her curled up on his couch, humming while she watered his plants, wearing his hoodie while drinking tea and laughing at his awful movie collection.

No.

She was here because of a scandal.

Because of one impulsive, barely remembered kiss. Because someone had taken a blurry photo at the exact wrong moment from the exact worst angle. And now, thanks to fate or maybe a vengeful PR team, he was fake engaged to the only woman he’d ever actually, quietly, truly liked.

Heeseung leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded as he watched her walk around his living room, jaw tight, lips pursed, eyes scanning every inch like she was silently calculating how fast she could run if things got weirder than they already were.

God, she was cute.

Irritated, sure. Tense, definitely. But cute.

Li Weiyin had this very specific way of existing, like she was always on the verge of either sighing in defeat or conquering the entire world. And right now, with her hair pulled back messily, a hoodie that wasn’t his yet should be, and a small suitcase being dragged toward the guest room that was now hers, Heeseung couldn’t tell if he was in heaven or some kind of karmic trap.

Probably both.

She dropped the suitcase at the doorway and shot him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t just stand there like a lost deer in the woods. You offered to help, remember?”

Heeseung grinned. “I’m observing. Like a good host.”

“You’re being annoying,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound mad. Not really.

He walked over anyway and grabbed the handle of her second bag which was much heavier and began dragging it inside like a gentleman. A smirking, unhelpful gentleman.

“I still think we should’ve done this in stages,” she added. “I could’ve moved things over gradually. Quietly. Not just..boom surprise, I’m living with the nation’s heartthrob.”

Heeseung laughed. “You’re being dramatic. There’s no boom. It’s a soft transition.”

“You picked me up in a black company SUV with tinted windows and told me to ‘act casual.’”

“Exactly. Soft.”

She rolled her eyes. Heeseung swore under his breath, because even her irritation made his chest tighten in ways he wasn’t equipped for. This was going to be a problem.

Because here was the thing no one knew.

He’d been infatuated with her for years.

Not the kind of infatuation where you’re delusional and hopeful and bold.

No. He was subtle. Careful.

He just watched. Always watched. Memorized the way she bit her cheek while doing his eyeliner. Noticed how she’d always check her phone after calls from unknown numbers and look like she needed to breathe. How she hummed quietly when she was focused. How she never smiled for no reason, but when she did, it lit up her whole face.

Heeseung had loved her from a distance, in that careful, stupid way that people do when they think they’ll never have a shot.

But now…

Now she is here.

Living with him.

Pretending to be his fiancée.

And sure, she’d set rules. Strict, cold, terrifying rules.

But he was just a man, damn it.

A man with no self control, apparently, and the emotional maturity of a paper towel roll when it came to things like “boundaries” and “not falling harder than ever.”

He’d try.

He really would.

He was an actor, after all. A professional. This should be easy.

But already, he knew it wouldn’t be. Because pretending to be in love with her in public? Cake. He could do that with his eyes closed.

But pretending not to be in love with her behind closed doors?

Yeah.

That would make him the worst actor in the world.

He looked up as she plopped down on the couch after arranging her things. She let out a long breath, clearly already regretting her life choices.

“What now?” she mumbled.

He grinned. “Now? I order dinner. You pick the movie. We play house.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“I’m kidding,” he added, hands up in surrender. “Unless you’re into that.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful. Balance.”

She threw a pillow at him. It hit him square in the face, and he just laughed, catching it and clutching it to his chest.

God, he had to tell someone.

He was definitely texting the guys later.

Guess who moved in with me? The woman of my dreams, and she brought her rules with her. Send help. Or snacks. No pet names allowed, I’m dying.

He watched her scroll on her phone with furrowed brows, probably drafting a message to her best friend about how she was losing brain cells by the minute.

Heeseung leaned back against the couch, still holding the pillow she threw at him.

This was going to be hard.

And he couldn’t wait.

Only a few short hours later the house was quiet.

Too quiet, if Heeseung was being honest with himself. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts too loud, the kind that echoed in empty hallways and bounced around in your ribs when someone you wanted near was just...sleeping on your couch.

Which she was.

Li Weiyin, fake fiancée, goddess of his insomnia, destroyer of rules, was asleep on his couch. The very one he used to nap on after shoot days and cry on after heartbreaks and lie on dramatically when he didn’t want to be an adult anymore.

And now she was curled up on it in his hoodie no less, head tilted slightly, lips parted just barely as she breathed slow and even, her hair fanned out like a halo on the armrest.

Heeseung had made it thirty seven minutes into the movie before glancing over and seeing her passed out cold, fingers still gently clutching the blanket he’d tossed over her.

And he?

He had panicked.

Not the kind of panic where you yell or run.

No. He’d texted his best friends.

Because if six grown men screaming in digital chaos couldn’t help him understand what the hell he was supposed to do with all these feelings, nothing could.

He stood in his bedroom now, pacing in sweats and a tee, hair mussed from running his fingers through it, phone clutched like a lifeline. And the group chat?

The group chat was losing its mind.

[Group Chat: The DILFs + 1]

Heeseung:guys GUYS I NEED HELP NOW. EMERGENCY.

Jungwon: God What now?!!

Ni-ki: if this is about a missing sock again im blocking you

Sunghoon: 10k says he’s gonna say something unhinged

Heeseung: SHE’S HERE IN. MY. HOUSE.

Jake:who who’s she wait WAIT WAIT WAIT

Jungwon: Li Weiyin? I saw the headlines

Sunoo:OHHHHHHHHHH NO WAY NOOOOOO WAAAAAAY TELL ME YOU DIDN’T ACCIDENTALLY SLEEP WITH HER

Heeseung:NO I DIDN’T SLEEP WITH HER but she’s SLEEPING ON MY COUCH LIKE RIGHT NOW like literally she’s curled up like a cat in my hoodie and I can’t breathe also we’re engaged LIKE PUBLICLY.

Jay: …what

Jake:I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I CALLED THIS IN 2022 I SAID HE WAS IN LOVE WITH HER

Ni-ki:wait. back up. you're telling me you’re publicly engaged to your personal makeup artist??? like for real??? and she’s IN YOUR HOUSE???

Sunghoon:no guys this is hilarious I’ve never seen a man drown in his own crush so violently

Jungwon: ur one to talk PARK

Heeseung:IT’S NOT A CRUSH well IT’S NOT JUST A CRUSH IT’S A SCANDAL AND A PR STUNT AND NOW SHE’S IN MY LIFE 24/7

Sunoo:this is the best thing that’s happened to me all year I’m stealing her I’m telling her I’m the better man I will serenade her I will paint her nails I will cook for her if you mess this up she’s mine just like I told Yeji just like I told Airi I MEAN IT THIS TIME

Jake:leave him alone he’s struggling 😭

Jay:Okay but like how did this happen? Details. Now. This is a safe space.

Heeseung:There was a wrap party. There was alcohol. There was a kiss. And somehow someone got a photo Boom engagement. Solance spun it like a damn rom-com. Now she’s staying here until my contract ends. We’re “engaged” for the next eleven months.

Ni-ki:you kissed her and don’t remember it??? weak

Jungwon: Pathetic really

Heeseung:I WAS DRUNK OKAY but apparently it was good like. people are saying it was hot and I believe them I feel like it was hot her lips tasted like pineapples

Sunghoon:imagine kissing the woman you love and not remembering it couldn’t be me 😔

Jake:dude you’re screwed like in love screwed just say goodbye now

Sunoo:I’m serious I’m planning the wedding I’ll be prettier than her at the ceremony I’m wearing pink

Jay: Do you like her or LIKE like her?

Heeseung:LIKE LIKE I’VE BEEN IN LIKE LIKE FOR YEARS I THOUGHT SHE WAS OFF LIMITS AND NOW SHE’S IN MY KITCHEN USING MY MUGS

Ni-ki:you're done for do we need to stage an intervention or a confession

Jake:or both I say both

Jungwon: Our eldest Hyung is fucking doomed, already planning his downfall

Heeseung:I JUST NEED TO GET THROUGH TONIGHT she’s asleep I didn’t wake her I just tucked her in like a loser a gentle loser and I’m gonna cry I’m going to cry into my blanket

Sunghoon: update us when you break rule #1

Sunoo:or rule #2 or rule #all of them

Jay:we’ll start your “oops I fell in love with my fake fiancée” playlist now

Jake:I already have one title track: “Can’t Believe She’s Wearing My Hoodie”

Ni-ki:i’m renaming this group to “Heeseung’s Simp Club”

Group Name Changed To: Heeseung’s Simp Crisis Hotline

Heeseung groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed before he could spiral further into the group chat madness. The guys were exactly who they always were relentless, chaotic, and somehow the only people who could make him laugh while he was dying inside.

He flopped backwards onto his bed, heart thudding against his ribs.

Because this wasn’t just a joke anymore.

Not to him.

Li Weiyin was here.

In his space. His home. His hoodie. His everything, if fate would just give him a damn chance.

He knew the rules she set. Knew how scared she was to get attached. Knew that she didn’t trust easily, not after whatever had happened to her before that he still doesn't understand. And now she had rules, walls, and polite smiles.

But Heeseung?

He had a heart that didn’t listen.

He had eyes that watched her like art.

He had hands that ached to hold her.

And the worst part?

She was just down the hall, sleeping peacefully on a couch that would never be just a couch again.

Tomorrow would bring couple events, fake stories, more lies.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was a man with a crush the size of Seoul, a hoodie that smelled like her shampoo, and a group chat full of devils cheering him on. Or plotting his demise.

And yeah.

He was definitely texting them again in the morning.

Weiyin 

She wasn't okay.

No, scratch that she was the very definition of not okay.

The kind of not okay that wore a fitted blouse tucked into a soft beige skirt, heels just a little too high for comfort, and hair curled the exact way the PR team liked. The kind of not okay that smiled with glossed lips while flashbulbs exploded around her like landmines and strangers screamed her name like they knew her.

And the worst part?

Lee Heeseung’s hand was in hers.

Big, warm, and absurdly soft. Like he moisturized every three hours.

Which he probably did, because of course Heeseung would be perfect even at the molecular level.

Her fingers were trembling inside his grasp, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did because his thumb brushed the side of her palm like it was second nature, like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

Get it together, Weiyin. You flinch when people raise their voice but melt when a man holds your hand? Middle school girl behavior. Embarrassing.

It was supposed to be something simple. That’s what they told her, just a grocery run, orchestrated by Solance’s PR as the couple’s first ‘casual’ outing. A sweet, relatable date to make headlines. Nothing dramatic. Nothing scary.

Except dispatch was already outside the store before they even stepped in, lenses pointed like weapons, mouths running like they'd been fed Red Bull and gossip.

Heeseung, of course, was unbothered.

Of course he was.

“Just walk slow,” he murmured against the shell of her ear when they’d first exited the car. His voice was low, smooth like melted caramel and warm in a way that pissed her off. “Pretend you’re in a drama and you’re in love with me.”

“I don’t need to pretend that hard,” she whispered back, then mentally punched herself in the throat. She meant the drama part, not the in love part.

What did you just say?

He didn’t react unless the way his hand tightened gently in hers counted.

She told herself it was for the cameras.

It had to be.

Now, inside the store, she did what she always did when her heart was a storm: she focused on her task. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t look at him. Don’t let his stupidly symmetrical face distract you.

But it was hard.

Because he wasn’t just holding her hand. He was pushing the cart with the other, effortlessly guiding them down aisles like a man who’d done this a million times. Like this wasn’t all pretend.

Like they were a couple.

And they matched.

They. Matched.

Beige and black with the softest hints of dusty rose, his button up crisp, collar open, sleeves rolled. Her blouse tucked just right, the same color story. It wasn’t planned. Not by her.

But when she glanced at the reflection of them in the glass freezer doors, they looked perfect.

"Should we get those pineapple ice bars you like?" he asked suddenly, gesturing toward the freezer.

Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide. "How do you know I like those?"

He just smiled, warm and secretive, before squeezing her hand again. "You’re predictable, sunshine. Your chapstick tastes like them.”

Her face burst into flames.

It wasn’t fair.

He looked good. Too good. Tall and languid and calm in the chaos, jaw sharp, lips soft, the press of his palm steady against hers.

And he acted like it was nothing.

Like it didn’t matter.

Like this was just a job.

Just PR.

Just fake.

But her heart didn’t know how to read contracts. Her pulse didn’t understand the pretense. And when Heeseung reached for a box of cereal and tossed it in their cart without letting go of her hand?

Her brain short circuited.

Because for one stupid, suspended moment in time they didn’t feel fake at all.

Their cart was full not much longer.

Too full.

Half of it was reasonable with vegetables, rice, tofu, meat. Things she put in because she was trying to be a responsible human being pretending to be engaged. The other half?

Snacks. Sugary, salty, spicy, packaged, neon colored chaos.

She turned her head to glare up at him as they approached the drink aisle. “You said throw in whatever I wanted, not turn our cart into a college dorm pantry.”

Heeseung just grinned, the sharp twist of his mouth a little smug, a little too pretty for someone with cereal stacked next to seaweed chips and two random bags of marshmallows.

“I’m celebrating,” he said lightly. “This is what freedom tastes like.”

She opened her mouth to ask freedom from what but then he let go of her hand.

Thank God.

Her fingers, now released, were tingling. Sweaty. Weak. She flexed them, rolled her shoulders. It was ridiculous how relieved she was, how tightly her body had been wound just from touch.

She blamed the cameras. The pressure. The ring on her finger that felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

But then she turned to grab a box of Oolong tea and froze. “What are you doing?” she blinked as Heeseung returned, arms full of flaming red packets. She counted. One, two, six…

“Volcanic Shin Ramyun?” Her voice pitched higher than she meant it to. “Are you..are you okay mentally?”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, fiancée, are you suggesting I’m not stable just because I want to feel my soul leave my body via spicy noodles?”

She stared at him. He looked far too pleased with himself. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”

“Worth it.” He dropped the pile into the cart like a proud child displaying his Lego masterpiece. “Besides, I’ve trained for this moment my entire adult life.”

A breathy laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Just a little one. But it felt real. And warm. And it made the tightness in her chest ease, just a bit.

He caught it. Of course he did.

And in the soft silence that followed, his gaze held hers, not teasing now. Just...focused. Light. Gentle in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

Then his eyes dipped.

To her lips.

She blinked fast and turned toward the drinks like nothing happened.

It didn’t. It was just a trick of light. Of the moment. It meant nothing.

She reached for the familiar brown carton without thinking. The same one she bought every time her chest was heavy or the nights got too long. She plucked two cartons of coffee milk and set them gently in the cart.

“You like that?” Heeseung asked, his voice low again, like it always got when he wasn’t trying to be annoying.

She nodded. “Comfort drink.” Then, awkwardly, she added, “I’ve had it since I was a kid. There was a little corner store near my old apartment. They kept it cold behind the counter.”

There was a pause. Then, quieter, “It’s mine too.”

She glanced at him.

His smile was crooked but soft. Not the grin he wore for the world, not the smirk that came with the flirtations. This one was genuine. Boyish. He leaned forward just slightly and said, “Grab two more. They go fast at home.”

And just like that like it was normal she did. She tossed two more cartons in the cart while his hand found its way back to hers. Again. No warning. Just slid between her fingers like it belonged.

She didn’t pull away.

Couldn’t.

The warmth of it and the ease of it was dangerous.

They made their way to the register like that; fingers laced, pushing a cart that looked like domestic bliss and childhood cravings collided.

She was so focused on keeping her face neutral, her body calm, her thoughts under control, that she barely noticed the way the cashiers smiled at them. Or the murmurs from customers walking by. The little gasps, the muttered “Is that them?” whispers and fangirl eyes brimming with emotion.

“They’re so beautiful together,” someone whispered behind them. “I didn’t think it was real but look at them.”

Weiyin didn’t hear it.

But Heeseung did.

And he smiled.

Because if this was fake?

He didn’t want to know what real would feel like.

Heeseung

The bags were everywhere.

On the counters, the island, the floor spilling out with vegetables and snacks and entirely too many cartons of coffee milk. If someone walked in right now, they’d think he and Weiyin had been living together for years. Like this was a lazy Sunday, and not the awkward, adrenaline soaked aftermath of a fake engagement announcement gone viral.

Heeseung kicked off his slippers with a huff, flexing his toes on the cool kitchen tile. He'd changed the second they got back into black joggers, an old faded shirt with ‘I <3 Drama Queens’ printed on it that Sunoo had given him as a joke. His hair was messier now, face wiped clean, only a slight flush left on his cheeks from the attention they’d both just endured at the store.

Weiyin had changed too.

But tragically, tragically she was not wearing his hoodie.

The one he had oh so selflessly draped over her shoulders the night before when she complained about the cold. The one that still smelled like her when he’d picked it up off the couch after she fell asleep. The one that had sat in his lap for twenty entire minutes while he debated whether it was weird to miss someone who was literally ten feet away in the shower.

And now? Now she was standing in his kitchen in a plain fitted t-shirt and soft drawstring pants, hair clipped up, sleeves rolled, looking entirely too domestic as she unpacked a bag of spinach.

Rude. Truly.

Heeseung sighed under his breath and reached for the ramen pile.

"That shirt from earlier looked good on you," he said without thinking. "You should wear it again sometime."

Weiyin glanced at him. “It’s yours.”

Exactly.

He didn’t say that. Just shrugged like it didn’t matter.

It did. But fine.

He distracted himself by shoving the ramen packets into a drawer, organizing them by spice level not for any real reason, just because she was there, and this felt...weirdly real. Domestic. Like he was a person who grocery shopped with someone, came home, and planned dinner together. Not a man who spent his nights drinking coffee milk on the floor with his scripts scattered like confetti, wondering why his heart felt like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

She hummed beside him, opening the fridge, frowning at its nearly empty state. A single bottle of water. A carton of expired eggs. Two condiment bottles that may or may not have been alive.

“This is...shameful,” she muttered.

Heeseung chuckled. “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“Or survival, apparently,” she deadpanned.

She bent slightly to rearrange the fridge shelves, and Heeseung quickly looked away, pretending to be deeply focused on stuffing a bag of chips in the pantry. His ears were pink. This woman was going to end him.

He wasn’t sure when the thoughts started creeping in. Maybe after that kiss he barely remembered. Maybe before, back when she was still just his makeup artist, when he’d sit in her chair and stare at her reflection in the mirror while she gently fixed the things his insomnia broke.

And then today happened.

The coffee milk.

That tiny moment.

God. It was nothing. Stupidly small. But it felt like...like something aligned. Like a quiet whisper from the universe that said, See? You’re not as alone as you think you are.

Now she was here, in his kitchen, organizing his barren fridge like she belonged. Not his stylist. Not just a coworker. His fake fiancée technically. But her saying she’d cook dinner?

That didn’t feel fake at all.

“You don’t have to cook,” he said softly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching her profile.

She glanced at him, then went back to stacking the milk neatly.

“I want to,” she replied. “It’s...a thank you. For earlier. For today. I know this wasn’t easy, and you didn’t have to…” she stopped. Her voice softened. “You helped me more than I expected you to.”

Heeseung swallowed.

Helped her?

She didn’t even know half of how badly he wanted to keep helping her. Protect her. Keep her smiling like she is now. Like the whole world didn’t ache behind her eyes sometimes.

“Then,” he said with a smirk, voice warmer than he meant, “I’ll gladly accept.”

Because the truth was he was already in too deep.

He was going to fall in love with her. There was no stopping it.

She was going to wake up in his house every day. They were going to eat together. Laugh. Share things that weren’t in any script. He was going to see her in pajamas and messy hair and maybe even crying one day, and how the hell was he supposed to not love someone like that?

It was only August.

He had a whole year to survive pretending.

He didn’t think he would make it.

But maybe pretending wouldn’t be that hard after all.

Heeseung had no business holding a knife.

He knew it. She knew it. The poor bok choy definitely knew it.

“Uh..wait, that’s upside down-” Weiyin’s voice was amused, patient in a way that made his ears heat up.

He looked down. Sure enough, the blade was backward. Again.

“...Okay,” he muttered, surrendering the weapon like it had personally wronged him. “You know, I think I’m more of a supervisor. I supervise kitchen activity.”

Weiyin rolled her eyes but smiled, gently plucking the knife from his hand. “You’re a liability.”

“Liability,” he repeated, leaning on the counter like he belonged there. “Strong word. Sexy delivery.”

She elbowed him lightly and he chuckled, more from the sound of her laugh than the joke itself.

Honestly? He hadn’t been this relaxed in...years. Not while filming, not while rehearsing lines under harsh makeup lights, not even while lying alone in his too quiet apartment after a 16 hour shoot.

This?

This was dangerously nice.

Her sleeves were rolled again, hair tied up in that loose way that always made him want to take the clip out and see how her dark hair fell. Her cheeks were flushed from the stove’s heat, and she hummed softly to a melody only she could hear as she moved around his kitchen with ease.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was doing a stellar job watching.

Talking? Sure. Stirring when she told him to? Barely. Cutting things? Not even once.

And now?

He was in love with the smell of garlic and soy, the sound of sizzling, and the woman next to him who moved like this was the safest place on earth.

“What exactly are you making again?” he asked, trying to sound casual and not like he was counting the seconds until he could taste whatever magic she was creating.

“Stir fried tomato and egg,” she said, not looking up as she whisked eggs with a practiced hand. “It’s a comfort dish. Simple, but it always feels like home.”

Tomato and egg?

He furrowed his brow. “That’s a thing?”

“You’ll thank me after the first bite,” she replied easily, flicking soy sauce into the pan without measuring. “Trust me.”

He was already trusting her with everything else. What was one more thing?

She passed him a bowl and told him to wash the green onions, and he obediently moved to the sink like the world’s most interested intern, carefully rinsing them under cold water. His phone buzzed on the counter once. Then twice. Then a third time like it was being possessed.

Weiyin didn’t notice, still focused on the eggs.

He dried his hands and picked up the phone.

And then paused.

“Uh…”

“What?” she asked distractedly.

He turned the screen toward her without a word.

They both stared.

Photos. Videos. Fan edits already. A Twitter tag trending: #HeeYinGroceryDate. There was a blurry but shockingly cute clip of him pushing the cart one handed while holding hers with the other. Another of her was laughing in the drink aisle while he grinned like an idiot.

He scrolled.

“Heeseung finally got a girlfriend??? It’s about time. Man is 28, I was getting concerned 😭”

“They look so natural together wtf is this???”

“I thought this was a drama teaser. WHY IS IT REAL”

“This man is glowing. GLOWINGGGGG. Who is she? I need to know more.”

Heeseung blinked.

“Someone said I was a tragic case,” he mumbled.

Weiyin smothered a laugh behind her wrist. “That’s harsh.”

He read another one aloud. “'Heeseung’s in his husband era, don’t talk to me.' I…honestly that one's kinda fair.”

Her nose scrunched. “They’re...not wrong. You’ve been very domestic lately.” He gasped dramatically. “You’re saying I wasn’t before?”

“You didn’t even have food in your fridge.”

Touché.

He turned back to his phone as another notification popped up.

Manager hyung: Good job.

Heeseung squinted.

“Good job?” he muttered quietly as she went back to humming. “On what? Holding hands without combusting?”

He tossed the phone onto the counter and shook his head, rolling his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Because truthfully?

He didn’t care about the ship names or the fans freaking out.

He cared about the woman in his kitchen who was cooking for him, in his shirt last night, laughing like maybe this wasn’t all terrible.

“Hey,” he said, voice a bit softer now, “Thanks.” Weiyin blinked, caught off guard with her hand freezing on the stirring spoon. “For what?”

Heeseung shrugged, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes. “For today. For this. For...being here.”

Her expression faltered just for a moment but then she gave a quiet smile and turned back to the pan. “I’ll accept your thanks after you survive the spice level.”

“Oh God.”

They laughed.

The fanbase thought this was all pretend. And yeah...technically it was.

But if this was fake?

Heeseung wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find out what real felt like.

Weiyin

One month.

Thirty days of headlines, stolen photos, public hand holding, staged smiles that slowly stopped feeling staged. Of whispered inside jokes and half meant nicknames and Heeseung breaking rule number two like it didn’t even exist.

One month of pretending.

And it was still just that, pretend.

Right?

Weiyin stirred her cup of black tea absently, watching the soft steam swirl above it like it might hold the answers to the questions she refused to ask. She was curled on Luli Mei’s plush white couch, legs tucked under her, makeup scrubbed from her face, wearing sweats two sizes too big and a knot of uncertainty tied behind her ribs.

Across from her, Luli Mei was watching her like she was a math problem that didn’t add up.

“Okay,” the idol finally said, propping her chin on her palm. “Tell me everything. And don’t lie.”

Weiyin blinked. “I already told you everything.”

“No, you told me the PR approved version,” Luli scoffed, eyes narrowing. “I want the truth. The weird parts. The messy parts. The parts where you accidentally look at him like he invented kindness.”

Weiyin groaned, face falling into her hands. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your best friend,” Luli said sweetly, not even pretending to be sorry. “And because I know you. I’ve known you since you wore knock off Hello Kitty socks with your uniform skirt. You think I don’t notice when your voice does that little tremble thing when you say his name?”

“I don’t-” Weiyin started, but Luli held up a finger. “You do. And don’t try to deny it. You’re getting soft. I can see it.”

“I am not.”

“You are. You’re softer than a strawberry sponge cake.”

Weiyin made a strangled sound.

Luli leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Weiyin. Seriously. This is dangerous territory. You’re in his house every day. He’s breaking your rules like he breathes it. You laugh when he talks. You defend him when people talk shit. You even sent me that video of him tripping on the rug and said it was ‘the cutest thing ever.’”

Weiyin buried her face in the throw pillow. “You weren’t even supposed to remember that.”

“Oh, I remember everything,” Luli said, smug now. “Especially when my best friend is falling for a man with Bambi eyes and a tragically flirtatious smile.”

“I’m not falling,” Weiyin muttered, muffled into the cushion. “I’m tripping. There’s a difference.”

“And I’m telling you. Heeseung’s been into you for years. Don’t play dumb.”

That pulled her head up. “What?”

Luli crossed her arms. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you during that red carpet two years ago? The way he always asked if you were on set that day, how he never let any other artist touch his face except you? Heeseung's been smitten since before the world started shipping you.”

Weiyin sat there stunned. “That’s not-”

“It is. You’re just too careful. Too afraid to hope for something that might actually be good.” Luli’s voice softened. “I get it. I do. But you need to be honest with yourself. If this was just pretend, why does your heart beat faster every time he walks into the room?”

Silence.

Weiyin didn’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy either of them.

Her phone buzzed beside her on the couch.

Heeseung [🧸]: just fyi i left your comfort drink in the fridge door, figured you might need it after hanging with your gremlin best friend

She smiled before she could stop herself. Luli caught it immediately. “Mmhm. Yup. That face? That’s the one.”

“I’m not-”

“Say it again, and I’m throwing your phone in the sink.”

Weiyin sighed. One month down. Ten more to go. And if her heart kept acting like this, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it intact.

The tea had gone cold.

So had the late night air drifting through Luli Mei’s cracked balcony door, a subtle breeze that made the edges of Weiyin’s oversized sleeves flutter as she sat in silence. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the couch cushion. Her voice had been stuck in her throat for minutes now.

Luli didn’t push. She never did. She just waited, patient in a way only someone who’s known all your darkest corners could be.

“I’m scared,” Weiyin finally whispered.

There. She said it.

Luli blinked but didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know if any of this is real,” Weiyin continued, voice quiet, but clear now. “But if it is…if he really does…feel something for me then I’m terrified I’ll mess it up.”

She inhaled shakily, her eyes unfocused on the rug beneath her bare feet. “It’s not like I haven’t heard the rumors. You’re not the only one who’s said it. People on set. Stylists. Even our hair team. They’ve all said Heeseung looks at me like…like I matter. And that should make me happy, but it just makes my chest tight.”

Luli Mei sat up straighter. “Because of your ex?”

Weiyin nodded, shame creeping up her neck.

“He made me feel like being vulnerable was a weakness,” she admitted. “Like caring too much was embarrassing. I’d tell him how I felt, and he’d twist it, make me think I was dramatic, too emotional. So I stopped. I stopped talking. I stopped asking for things. I stopped…letting myself be seen.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. Not this time.

“I’ve built walls so high even I get lost in them. And now Heeseung..he’s just this walking contradiction. He’s warm, but flirty. Kind, but careful. He listens. He notices. He knows me better than most people ever have, and I don’t know when that even happened. It’s only been a month, and he already feels like…”

She stopped herself before saying home.

Luli Mei softened, leaning forward and grabbing her best friend’s hands. “Yin, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Weiyin looked up, eyes wide and glassy.

“You didn’t ruin anything. You survived something that tried to convince you that love wasn’t safe. That’s not your fault. That’s his.”

Luli squeezed her hands tighter. “Heeseung is not your ex. You said it yourself he listens. He pays attention. He looks at you like you hung the stars. So if this is real…let it be real. Let it happen.”

“But what if I fall?” Weiyin asked, voice cracking. “And he doesn’t catch me?”

“Then you’ll get back up,” Luli said without hesitation. “Because you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. But I think..no, I know he’ll catch you. Because that man is already halfway to the floor himself.”

Weiyin let out a breathless laugh, more tears than joy.

Luli reached for the tea kettle, reheating the water like this conversation was just another Sunday night in their tiny apartment all those years ago. “Just promise me one thing,” she said, eyes warm.

“What?”

“If he makes you happy, even if it’s messy, even if it’s scary don’t let the past keep you from the future you deserve.”

Weiyin didn’t answer right away.

But something in her chest shifted.

And maybe just maybe that was the start of something real.

Heeseung

Heeseung always hated office lighting.

It buzzed above him in a dull, mechanical hum that did little to distract him from the stiff collar of his shirt or the thickness of the contract pages in his hands. White walls, silver pens, smiling executives. He’d done this dance more times than he could count. Say the right things, shake the right hands, nod at the right people. Sign your name, sell your time.

But today felt different.

Because today, his hands weren’t moving.

They were still. Resting. Tight around the corners of the paper.

He wasn’t going to sign.

Not this time.

The script in front of him was ambitious, star-studded, already surrounded by buzz. A massive lead role for a new international project, prestigious and demanding and tethered to a two year commitment. The same two years he had no intention of giving to Solance Entertainment. Not anymore.

Ten months. That was all he had left in this chapter of his life. Ten months, and then he was done. No renewal. No surprise announcement. No final tour of “one last project.” He was tired. Not just physically, but in his soul.

He glanced up briefly. His manager’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was tension in the room. Everyone knew Heeseung never took this long with a contract. That used to be his charm, obedient, polished, profitable.

Not today.

Because while they talked about budgets and box office projections, Heeseung’s mind was somewhere else.

With her.

With Li Weiyin.

The woman who didn’t know she’d become his reason for staying present at all.

It was in the quiet moments. The ones nobody saw.

Like when she flinched, not always, not obviously but enough that he started to notice the pattern. Raised voices, sharp laughter, doors closing too quickly. Or when male staff reached too fast for something near her how her shoulders would stiffen before she’d smile like nothing happened.

She never explained. And he never asked.

Because he didn’t need the story to feel the weight of it.

Heeseung had learned to read people through makeup room mirrors, and she was a whole novel written in subtle glances and quiet bravery.

And then there were the nights when she’d lean against him not hugging, not touching, just close. Her body barely brushing his arm, her presence folded into the space between them like she needed the silence he carried to quiet the noise in her own head.

He never said a word. Just let her be.

But in those moments, he promised himself something.

Whatever had made her like this, whatever hand, whatever wound, whatever past he would never become part of it. He would protect her, if she ever needed it. And if she ever wanted to talk, to truly speak, he’d give her every second of his time.

But not under this company.

Not with a pen chained to someone else’s expectations.

Heeseung flipped another page of the contract slowly, intentionally, eyes narrowing at the date markers that extended far beyond August.

“Everything okay, Heeseung-ssi?” one of the producers asked, that familiar edge of forced politeness underlined by confusion.

Heeseung smiled, calm and unreadable. “Just taking my time.”

His manager shifted uncomfortably across the table. Heeseung didn’t look at him.

He returned his eyes to the contract, tracing the line that would’ve locked him in for two more years.

No. Not when he had ten months left. Not when someone finally made him want to live like his time mattered.

Not when he had someone to cook with.

Someone to grocery shop with.

Someone who knew what his comfort drink was because it was hers too.

Someone who made him want to text his best friends like a giddy idiot at midnight.

Someone whose laugh had started to sound like his favorite song.

He dropped the pen back onto the table.

“I’ll think about it,” he said coolly, already standing. “But I’m not signing anything today.”

The silence in the room was immediate. His manager’s expression tightened further. But Heeseung didn’t care.

He buttoned his jacket, nodded once, and left the contract untouched.

He wasn’t just doing this for himself anymore.

He was doing it for the peace he wanted, the future he could finally imagine, and the quiet woman with fire in her hands and fear in her heart who didn’t know it yet…but might just be the reason he finally found a way to stop running.

“You want to explain what the hell that was?”

The words came sharp and fast, echoing down the corridor of the Solance building before the door even finished closing behind Heeseung. His manager, Mr. Kang, didn’t bother waiting for a seat. He didn’t even lower his voice.

Heeseung, on the other hand, moved with infuriating calm. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves up halfway, and took the seat he always did in the dressing room lounge, crossing one leg over the other.

“I didn’t like the script,” he said smoothly, voice flat.

Kang scoffed, running a hand through his hair like he wanted to rip it out. “Bullshit. It’s a guaranteed box office hit. You don’t even read scripts before you sign. You said you were done playing hard to get, remember?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “I said I was done playing by other people’s timelines.”

“The company is pushing this film,” his manager stressed. “This is a career move.”

“The company also pushed this engagement,” Heeseung replied, voice calm, but sharp enough to cut through steel. “And last I checked, part of the deal was no more films for the rest of the year. Just appearances, interviews, magazine spreads, and ambassador shit. That’s what was agreed on, right?”

Kang’s jaw clenched. “That agreement was made so you could clean up the scandal.”

“Scandal?” Heeseung let out a quiet scoff, leaning back. “Right. Because kissing a girl outside a bar is more damaging than the four other things you swept under the rug for other idols this year. Got it.”

His manager didn’t reply. Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because they both knew it was true.

“This whole engagement thing…” Kang gestured vaguely, the words thick with unspoken meaning. “You don’t have to take it that seriously. We all know it’s not real.”

Something flickered in Heeseung’s eyes. His smirk came slow and sarcastic. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need to stay focused.”

“I’ve been focused for ten years,” Heeseung said, voice low and level, that usual honeyed charm gone. “I’ve given everything to this company. My time, my image, my privacy, even my fucking exhaustion. So forgive me for wanting to spend the next ten months with my fiancée, as you all keep calling her, instead of reading another generic script about a man saving the world with a broken past and a sharp jawline.”

Kang flinched. “Heeseung-”

He stood, cutting him off with nothing but the creak of the chair legs and the soft click of his watch clasp as he adjusted it.

“I’ve got a woman to get home to,” Heeseung said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And just like that, he turned and left the room, whistling quietly down the hallway like nothing was wrong.

But something was.

The apartment was quiet when he returned. No keys in the bowl by the door. No sound of humming from the kitchen, no scent of food or soft flicker of the bathroom light. She wasn’t back yet.

Good. He didn’t want her to see him like this.

Heeseung dropped his keys on the table and stood in the middle of the living room, jacket slung over one arm, staring at the silence that greeted him. The place still smelled faintly of her shampoo he had no idea how that was even possible but it comforted him.

He moved into the kitchen on autopilot.

Ramen.

Two eggs.

Chili flakes.

And coffee milk because some days, a grown man just needed to eat like a heartbroken teenager.

He poured it all into a tray, grabbed his chopsticks, and walked barefoot to the window seat in the living room, where the moonlight spilled across the floor. His city blinked back at him in slow pulses of neon and traffic lights.

Heeseung sat, slouched, and poked at his noodles without much interest.

The truth was he was tired. And not just today.

Ten years of saying yes.

Of smiling on cue.

Of contracts before conversations.

Of knowing he was lucky, and never being allowed to forget it.

But now…now there was Weiyin. A quiet storm of a woman who made breakfast for both of them without asking, who tucked herself close when the world got too loud, who made him laugh during ramen aisle debates and carried pineapple chapstick in her purse without knowing she’d ruined him with a single taste.

He leaned his head back, resting it against the wall, and exhaled.

Maybe this wasn’t forever.

Maybe they were still pretending.

But tonight he wasn’t acting anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like a good place to start.