Nayeon smiled “Good,” she said. I looked at her “Good?” “Everyone is alive.” “That is your standard?” “For this group?” She squeezed my hand once “Yes.”

Fair standards.

The pavilion came into view. It looked almost peaceful from a distance, which meant absolutely nothing. The long table was already half-full. Jihyo had coffee in front of her and the posture of a woman pretending she had not already solved three problems before sitting down. Mina had tea. Sana was leaning toward Dahyun, both of them smiling with the careful innocence of people who had already done something. Tzuyu sat calmly near the end of the table, watching the room like she was auditing everyone’s emotional stability.

Jeongyeon sat near the far side. She saw us first. Her eyes moved to Nayeon. Then to me. Then to our hands. Her expression did not change much. That was the terrifying thing about Jeongyeon. Nayeon could turn a smile into a warning. Jihyo could turn silence into law. Mina could blink and somehow make you confess to tax fraud.

Jeongyeon only looked. And somehow, that was enough to make me check my posture. Nayeon noticed “Do not report for inspection,” she murmured.

“I wasn’t.” “You straightened.” “I have a spine.” “You remembered it professionally.”

Before I could defend myself, Dahyun looked up. Her mouth opened. Jihyo pointed at her without looking. Dahyun closed her mouth. Nayeon smiled wider “Good morning.”

Sana’s eyes sparkled “Good morning.”

Too sweet. Far too sweet. I narrowed my eyes “Why did that sound like a trap?”

“It was two words,” Sana said. “Your two words have layers.”

Dahyun raised one finger. Jihyo’s finger shifted slightly toward her. Dahyun lowered hers “Personal observation withdrawn,” she whispered. Mina took a sip of tea “Efficient.”

Jihyo closed her eyes.

Nayeon sat first, still keeping her hand in mine until the last possible second. Not clinging. Not making a show of it. Just letting go at the speed she chose. That mattered more than I wanted it to. I sat beside her. Jeongyeon watched that too. Then her mouth curved faintly “You’re late.”

Nayeon lifted her chin “We are fashionably late.” Jeongyeon looked at my hair “One of you is.”

The table reacted immediately. Nayeon gasped. Sana covered her mouth. Dahyun looked betrayed by the universe for not being allowed to comment first. I touched my hair “She made it worse emotionally.”

Jeongyeon nodded like this confirmed something “Looks like it.” Nayeon pointed at her “Do not gang up on me during my emotional growth era.” “Then stop leaving evidence.” “I am evidence.” “That is not a defense.” “It is if I am pretty.”

Jihyo set her cup down “Please do not create legal categories before breakfast.” Tzuyu looked at her food “Pretty evidence sounds admissible.”

“Tzuyu.” “What?” Nayeon leaned toward me, delighted “See? My day had impact.” “You are all terrible.” “And yet,” she said sweetly.

I looked at her. She looked back. For half a second, the pavilion noise softened. Just enough for the room from this morning to return. The blanket. The door. Nayeon’s hand in mine. The hallway bright with morning.

Then Jeongyeon placed a cup of water in front of me. Not dramatically. Not tenderly. Just there. I looked down at it. Then at her “I have coffee.”

“You have water now.” “I also have rights.” “You have hydration.”

Nayeon smiled into her cup. I pointed at her “Do not look pleased.”

“I am not pleased.” “You are glowing with betrayal.” “I am glowing for unrelated reasons.”

Sana made a sound into her napkin. Jihyo pointed again. Sana lowered her face harder into the napkin. Jeongyeon picked up her chopsticks “Drink.” I stared at her. She stared back. I drank.

The table immediately pretended not to notice. Badly. It would have been embarrassing if I had not been too tired to fight everyone at once. Breakfast moved around us after that. Mostly. The others talked about food, the weather, whether the resort jam tasted expensive, and why Dahyun should not start a daily headline board even if she promised to keep it “emotionally responsible.”

I ate. That was important. Not because anyone made a speech about it. Because food kept appearing on my plate before I could think too hard about whether I wanted more. A piece of fruit from Nayeon. Rice nudged closer by Jihyo. Mina moved the sauce without looking up from her tea. Sana smiled every time I accepted something.

Jeongyeon did not feed me loudly. She only watched when I tried to drift. That was worse.

Every time my attention moved toward the edge of the pavilion, toward the kitchen, toward the staff path, toward any place where something could become my responsibility, she tapped the table once. Not hard. Just enough.

The first time, I looked at her. She did not say anything. The second time, I frowned. The third time, I whispered, “Are you training me?” Jeongyeon did not look away from her plate “You respond to sound.”

Nayeon nearly choked to that observation. All I could do was protest “I am not a dog.” Jeongyeon reached over and placed another piece of food on my plate “Eat.”

“That did not help your argument.” “It was not an argument.” Mina’s eyes lifted “It is more of a method.” “Do not encourage her.” “I was observing.” “You all observe violently.” Dahyun whispered, “Developing story—” Jihyo cut her off, “No.”

Dahyun lowered her imaginary microphone with tragic dignity. For a while, the morning almost became normal. Almost. Then Yeji arrived. Not with Ben. That was the first thing I noticed.

She stepped into the pavilion quietly, hair still soft from sleep, expression composed in the way leaders looked when they had already decided which parts of themselves were allowed to be visible before breakfast.

Her eyes found Jihyo first. Leader to leader. Then Nayeon. Then me. For one second, she looked at Nayeon’s face, at my face, at the way Nayeon sat close enough that no one with eyes could pretend nothing had happened.

Something in Yeji softened. Not teasing. Not loud. Just enough. Nayeon noticed immediately “Where is your husband-boyfriend?”

Yeji closed her eyes. The entire table woke up “He is not my husband-boyfriend.” Jihyo sighed into her coffee “It survived the night.” “That is not how titles work,” I muttered. Nayeon leaned toward me “You survived worse.” “I am currently surviving you.” Her smile sharpened “Barely.”

I looked down at my plate. Cowardice was sometimes breakfast-compatible. Jeongyeon pushed the water closer to me. I looked at it. Then at her. She said nothing. I drank.

Yeji sat near Jihyo, still pretending the title had not followed her all the way from yesterday. It did not work. Nayeon looked far too pleased with herself. Sana was smiling into her napkin. Dahyun had the face of a journalist being denied a historic press conference.

Jihyo pointed at her without even looking. Dahyun lowered her imaginary microphone “Personal observation withheld,” she whispered.

Mina took a sip of tea “For now.” “Do not assist the media,” Jihyo said. “I was observing media restrictions.” “That is assisting.”

Lia arrived next, cardigan wrapped around her shoulders, tea already in hand like she had brought emotional self-defense. She saw Nayeon. Saw me. Understood enough to look politely at her cup instead.

Kindness, Lia-style.

Then Chaeryeong came in beside Momo. Momo was already carrying food. Of course she was. Chaeryeong looked like she had tried to carry something too and lost the argument somewhere along the path. Momo placed a small plate in front of her before sitting.

Chaeryeong stared at it “I can get my own.” Momo nodded “Yes.”

Chaeryeong blinked. Momo pushed the plate a little closer “This one is already here.” Chaeryeong looked at the food like it had become a moral problem. Jeongyeon noticed. So did I. She caught me noticing. Tap. One finger against the table. I looked back at my plate.

Right.

Not every small wound needed me to become a bandage. The empty seats stayed empty. Three of them. Ben, Ryujin, and Yuna.

Yeji’s phone stayed low near her lap, screen dark, but she kept not looking toward the path in a way that made the path impossible not to notice. I knew that feeling. Waiting while pretending not to wait. Understanding why someone was gone did not make the chair beside you warmer. Nayeon must have noticed too, because her voice softened by one dangerous degree “He’ll come back.”

Yeji looked at her. Nayeon shrugged like she had said nothing important “He looks like the kind of idiot who comes back dramatically.” Yeji’s mouth twitched “He is not dramatic.”

The silence around the table became extremely rude. Even Jihyo looked at her. Yeji looked down at her drink “I hate all of you.”

“That sounded married,” Dahyun whispered.

Jihyo pointed. Dahyun bowed her head. Then voices came from the path. Yuna’s laugh arrived first. Small. Real. The pavilion shifted before anyone moved. Ben appeared at the edge of the walkway with Ryujin on one side and Yuna on the other.

They were not subtle. None of them were.

Ryujin wore sunglasses again, because apparently emotional recovery required looking like she was avoiding airport cameras. Yuna stood close to her, sleepy and bright and trying very hard to look like she had not survived something important.

And Ben— Ben saw Yeji. Everything else left his face. He crossed the pavilion like the floor had personally wasted his time. Yeji stood before he reached her. No one said anything. Not even Nayeon. Ben opened his arms, and Yeji stepped into them at the same time, like both of them had been holding the same breath from opposite sides of the night.

He caught her hard enough to lift her slightly. “I missed you,” he said into her hair. The words were rough. Not polished. Not funny. Yeji closed her eyes “I know.”

“No.” Ben pulled back just enough to see her face, still holding her like distance had become offensive “I really missed you.”

Ryujin slowly removed her sunglasses “Oh, he’s gone-gone.”

Ben did not look away from Yeji “In husband time, that entire night was equal to several fiscal quarters.”

I choked on my coffee. Nayeon slapped my back, laughing. Jeongyeon looked at me “That is why you are on water.”

“I was attacked by fiscal romance.” “You were attacked by coffee.” Dahyun whispered, “Fiscal husband time.” Jihyo said, “Dahyun.” “I whispered.” “It still existed.”

Yuna covered her mouth with both hands, eyes shining with the terrible joy of someone witnessing romance and preparing to misuse it later. Lia looked down, smiling softly into her tea. Chaeryeong’s face warmed. Momo looked at Ben and Yeji, then at Nayeon and me, then nodded once, like breakfast had achieved balance.

I did not know what that meant. I also did not ask. Jeongyeon tapped the table once before I could keep watching too closely. Right. Again.

I looked back at my food. Ben and Yeji were not my assignment. Ryujin and Yuna were not my assignment. Whatever had happened last night was not my door unless someone opened it.

Jeongyeon did not say that. She did not have to. The morning went on around us.

Ben stayed attached to Yeji like he had discovered a designated recovery area and intended to file permanent residency. Ryujin pretended not to be protective. Yuna pretended not to be glowing. Lia pretended not to notice both of them and failed with dignity. Normally, I would have tracked all of it. Every face. Every edge. Every tiny shift where humor became cover and cover became something someone might need help carrying.

My attention started to move. Jeongyeon tapped the table once. I stopped. Not because she had authority. Because I understood. Not your door. Not right now. I looked at my plate instead. Nayeon saw.

Her smile softened. Jeongyeon saw that too, but pretended not to. That was kind of her.

Breakfast continued proving that peace was a theory. At some point, Yuna reached for a bag. Lia looked at her. Yuna froze. That was enough information for everyone who had survived this vacation long enough to recognize contraband by posture alone.

I looked up. Jeongyeon tapped the table once. I looked back down “Not my door,” I muttered.

Jeongyeon’s mouth curved “Learning.” “I hate that you heard that.” “You said it out loud.” “That feels like entrapment.” “It was self-reporting.”

Across the table, Lia stood with the calm of a woman who had decided mercy needed fire. Yuna made a sound of betrayal. Ryujin removed her sunglasses like she was watching history happen. Dahyun whispered something that made Jihyo say no before the sentence finished existing.

Smoke rose from the breakfast grill a minute later. I stared at my plate with heroic discipline “Are you burning stationery?” I asked without looking up.

“Do not engage,” Jeongyeon said. “That sounds like yes.” “It is not your stationery.” “That does not answer the question.” “It answers the important part.”

I drank my water. That, apparently, was my life now. Eventually, breakfast loosened into smaller conversations again. Not because the room became calm. Because everyone had exhausted the first round of chaos and needed food before starting the second.

I reached for my coffee. Jeongyeon took it. I stared at my empty hand. Then at her.

“That was mine.” “It was your second.” “It was my emotional support coffee.” “You are emotionally supported enough.” Nayeon leaned back across the table, delighted “I like today.” “It just started.” “I know.” “That should worry you.” “It does not.”

Jeongyeon stood. The table did not go silent. Not fully. But I felt the shift anyway. Maybe because Nayeon felt it too. Her hand paused around her cup. Jihyo looked over once, then looked back at the plate in front of her like she was choosing not to make a ceremony out of something that would survive better without one.

Jeongyeon finished the last of her water. Then she looked at me “Walk first.”

I blinked “With you?” “No,” she said “With the shrub.”

The table enjoyed that too much.

I closed my eyes for one second “I asked a fair question.” “You asked a stupid question with good posture.” “That is somehow worse.” “Come on.”

I looked at Nayeon. She was smiling, but quieter now. There was something in her face that had not been there yesterday morning. Not surrender. Not jealousy. A kind of satisfaction. Like she had carried me to a door and was watching someone else open it without feeling like she had lost me.

“Go,” she said. “You are very mature today.” “I know.” Her smile sharpened “It is disgusting.” Sana leaned into her shoulder “We are proud.” “Do not make it emotional,” Nayeon said. “You cried yesterday,” Dahyun whispered. Nayeon pointed at her “Independent media can be sued.” Dahyun lowered her head “Understood.”

Jeongyeon waited. She did not rush me. That made it harder. If she had dragged me, I could have complained. If she had teased more, I could have fought with jokes. If she had made it a big thing, I could have turned it into a task. Instead, she stood there with her hands at her sides and let me decide to get up. So I did. Slowly. Not because my body hurt. Not exactly. Because something in me was learning that standing did not have to mean reporting. Jeongyeon noticed the pace. She did not praise it. 

I followed her out of the pavilion.

Behind us, breakfast noise kept going. Ben said something that made Ryujin threaten him. Yeji said his name in a tone that somehow worked better than actual law. Yuna mourned something with too much dignity. Lia sounded proud and exhausted at the same time. Jihyo told someone no. Momo asked if anyone wanted more fruit.

The resort path swallowed the voices by degrees. Sunlight warmed the stones beneath us. Jeongyeon walked beside me. Not ahead. Not behind. Beside.

For a while, neither of us spoke. That was new too. Nayeon had used quiet like a lesson. Jeongyeon used it like furniture. It was just there. Functional. Comfortable if I stopped being stupid about it.

The garden path curved away from the pavilion, passing between low shrubs and trees with red flowers I did not know the name of. The ocean was still visible between gaps in the greenery, bright and blue enough to look fake. Somewhere nearby, water moved through a small fountain.

Jeongyeon glanced at me “Breathe normally.” “I am breathing.” “You are breathing like you are waiting for instructions.” “I was not aware there were categories.” “There are.” “And you know them?” “I know yours.”

That shut me up. She kept walking. I matched her pace. After a minute, she said, “You look better.”

“That sounds suspicious.” “It was an observation.” “From you, observations have consequences.” “You do look better,” she said “Not fixed.” “I was not going to assume fixed.” “You might.”

I looked at her. Her face was turned toward the path ahead, expression calm, voice even.

“I look like someone who assumes fixed?” I tried to bring the topic back. “You look like someone who hears ‘better’ and immediately starts planning how to stay that way so no one regrets helping.”

I stopped walking. Jeongyeon took two more steps before she stopped too. She turned back. Not triumphantly. Not like she had caught me. Just waiting. I looked down at the stones “That was very early for that kind of violence.”

“It was not violence.” “That was at least emotional assault.” “You survived.” “Barely.”

Her mouth curved. Small… there she was. Then she walked back to me and stood close enough that I could see the faint amusement in her eyes.

“I am not Nayeon,” she said. “I noticed.” “I am not going to make speeches every time you breathe correctly.” “That sounds efficient.” “Do not use Mina’s language to escape.”

I smiled despite myself. She saw. Then her expression softened by one degree.

“My day is not going to be dramatic.” “Okay.” “That was too fast.” “What?” “You said okay like you were accepting less for me.”

I opened my mouth.  Jeongyeon nodded “There it is.”

“I did not say anything.” “You didn’t have to.”

She turned and started walking again. I followed, a little slower this time. Not from fatigue. From being known too accurately.

We reached a shaded stretch near the garden wall. The air was cooler there. Less bright. Jeongyeon stopped beside a bench, but did not sit yet “I want a boyfriend vacation too,” she said. The sentence was so plain that it took a second to understand how much it cost.

I looked at her. She looked at the flowers instead “I know everyone keeps talking about rest. And recovery. And not making you work. And all of that is true.” Her fingers brushed a leaf near the path “But I still want my day.”

My chest tightened “Jeongyeon.” She looked at me then “I am telling you because you are about to misunderstand me if I do not.”

“I wasn’t—” “You were.”

I stopped. She was right. That was becoming annoying. Her voice stayed calm “I am not making it simple because I want less. I am making it simple because I want you inside it, with me. Not you diffusing and intercepting everything.”

The garden went quiet around us. Or maybe I did. Jeongyeon held my gaze for another second, then looked away first, like she had said enough and did not want me turning it into a whole emotional ceremony. I let her have that. Mostly.

“What do you want?” I asked. She glanced at me “Today?” “Yes.”

She thought about it. Not long “Walk with me. Eat with me. Share coffee with me later. Sit somewhere nice without looking like you are waiting for a performance review.”

“That is a very specific attack.” “Well you have a very specific habit.”

I breathed out a laugh. She sat on the bench. Then patted the space beside her once. I sat. Not too close at first. Jeongyeon looked at the gap between us. Then at me. I moved closer. She nodded “Learning.”

“Do not make me sound like a trained animal.” “Then stop needing commands.” “I am trying.” “I know.”

The way she said it made the joke settle. Not vanish. Settle. We sat under the shade while the resort moved around us at a distance. No one needed me. No one called. No one asked where anything was. No one handed me a problem and waited for me to become useful.

Jeongyeon leaned back against the bench. Her shoulder touched mine. Only lightly. Then stayed. I looked down at our arms. She did not.

That was the difference. Nayeon would have noticed me noticing and smiled like she had won something. Jeongyeon only let the contact exist until I stopped treating it like an event. It took longer than I wanted to admit. Eventually, I leaned back too.

Our shoulders pressed together properly. Jeongyeon’s mouth curved. Barely “Good.”

“That one sounded like praise.” “It was.” “Oh.” “Do not get emotional.” “Too late.”

She looked at me. I looked at the flowers. Her laugh came quiet. Warm. Not enough to call attention to itself. Enough to make the bench feel like a place we were allowed to stay.

After a while, she said, “You can ask now.” “Ask what?” “What we are doing next.” “I was not going to.” “You were suffering politely.” “I contain restraint.” “You contain questions.”

I surrendered “What are we doing next?” Jeongyeon stood “Nothing complicated.”

“That is not an answer.” “It is a warning, for you.”

She started walking again. I followed. This time, she held out her hand without looking back. I stared at it for half a second too long. She glanced over her shoulder “John.”

I took it. Her hand was warm. Steady. No ceremony. No announcement. Just there. We walked deeper into the garden path, away from breakfast, away from everyone else, away from the noise that kept trying to make love into proof.

Jeongyeon did not pull. I did not hurry. For once, the silence did not feel like a test. It felt like the first part of the date.

The garden path opened near a smaller courtyard I had not noticed from the pavilion. It sat tucked between two low walls covered in vines, with a stone fountain in the middle and enough shade to make the air feel like it belonged to another hour.

Jeongyeon let go of my hand first. Not abruptly. Just because she needed both hands to pick up a small fallen flower from the path. It was red. A little bruised around one edge. She looked at it, then held it toward me.

I blinked “For me?” “For inspection.” “What am I inspecting?” “Whether it is pretty.” I took it carefully “It is.” “You answered too fast.” “It is a flower. The options are limited.” “You are rushing the boyfriend activity.”

I looked at her. She looked back, completely serious. I looked down at the flower again “It is red,” I said.

“Good start.” “A little damaged.” “Better.” “Still pretty.”

Jeongyeon’s gave me a warm smile, “That was the answer.”

I stared at the flower. Then at her.

“Was that a test?” “No.” “That felt like a test.” “It was a date activity.” “Inspecting a damaged flower?” “Standing in a pretty courtyard with me and paying attention to something that is not a problem.”

I closed my mouth. The fountain moved quietly behind her. She reached out, took the flower from my hand, and tucked it behind my ear. I froze. Jeongyeon stepped back to look. Her face did not change. Then she nodded “Ridiculous.”

“I feel objectified.” “You look objectifiable.” “That is not a word.” “It is today.” I touched the flower carefully “Am I supposed to keep this?” “For now.” “Why?” “Because if you have a flower on your head, you are less likely to look like you work here.”

I looked at her. She looked pleased with herself. Not loudly. But enough “You planned this?”

“No. I found a flower.” “And weaponized it.” “I used available resources.” “Mina would be proud.” “Do not ruin my romance.”

I stopped. Jeongyeon stopped too. For once, she was the one who looked like she had said something before deciding whether she wanted it out loud. Romance. The word stayed between us, small and ordinary and somehow more frightening than if she had said love.

I touched the flower again. Then lowered my hand “I’m not ruining it.” She looked at me. I swallowed “I am trying not to.”

Her expression softened. Then she turned before it became too much “Come on.”

“Where?” “Courtyard loop.” “That is just walking.” “With flower inspection.” “That does make it more official.” “Exactly.”

So we walked the courtyard loop. Slowly. Stupidly. With a flower behind my ear and Jeongyeon pretending not to enjoy it every time she looked at me. We passed the same fountain three times. On the second pass, she took out her phone.

I stopped “Oh no.” “What?” “You are taking evidence.” “It is not evidence.” “That is exactly what someone with evidence says.” “Stand there.” “Jeongyeon.” “Stand there with the flower.” “This feels like blackmail preparation.” “It is a boyfriend vacation photo.”

That silenced me more effectively than any command could have. Jeongyeon noticed. Her thumb paused over the screen. Then she lowered the phone slightly.

“You do not have to.” “I know.” “Do you?”

I looked at the fountain. At the vines. At the red flower that was probably making me look like a resort advertisement with emotional damage. Then at her “I want you to have a photo.”

Her face changed. Not much. Just enough to notice, “Not because you need proof,” I added quickly “Not because I have to make the day look good.”

“Then why?” “Because you asked for something small.”

The answer came before I could polish it. That made it scarier. Jeongyeon looked at me for a long moment. Then lifted the phone again “Good.”

I stood by the fountain. Awkwardly at first. Then less awkwardly when she lowered the phone and glared “Stop posing like your ID is being renewed.”

“I do not know how to stand recreationally.” “I know. That is why I’m helping.” “You are bullying.” “I am improving the subject.” “That is worse.” “Turn a little.”

I turned.

“Less ‘manager’ pose.” “I do not have a ‘manager’ angle.” “You have several.”

I tried again.

Jeongyeon sighed and walked over. She fixed my shoulders with both hands, pushed one down, adjusted the flower, then stepped back.

“There.” “What changed?” “You stopped apologizing with your neck.” “I do that?” “Yes.”

She took the photo before I could become self-conscious about my neck. Then another. Then one more when I laughed because she muttered, “Finally,” under her breath. She checked the pictures. I watched her face instead. The corner of her mouth lifted.

Like she had gotten exactly what she wanted and did not need the world to clap for it “Good?” I asked. She looked at the screen. Then at me “Yes.”

For some reason, that felt larger than it should have.

We stayed in the courtyard a little longer. Not doing anything that would sound important if someone asked later. She showed me the photo. I looked ridiculous. Happy, unfortunately. The flower did not help my dignity.

Jeongyeon seemed very satisfied by that “Send it to me,” I said. She narrowed her eyes “Why?”

“So I can have it too.” Her suspicion faded slowly. Then she sent it. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I did not reach for it. Jeongyeon noticed. Of course she did, “Good,” she said.

“You say that a lot.” “You need repetition.” “I am not a dog.” “You keep returning to that defense.” “Because the evidence keeps mounting.”

This time she laughed properly. Not loudly. Just enough that I wanted to make her do it again. That was dangerous. Wanting to make someone laugh could become a job if I let it. So instead, I let the laugh happen and did nothing with it. Jeongyeon saw that too.

Her hand found mine again “Now you’re learning.” “What did I do?” “Nothing.” “That is very difficult for me.” “I know.”

We left the courtyard with my phone still in my pocket and the flower still behind my ear. By the time we returned to the broader path near the pavilion, the breakfast crowd had thinned into late morning clusters. Voices carried from different directions now. Someone laughed near the pool. Momo’s voice came from the kitchen side. Chaeryeong answered her, softer but brighter than usual.

Jeongyeon slowed before the pavilion fully came into view. I did too. The world was waiting there. Not badly.

Just loudly.

I felt my attention start reaching ahead of me. Counting. Checking. Who was where. Who needed what. Whether Lia looked too quiet. Whether Yuna was too bright. Whether Ben was doing the thing where he watched Yeji pretending not to watch everyone else. Whether Jihyo had stopped pretending she was resting. Jeongyeon squeezed my hand once.

I breathed out “Right.”

She looked at me “What did I stop?” “Inventory.” “People are not inventory.” “I know.” “Do you?” “I am trying to.”

She nodded “Good enough for one walk.”

We stepped back into the edge of the pavilion together. Nayeon saw the flower first. Her mouth opened. Jihyo lifted a hand immediately. Nayeon closed her mouth with visible pain. Dahyun, less protected by leadership instinct, whispered, “Local boyfriend pollinated during supervised walk.”

Jihyo turned. Dahyun looked down “Personal observation escaped.”

Jeongyeon ignored all of them and took my coffee before I could reclaim it from the table. I stared “Again?”

“You’re done.” “With coffee?” “For now.” “That sounds temporary.” “It is.” “How generous.”

She replaced it with water. Mina looked up from her book “Yoo Jeongyeon special recovery method.”

Jeongyeon took a sip from the coffee she had stolen “Yes.” Nayeon leaned across the table “How was your walk?”

I looked at Jeongyeon. Then at Nayeon. Then, stupidly, toward Ben, who had done absolutely nothing except exist with Yeji attached to him at a distance. Rude of me.

“It was great,” I said.

Jeongyeon sat beside me, unbothered. “That sounds suspicious,” Nayeon said. “It was emotionally suspicious,” I admitted.

Jeongyeon placed the water closer “Everything is emotionally suspicious to you when you are tired.”

Mina looked up “Accurate.” I pointed toward her “No supporting evidence from the prosecution.” Dahyun whispered, “The prosecution rests.” Jihyo said, “Dahyun.” “I whispered.” “You always do before escalation.”

Dahyun smiled politely and returned to her water. Jeongyeon set my coffee farther away from me. I watched it leave “I am being switched to a lower-risk beverage.”

“Yes.” “I have no rights.” “You have hydration.”

Nayeon rested her chin in her palm, delighted “I really love today.” “You would.” Jeongyeon took another sip of my coffee.

I looked at her. She looked at me over the rim. Then, very calmly, she moved the cup to the space between us. Not in front of her. Not in front of me. Between us. For later.

I understood that before she said anything. That made it worse. Or better. I was still deciding. Jeongyeon looked away first. If she had watched me understand, I might have made it emotional. Instead, she reached for a piece of fruit and placed it on my plate.

“Eat.”

I picked it up. No speech. No argument. No report. I ate. And for once, the table kept moving without me holding it in place.

Lunch arrived without anyone admitting breakfast had ended. That felt appropriate for the group.

The table changed shape slowly. Plates were cleared. New ones appeared. Drinks changed. People moved and returned and pretended that counted as transitions. Somewhere between late morning and noon, the pavilion became less breakfast and more lunch by collective denial.

Jeongyeon stayed beside me through most of it. Not possessively. Practically. Which was somehow worse. If I reached for something too far, it appeared closer. If I looked toward someone too long, water moved into my line of sight. If I tried to stand when a staff member passed behind the table, Jeongyeon’s hand landed on my wrist before my knees finished making the decision.

Not hard. Just enough to remind my body it had supervision “I was stretching,” I said the second time.

“You were beginning employment.” “I can stretch professionally.” “That is not a defense.” “It felt like one.” “It was not.”

Across the table, Nayeon watched us with the expression of someone enjoying a show she had helped fund emotionally. I narrowed my eyes at her. She smiled into her drink “I said nothing.”

“You smiled in conspiracy.” “I am allowed to enjoy continuity.” “That is a terrifying sentence from you.” Sana leaned into her shoulder “She is proud.” “I am not proud,” Nayeon said. Then she looked at Jeongyeon “I am impressed.”

Jeongyeon did not look up from placing more food near my plate

“Eat.” “I am being discussed.” “You can eat while being discussed.” “That sounds like public policy.”

Dahyun lifted one finger, Jihyo said, “No.”

Dahyun lowered her hand “I wasn’t even ready.” “I know your posture.” “That is invasive.” “It is prevention.”

The table kept moving. Ben eventually stood. Not dramatically. But Yeji noticed anyway. So did I. So did Jeongyeon. That was the problem with people who spent their lives reading rooms. Even standing up had consequences.

Lia was not at the table.

She had slipped away somewhere between tea and the moment everyone pretended not to see her slipping away. Ben’s eyes moved once toward the path. Yeji saw it. He said something low to her. She did not stop him. That told me enough.

My hand moved toward the edge of the table. Jeongyeon’s hand covered it. I looked at her. She did not look at me.

“No.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to become useful.” “I might have asked where he was going.” “That is the first stage.” “There are stages?” “For you? Yes.”

I looked toward the path again. Ben was already moving. Careful. Quiet. Too polite to be casual. Lia was not my door. Ben had opened it. That should have been enough.

It did not feel like enough. Jeongyeon’s thumb pressed once against the back of my hand. Still not hard. Still enough “Sit,” she said.

I sat. Mostly because I already was sitting. Emotionally, it still counted. Mina’s eyes lifted from across the table. She did not say anything. That was kindness from Mina. Or evidence collection, sometimes those overlapped.

A few minutes later, Yeji stood too. Not to follow Ben. To breathe, maybe. Jihyo’s eyes met hers. Something passed between them. Leader to leader again. No words. No performance.

Just the kind of permission people gave each other when everyone else in the room was too loud to notice the quiet ones leaving. I noticed. Jeongyeon noticed me noticing. This time she did not tap. She leaned closer instead “Do you know what you are allowed to do right now?”

I looked at her “What?” “Nothing.” “That sounds suspiciously like punishment.” “It is practice.” “Those are getting too similar.” “You need both.”

I stared at my plate. Then picked up the piece of fruit she had put there earlier. Jeongyeon sat back “Good.” “You are abusing that word.” “You keep needing it.” “I am starting to understand why people train dogs with snacks.”

Nayeon made a sound. Jihyo pointed. Nayeon lifted both hands “I did not say anything.”

“You existed loudly.” “I cannot help being impactful.” Tzuyu nodded “That is true.” Jihyo looked at her. Tzuyu blinked “What?”

Lunch continued. Ben came back eventually. With Lia. Not close enough to make anyone ask. Close enough for Yeji’s shoulders to drop by half a breath. Lia’s face looked calmer in a way that did not mean easy. She sat, reached for tea, and did not apologize for being gone.

That felt important. I wanted to say something. Jeongyeon placed another piece of food on my plate. I looked at it. Then at her. “She sat down,” Jeongyeon said quietly. I swallowed whatever I had been about to turn into a sentence “Right.”

“That is enough.” For now, maybe. But enough was apparently today’s impossible word. After lunch, the pavilion changed again.

Ben and Yeji started talking in that low, private way that made everyone pretend not to listen while obviously listening. Ryujin looked amused. Yuna looked delighted. Lia looked like she had decided to let the universe be embarrassing without assisting. Chaeryeong was beside Momo near the kitchen side, where the two of them had started orbiting food with enough seriousness that staff gave them space.

Ben said something to Yeji that made her pause. Then blink. Then look at him like he had just asked for something simple and therefore suspicious. Nayeon leaned toward Sana. Sana leaned toward Dahyun. Dahyun leaned toward no one because Jihyo’s hand had already lifted.

“Do not narrate them,” Jihyo said. Dahyun slowly returned to her seat “I am being censored before journalism occurs.” “That is ideal.”

Yeji’s mouth softened. Ben’s did too, worse. A few minutes later, they were leaving. Together this time. Not dramatically, which somehow made it worse.

Yuna watched them go with both hands pressed to her face. Ryujin muttered, “Gone-gone.” Lia smiled into her tea. I did not watch too long. Not because I was disciplined. Because Jeongyeon stood before I could become thoughtful about it “John.”

I looked up “Yes?” “Favor first.”

Something in the table shifted. Nayeon’s eyes sharpened immediately “What kind?” I asked. Jeongyeon’s face stayed flat “The boyfriend kind.”

The table enjoyed that too much.

“That is not a category.” “It is today.” Nayeon leaned back, delighted “Oh, I love this category.” “Do not make it worse,” Jeongyeon said. “I am supporting romance.” “You are making it noisy.” “Romance can be noisy.” “Not mine.”

That shut Nayeon up. Briefly. Jeongyeon looked back at me “Go to the kitchen. Ask for the small picnic basket. Not the large one.”

I nodded once “Small basket.” “Put in the pastries Momo approved, sliced fruit, two waters, one coffee.” I paused “One coffee?” “For us.”

The table went quiet in the way people went quiet when they did not want to admit how loud their feelings had become. Then Nayeon failed “Romance homework.”

Jihyo closed her eyes “Keep walking,” she said to me. “I have not stood yet.” “Emotionally, you are blocking traffic.”

I stood. Slowly. Jeongyeon watched the pace again. Still did not praise it. Good. I repeated the list in my head. Small basket. Momo approved pastries. Sliced fruit. Two waters. One coffee… For us.

Somehow, the last part made the whole thing heavier than the basket could possibly be. Jeongyeon’s eyes moved briefly across the table. Toward Lia. I saw it “You’re staying?” I asked “Not long.”

I looked at Lia. Then back at Jeongyeon. The instinct rose immediately. I could stay. I could help. I could be nearby in case the conversation needed a buffer. I could—

“No,” Jeongyeon said. I stopped “I didn’t say anything.” “You were thinking in paragraphs.” “That is unfair.” “It was loud.”

Lia’s eyes lifted from her tea. Not startled. Not embarrassed. Just aware. That made me feel worse. Jeongyeon’s voice softened by one degree “Kitchen.”

I looked at her. She did not soften further. That helped. If she had looked gentle, I might have made it harder. So I nodded.

“Small basket. Pastries. Fruit. Two waters. One coffee.” “Shade side,” she added. “Palm trees?” “Yes. Make it look intentional.” “I can do intentional.” Jeongyeon’s eyes narrowed “Not manager intentional.” “That is harder.” “Good.”

I sighed. Mina, from somewhere behind her tea, said, “Growth often is.” I pointed at her “No supporting statements from wealthy observers.” Mina blinked “That was encouragement.” “That is what makes it dangerous.”

Dahyun whispered, “Developing story: boyfriend sent on romance homework under strict anti-manager regulations.”

I left before the pavilion could turn my errand into public policy.

The kitchen was not far from the main dining area, tucked behind a shaded walkway where the resort staff moved with quiet efficiency. It smelled like bread, fruit, and whatever Momo had decided deserved her full attention today.

I found her immediately. Not because she was loud. Because the kitchen seemed to know where she was. Momo stood near one of the counters, examining a tray of pastries with the intensity of a person evaluating national security. Chaeryeong was beside her, sleeves pushed up, arranging sliced fruit into containers with careful hands and a face that suggested she had been given a sacred duty and was trying not to disappoint the mangoes.

Momo looked up first “Oh.” I stopped at the entrance “Hi.” Chaeryeong looked up too “Hi, oppa.”

There was warmth in it. Still shy. But less startled than before. Progress. I stepped inside “I need the small picnic basket.”

Momo stared at me. Chaeryeong paused with a piece of pineapple halfway between tray and container. I cleared my throat.

“Jeongyeon asked for it. Small basket, not large. Pastries you approved, sliced fruit, two waters, one coffee. Shade side, palm trees, intentional but not manager intentional.”

Momo kept staring. I looked at Chaeryeong. Chaeryeong looked at Momo. Momo picked up a pastry. Ate half of it.

Then said, “You sound like work.” I blinked “I was relaying instructions.” “Like work.” “It was an accurate summary.” Momo pointed the remaining half of the pastry at me “Still work.” Chaeryeong lowered the pineapple “It is vacation.” “The kitchen is still a kitchen.” I argued. “Not for you right now.”

That stopped me. Not because Chaeryeong said it loudly. She did not. She said it like someone who understood the hiding place because she had used it too. I looked at her. She did not look away. Good for her. Terrible for me.

“I am trying to prepare a picnic,” I said. Momo nodded “Yes.” “As requested.” “Yes.” “For Jeongyeon.” “Yes.” “So I need food.”

Momo looked at Chaeryeong. Chaeryeong looked at Momo. Then Momo looked back at me “You are still doing it.”

I exhaled “What am I supposed to say?”

Momo considered this seriously. Then asked, “What do you want to give her?” That was worse. I had been prepared for inventory. Not philosophy. “Food,” I said.

Momo’s expression did not change. Chaeryeong’s did. Her mouth twitched. Momo nodded once, solemnly disappointed “That is catering.”

“I am in a kitchen.” “You are in trouble.” “I feel that.” Chaeryeong set the pineapple down “Try again,” she said.

I looked at her. She was not hiding behind Momo now. Not really. Her hands were still careful, but her voice had steadied.

“What does Jeongyeon like?” I asked. Momo shook her head “No.” “No?” “That is manager question.” I rubbed my forehead “How?” “You are asking for data.” Chaeryeong nodded “Preference profile.” “I did not say profile.” “You thought profile,” Momo said. I stared at her “How are you also like this?” Momo smiled “I eat with people.”

As if that explained everything. Maybe it did.

I leaned against the edge of the counter, then immediately straightened because leaning in kitchens felt unsafe around knives.

Chaeryeong noticed “You can stand normally.” “I am standing normally.” “You are standing like someone waiting to be assigned a tray.” Momo nodded “Work.”

I closed my eyes. Breathed. Tried again. Not as a manager. Not as someone preparing something correctly enough to avoid disappointing the person who asked.

As John.

Whatever that meant when no one was requesting usefulness “I want to give her something that looks like I thought about it,” I said slowly “But not like I panicked.” Momo stopped chewing. Chaeryeong’s expression softened.

I kept going because apparently I had already jumped “She said small. So if I bring too much, she’ll know I got scared.”

Chaeryeong nodded once “She will.” Momo picked up another pastry, inspected it, then placed it aside “Better.” “That passed?” “Partly.” “There are grades?” “No,” Chaeryeong said. Momo nodded “Yes.”

They looked at each other.

Chaeryeong sighed “There are not grades.” Momo whispered, “There are feelings.” “That is worse,” I said. “Welcome to vacation,” Chaeryeong replied.

I looked at her. She looked a little surprised at herself. Then smiled. Small. Real. I smiled back “Good line.”

She lowered her eyes, pleased but trying not to show it. Momo pointed between us “See? Vacation talking.”

“I am not sure what the difference is.” “You asked her like a person,” Momo said. “Not like a schedule,” Chaeryeong added.

That landed more gently than it had any right to. Momo moved to the tray again “Jeongyeon likes food that does not make a big announcement.”

I blinked “Food can make announcements?” “Nayeon food does.”

That was fair.

“Jihyo food makes rules,” Chaeryeong said, warming to it now. “Mina food has good plating,” Momo added. “Sana food is cute on purpose.” “Tzuyu food looks simple and then judges you.” I stared at them “This is alarmingly accurate.”

Momo looked pleased.

“Jeongyeon food is…” She paused, thinking harder than she probably wanted anyone to notice. “Warm but acts like it is just food.”

Chaeryeong nodded immediately “Something casual but actually thought about.”

I looked down at the trays. That sounded like Jeongyeon. Painfully “Warm but not sweet enough to admit it,” I said.

Momo’s eyes lifted. Chaeryeong smiled. There it was. The pass. Momo picked two pastries from the tray “These.”

I looked at them.

They were simple. Golden. Not heavily glazed. Something with a filling that looked soft but not messy “They look normal,” I said.

Momo nodded “Yes.” “Dangerously so.” “Correct.”

Chaeryeong reached for the small basket on the lower shelf before I could look for it. I had been about to ask for the larger one. She knew. She held the small one out “She said small.”

“I know.” “You looked at the large basket.” “I was checking options.” “That is why she said small.”

I took the basket from her slowly. It felt lighter than expected. That made it more intimidating. Momo slid the pastries into a cloth wrap. Chaeryeong placed fruit into a small container. Not too much. Not too little. Sliced neatly, but not arranged like an event. I reached toward the napkins. Chaeryeong watched my hand.

I took three. She raised one eyebrow. I put one back. Momo nodded “Good.”

“This is oppressive.” “This is romance homework,” Momo said. “Nayeon got to you.” “She was loud.” “Unfortunately, yes.”

I reached for two bottles of water. Safe. Approved. Then came the coffee. The staff had prepared a small takeaway cup. One. Only one. I stared at it. Momo looked at me. Chaeryeong looked at me. The coffee looked back with legal implications.

“One coffee,” I said. “For us,” Momo replied. “That was Jeongyeon’s line.” “It is true.”

I picked it up carefully. Somehow, the coffee weighed more than the water. Chaeryeong glanced at my face “You are overthinking it.”

“I am thinking a normal amount.” “No,” Momo said. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Chaeryeong leaned against the counter “If there were two, you would finish yours too fast and ask what was next.”

I looked at her. She smiled, shy but sharp.

“With one, you have to stay.” Momo pointed at her “Yes.”

I looked down at the cup. For us. Not mine. Not hers. Ours. A stupid amount of feeling gathered around eight ounces of coffee “That is manipulative,” I said.

Momo nodded “Romantic.” “Those are different.” Chaeryeong placed the fruit into the basket “Sometimes not.”

I looked at her. She looked proud of that one.She should have been.

I placed the coffee carefully into the basket’s holder. Then looked at the whole thing. Small basket. Two pastries. Fruit. Two waters. One coffee. No backup utensils. No large napkin stack. No emergency second dessert. No evidence that I had tried to turn wanting into preparedness. I frowned.

“Does this look intentional?”

Momo looked at the basket. Then at me “It looks like you like her.” I froze. Chaeryeong’s voice came softer, but not passive “That was the assignment.”

The kitchen quieted for a second. Not fully. Food still moved. Staff still worked. Somewhere, a knife tapped rhythmically against a board. But inside that small space between the three of us, something landed. I swallowed “Okay.”

Momo handed me the wrapped pastries.

“Do not add more.” “I wasn’t going to.”

Momo stared.

“I was considering it emotionally.” “Do not.” “Yes, ma’am.”

Chaeryeong picked one small flower from a garnish bowl and held it up, then hesitated. I looked at it. She looked at me “Too much?” she asked.

Manager John would have said yes. Too decorative. Too obvious. Too easy to crush. Vacation John looked at the small basket and thought about Jeongyeon pretending not to enjoy the flower behind my ear “One,” I said.

Chaeryeong smiled and tucked it into the side of the basket. Momo nodded once “Good.” I looked at both of them “Thank you.”

Momo smiled. Not big. Enough “You sounded like John.”

I did not know what to do with that. Chaeryeong saved me by stepping around the counter and adjusting the cloth over the basket.

“Palm trees,” she said “Shade side.” “Make it look intentional,” Momo added. “Not manager intentional,” Chaeryeong finished.

I lifted the basket. Small. Terrifying. Possible.

“I hate that everyone knows the instructions.” Momo picked up another pastry and took a bite “We are invested.” “That sounds dangerous.” “It is vacation,” Chaeryeong said. “Apparently that makes everything worse.” “No,” she said, smiling a little more openly now “It just makes it harder to hide.”

I looked at her. Then at Momo. Then at the basket in my hand. Maybe that was the point. I left the kitchen before I could turn gratitude into a speech. Behind me, Momo said something to Chaeryeong about whether mango belonged in romance.

Chaeryeong answered seriously. I did not interfere. Growth. Possibly. The path to the palm trees was quiet. Not empty. The resort was never truly empty with this many people inside it. But the noise had thinned into distance. The pavilion voices faded behind me. The kitchen warmth disappeared. The ocean got louder with every step.

I found the shade side. Jeongyeon’s shade side.

Of course it was the better side. Cooler. Less exposed. Close enough to see the water, far enough that no one passing by would immediately make eye contact and turn the picnic into an event.

I set the basket down. Then picked it back up. Moved it two inches. Stopped. “No clipboard energy,” I muttered. The basket stayed where it was. I spread the small cloth on the grass. Not too perfect. Not messy. Intentional. Not manager intentional.

Whatever that meant.

I placed the waters down first. Then the fruit. Then the pastries. Then the coffee. In the middle. Between where we would sit. For us.

I stared at it for a while. Then sat under the palm trees and waited. Without checking my phone. Without going back to the pavilion. Without finding an excuse to make sure Lia was okay, or Ben was not making something worse, or Yeji was not carrying too much, or Nayeon was not pretending her hand had let go cleanly when I knew it had cost her something.

I sat. I waited. I let the small basket be enough until Jeongyeon came to find me. She found me before the coffee went cold. Not immediately. Long enough that the waiting started making shapes in my head.

I heard footsteps on the path first. Slow ones. Not staff. Not Nayeon, because Nayeon walked like she wanted the ground to know she had arrived. Not Sana, because Sana somehow made even approaching sound affectionate.

Jeongyeon stepped around the curve of the palm trees with one hand tucked into her pocket and the other holding nothing.

No sign that she had come to inspect my work. That made me more nervous.

Her eyes moved to the basket first. Then to the blanket. Then to the coffee between the two places I had left for us. She stopped. I held my breath. Jeongyeon looked at me.

“You didn’t use the large basket.” “No.” “You wanted to.” “A little.” “How many napkins?” “Two.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Three at first.”

There it was. The smallest curve of her mouth “Honest.”

“I am trying a new strategy.” “How is it?” “Uncomfortable.” “Good.” I looked at the basket “Momo said I sounded like work.” “Momo was right.” “Chaeryeong said vacation makes it harder to hide.” “Chaeryeong was also right.” “That kitchen was hostile.” “It sounds educational.” “It was a group ambush with fruit.”

Jeongyeon stepped onto the blanket and sat beside the basket. Not across from me.

Beside. Not touching yet. Close enough that the space between us had to make a decision. I reached for the coffee. Then stopped. Because it was one coffee. Because she had asked for one. Because apparently today even beverages had emotional consequences.

Jeongyeon saw my hand pause. She reached for it herself, took the cup, and drank first. No ceremony. No meaningful eye contact.

Just coffee. Then she handed it to me. I took it. The lid was warm where her fingers had been. That was an absurd thing to notice. So naturally, I noticed it completely.

“You are thinking too hard,” she said. “I am drinking coffee.” “You are having a moral crisis near coffee.” “It is shared coffee.” “Yes.” “That feels legally different.” “It is a cup, John.” “It is one cup.” “That was the point.”

I looked at her. She looked at the ocean. The palm leaves shifted overhead, making light move across her face in pieces. She seemed calmer here. Not soft exactly. Jeongyeon did not become soft the way other people did. She became less armored in practical increments.

A shoulder lowering. A breath staying unhidden. Her hand resting palm-up on the blanket as if she had not done it on purpose. I drank from the coffee. Not too fast. She noticed that too.

I placed the cup back between us “For us,” I said. Her eyes flicked to mine. I regretted it immediately. Not because it was wrong. Because it landed. Jeongyeon looked away first.

If she had held my gaze, I might have said something worse. She reached for the wrapped pastries instead and opened the cloth. The smell came out warm, buttery, simple. Exactly right.

Her expression did something small. Almost nothing. But I saw it.

“Momo chose those,” I said. “I know.” “You knew?” “She knows food.” “Chaeryeong added the flower.”

Jeongyeon looked at the tiny garnish tucked into the basket. The corner of her mouth moved “Of course she did.”

“It was almost too much.” “It is not.” “Good.”

She looked at me. I coughed “I mean—”

“I know what you meant.” “That is happening too often today.” “It is convenient for me.”

She broke one pastry in half. Not evenly. One side was definitely larger. She handed me the larger one. I stared at it. Then at her “No.”

Jeongyeon paused “What?” “You gave me the bigger half.” “Yes.” “You should have the bigger half.” “Why?” “Because it’s your day.”

Her face flattened. I knew before she said anything that I had stepped wrong. Not badly. But wrong. Jeongyeon set both halves down on the cloth. Then switched them. She gave me the smaller one “There.”

I accepted it carefully “That felt like a lesson.”

“It was.” “I thought we were on a date.” “We are.” “Dates can have lessons?” “With you, yes.”

I bit into the pastry before I could argue and accidentally made a sound. Jeongyeon’s eyes sharpened “Good?”

I chewed. Swallowed. Tried to keep my dignity “Unfortunately.”

She smiled. Not big. But enough “That is why Momo approved them.”

“She is dangerous.” “She is food dangerous.” “That is still dangerous.”

We ate slowly. The ocean kept moving beyond the palms. Somewhere farther down the resort, someone laughed. Maybe Yuna. Maybe Dahyun. It was hard to tell from a distance. Laughter changed when it did not need to be camera-ready. It lost the bright edge and became rounder.

Jeongyeon leaned back on one hand. Her knee brushed mine. Stayed there. I did not look at it this time. Mostly because I wanted to. That counted as growth. Maybe.

She reached for a piece of fruit and handed it to me without comment. I took it. Ate it. No joke. No report. No explanation.

Jeongyeon watched the water. Then said, “Conversation food worked.” I looked at her. She did not turn “With Lia?”

“Mostly.” “Mostly is good?” “Mostly is honest.”

I nodded. That felt like all I was allowed to ask. Then, because I was still me, I almost asked if Lia was okay. Jeongyeon looked at me before the words left. I closed my mouth. Her expression softened. A little “She sat back down,” she said.

I remembered the pavilion. Lia returning with Ben. Tea in hand. No apology “Right.”

“That was enough for lunch.” “For lunch,” I repeated.

Jeongyeon nodded. The words stayed where they were.

Enough for that moment. Maybe that was the entire vacation pretending to be a sentence. I leaned back on my hands. The grass was warm beneath the blanket. The palm shade moved across our knees. The coffee sat between us, half-finished and no longer terrifying.

Almost.

Jeongyeon reached for her phone. I braced. She looked at me.

“You look like I pulled a weapon.” “You take dangerous photos.” “I take honest photos.” “That is what makes them dangerous.”

She ignored me and leaned back far enough to angle the phone toward both of us. A selfie. With me. And her.

My body immediately forgot how to be human. Jeongyeon lowered the phone.

“No.” “I haven’t done anything.” “You became passport.” “I did not become passport.” “Your face did.”

I tried to relax. The attempt made it worse. Jeongyeon stared. Then she reached over and took the small flower from the basket. Not the one from my ear earlier. This one was smaller, paler, a little crooked from being tucked into the side.

She held it near my face. I narrowed my eyes “Do not.”

“Then stop looking like immigration.” “That is a very specific insult.” “It is a very specific face.”

She tucked the flower against my shirt collar. Not behind my ear this time. Worse. Closer. Her fingers brushed the fabric near my chest, adjusted once, then stopped. For a second, neither of us moved. Jeongyeon’s hand hovered there. Not touching skin.

Still close enough that I forgot what joke I had prepared. Her eyes lifted “Better,” she said. Her voice was still normal. Mostly. I swallowed “Efficient.”

“Do not use Mina’s language when I am trying to be romantic.” “You said trying.” “I am.”

The honesty landed harder than if she had tried to hide it. I looked at her. She looked back, chin slightly raised, daring me to make it a speech. I did not. I leaned closer instead. Jeongyeon’s eyes flicked to my mouth.

Then back up.

Then she lifted the phone between us and took the picture before either of us could become brave enough to ruin the moment properly. The click sounded tiny. She checked the screen. This time, she did not hide the smile.

It came slow. Private and satisfied “Good?” I asked. She looked at the photo a little longer “Yes.” “Do I look less employed?” “Barely.” “That is progress.” “It is.”

She turned the screen toward me. The photo was not perfect. My collar flower looked stupid. Her hair had moved slightly in the wind. The coffee cup was visible at the bottom edge between us. We looked close. Not posed. Not claimed. Close.

I stared at it too long. Jeongyeon let me. Then she locked the screen and placed the phone face down beside the basket. No posting. No sharing. No making it into evidence for anyone else. It was just hers. Maybe ours. That made my chest feel strange.

I reached for the coffee, mostly to have something to do. This time, I did not drink right away. Past Jeongyeon’s shoulder, beyond the palm trees, I could see the darker line of the seawall. It was barely visible in the afternoon light.

Stone. Water. A bend in the path where the resort became quiet enough for bad decisions to feel private. My hand tightened around the cup before I noticed.

Jeongyeon noticed first. Her gaze followed mine toward the seawall. Then returned to my face. The air changed without moving. I looked back at the coffee too late.

Jeongyeon did not pounce. She did not accuse. She let me hold the cup. Let me breathe once. Let the silence come back with a different weight inside it.

Then she said, “Do you think about that night?” The coffee turned bitter in my mouth before I even drank it. I looked at her “What night?”

Her expression did not change “Do not make me say ‘cigarette’ like you are twelve.” I looked away first. The ocean was suddenly too bright “It was once.”

“I know.” “I don’t carry them around.” “I know.” “I don’t walk around looking for one.” “I know.” “Then why ask?” “Because you looked at the seawall like it remembered you.”

That landed cleaner. Worse. Because it was not about craving. It was about being seen. I stared at the cup between my hands “It scared me too,” I admitted.

Jeongyeon nodded once. Not pleased. Not devastated. Just receiving the answer. The lack of explosion almost made it worse “I hated that it helped for a second,” I said.

“The cigarette?” “The pause.” I looked down at the coffee between us “The excuse to stand somewhere no one was asking me to be okay. The quiet. The wall. Ben not asking me to explain before standing there too.”

Jeongyeon did not defend Ben. She did not blame him either. That was almost worse. If she had picked a side, I could have known where to stand. Instead, she let the ugly middle exist between us, sitting there beside the coffee and the fruit and the small flower Chaeryeong had tucked into the basket.

“Ben did not make me do it,” I said. “I know.” “He found me there.” “Yes.” “He didn’t hand me a cigarette first.” “I know.”

I looked toward the seawall again. The dark line of it stayed where it was. Quiet. Too patient.

“But he had one.”

Jeongyeon’s mouth tightened. Not much. Enough.

“He did.” “And he promised Yeji he would stop.” “Yes.”

I looked down at the coffee. My fingers were still around the cup, too tight.

“That’s not me blaming him.” “I know.” “It’s just…”

I stopped because I hated the sentence before I finished it. Jeongyeon waited anyway. Of course she did. I made myself say it.

“It made the bad idea feel less lonely.”

The words left a strange silence after them. Not clean. Not dramatic. Just true enough that neither of us knew where to put it. Jeongyeon reached over and took the coffee from my hand before I could crush the cup. She did not drink. She just set it down between us.

“For the record,” she said, “Ben is responsible for Ben.” I nodded. “You are responsible for walking there.” I nodded again. “And both of those can be true without turning into a trial.”

I let out something that was almost a laugh “That sounds healthy.” “It is annoying.” “Same family.” “Usually.”

The wind moved through the palm leaves. A few strands of her hair shifted across her cheek. She pushed them back with the same hand that had taken the coffee from me. Practical. Steady.

As if we were not sitting under palm trees discussing the night I had nearly given everyone another reason to worry.

“Did Yeji know?” I asked. Jeongyeon looked at me “I don’t know.”

That answer bothered me more than a clean yes or no would have. I looked away “He gave me the cover because of that too, I think.”

“Because he knew it would make him look worse.” “Maybe.” “Or because he thought you needed it more than he needed to look good.”

I did not answer. Because that sounded like Ben. The worst part of him and the best part of him, constantly fighting over the same door. Jeongyeon picked up a piece of fruit and held it out to me. I stared at it. She stared back.

“Are you feeding me during a moral crisis?” “Yes.” “That feels disrespectful.” “You are easier to manage with fruit.” “I am not a child.” “You are arguing with mango.”

I took it. She watched until I ate. Then she said, softer, “I am not mad that you were not okay.” That one hurt. Not loudly. It slipped in under the ribs. I kept my eyes on the basket.

“I should have been.” “No.” “I had nine girlfriends trying to love me. A whole resort. A vacation. A bed. Food. People looking out for me.” I swallowed “That sounds like an embarrassing time to feel empty.”

Jeongyeon’s hand stilled over the fruit container. Then she closed it “Do you think empty asks for permission first?” I had no answer for that. She leaned back on one hand again, looking out toward the water. “You looked empty,” she said “That was why I didn’t say anything.”

I glanced at her. She did not look back “If I had said it in front of everyone, you would have apologized until we stopped hearing the truth.”

“That is very specific.” “You are very specific.”

I hated that she was right. I hated more that she knew when to stop. The silence after that did not feel like the earlier silence. It had weight now. Not enough to crush. Enough to make everything on the blanket feel arranged around it.

The coffee. The basket. The flower at my collar. Her phone face down beside mine. I looked at my phone before I meant to. Jeongyeon followed my eyes. There it was. The next door. Smaller than the seawall. Harder to open.

“Ben gave me something else,” I said. Jeongyeon did not move. “A contact.”

She waited “Someone he knows. Sleep-conditioning. Hypnotherapy adjacent.” I made a face “Not weird, apparently.”

Her eyebrow lifted “That sounds weird.” “That is exactly what I said.” “Did you call?” “Not yet.”

The answer came out too fast. Too honest to dress up. Jeongyeon nodded once, like the honest answer mattered more than the impressive one.

“Why?” I looked at my phone “Because calling makes it real.” “It is already real.” “I know.” “Do you?” “No.”

Her mouth curved faintly “Honest again.”

“I hate this strategy.” “It is working.” “That is why I hate it.”

She reached for the coffee, took a small sip, and handed it back. I took it. Same place. Same cup. Still dangerous. Still simple.

“Do you want to show me?” she asked.

My hand went to the phone. Stopped. She saw.

“I am not taking it.” “I know.” “I am not reading everything.” “I know.” “Then decide.” “That is a mean way to give me control.” “It is a clear way.” “Same family.” “Sometimes.”

I picked up the phone. The screen lit too bright. For one stupid second, everything else tried to enter. Messages. Time. Weather. Group chats. All the doors I knew how to open because they looked like work. Jeongyeon tapped the side of the phone. Not the screen. The side.

“One door.”

I looked at her. She looked back like she had all day in her own way. No ceremony. No rescue. Just the door I had said existed. I opened the contact. Ben had sent it with no softness at all. A number. A name. A note written with the emotional warmth of a bank transfer.

I had saved it under Maybe Later. Jeongyeon saw it. Her eyes stayed on the screen for a second too long. Then she looked at me. I already knew.

“It’s bad.” “It is evasive.” “That sounds worse.” “It is.” I sighed “I was hoping you’d lie.” “I know.”

She looked at the screen again.

“Do you know the real name?” “Yes.” “Change it.” I stared at her “That’s your plan?” “For today.” “Just change the name?” “Yes.” “No promise?” “No.” “No scheduled call?” “No.” “No group announcement?” “If I wanted a group announcement, I would have brought a whistle.”

Despite everything, I laughed. It came out small. Almost unwilling. Jeongyeon looked satisfied. I hated that. Then I changed the contact. Real name.

No joke. No dodge. No Maybe Later. A person. A possible door. That was all. I locked the phone and placed it face down beside hers. Two phones. One coffee. A secret that had not become a meeting.

“Do not tell them yet,” I said.

The words came out smaller than I meant them to. Jeongyeon did not look offended.

“I wasn’t going to.” I looked at her “You weren’t?” “If I wanted a meeting, I would have called Jihyo.” “That is terrifyingly true.” “Yes.” I breathed out “I told you because you won’t make it loud.” “I might make it organized.” “That is different.” “Yes.”

She reached for the remaining pastry and broke it again. This time, she gave me the smaller half without turning it into a lesson. I took it. My throat hurt. Not badly. Enough “Thank you,” I said.

She looked toward the ocean “For what?” “For seeing it.” Her hand stilled “And not making it louder.” For a moment, she did not answer. Then, quieter, “You were already loud enough.”

I looked at her. She was not looking at me. Good. If she had been, I might have kissed her. Maybe that was why she didn’t. Or maybe she knew I needed one moment where being known did not ask anything else from me.

The problem was that she had given me too many moments like that today. The walk. The bench. The flower. The coffee.

The way she kept seeing the parts of me I tried to fold away before anyone could decide they were too much. I looked at her hand on the blanket.

Close. Still. Not reaching for me. Not asking me to become anything. Just there.

“Jeongyeon.”

She hummed once. I did not know what I planned to say. That was probably why I kissed her instead. At first, it was careful. Too careful. The kind of kiss that asked permission even after it had already been given. Jeongyeon went still for half a second.

Then her hand found the front of my shirt and held there. Not pulling. Not pushing away. Just holding. That was enough to ruin me.

I pulled back before I could make it worse.

Her eyes opened slowly “That was not a question,” she said.

“I can ask retroactively.” “No.” “Okay.” Her mouth curved “Do it properly.” My brain stopped “What?” “You heard me.”

I kissed her again. Less carefully this time. Still not hard. Still not careless. But closer. Warmer. Like the whole day had been teaching me where to stand and I had finally stepped there.

Jeongyeon made a small sound against my mouth. Not loud. Not enough for anyone except me. But I heard it. My hand moved to her waist before I remembered to be afraid of wanting too much. She let it stay there.

Then my palm followed the line of her side, slow enough to ask, close enough to answer. Her fingers tightened in my shirt. The picnic disappeared by degrees. The coffee. The basket. The ocean. All of it moved somewhere behind the feeling of Jeongyeon leaning into me like she had been practical all day because someone had to be, not because she did not want.

I shifted closer. My hand found her hip through the fabric, and Jeongyeon inhaled sharply enough to make me stop. Almost. She did not pull away. That was the dangerous part. She stayed.

For one breath, maybe two, she let me want her where anyone turning down the wrong path could have seen too much. Then her hand caught my wrist “John.”

I froze immediately “Too much?”

Jeongyeon looked at me. Her mouth was softer than before. Her eyes were not. That combination was unfair “Public indecency.”

I blinked “What?” “We are outside.” “I know.” “Under palm trees.” “Yes.” “Beside a picnic basket.” “That feels less legally relevant.” “It is evidence.”

I stared at her. Then, unfortunately, laughed. Jeongyeon did not let go of my wrist. That made the laugh thinner.

“You are laughing,” she said. “I am terrified.” “Good.” “That word is becoming a problem.” “You are becoming a problem.”

Her thumb moved once against the inside of my wrist. Small. Thoughtless. Enough to make both of us notice it. Jeongyeon noticed first. Of course she did. Her eyes dropped to her hand. Then back to my face.

For once, she looked like the practical answer had arrived half a second too late. I swallowed “I’m sorry.”

“No.” The word came fast. She looked annoyed that it had. I stayed still. Jeongyeon exhaled through her nose and released my wrist, but only to straighten the flower at my collar like that was somehow the emergency.

“You do not need to apologize for wanting me,” Jeongyeon told me.

The words landed low. Quiet. Dangerous. Then she added, “You need to stop wanting me in public like an idiot.”

There she was. I breathed out “Right.”

“Also, slower.” “Slower?” “You heard me.” “I thought the problem was public indecency.” “It is.” “But also speed.” “Yes.” “That feels like two different warnings.” “It is one warning with categories.” I looked at her “You let me continue.”

Her face changed. Not much. Enough “I know.”

The honesty in that answer made the air warmer than the kiss had. Jeongyeon looked toward the ocean like it had offended her by existing “I wanted to.”

I did not move. That felt important. She looked back at me “And that is why we stop.”

My mouth went dry “Because you wanted to?” “Because I was about to forget why stopping was smart.”

For a second, neither of us said anything. The palm leaves moved overhead. Somewhere far from us, vacation kept happening. Jeongyeon picked up the coffee and handed it to me. Her hand was steady again. Mostly “Drink.”

I took it “That feels like a punishment.” “It is distance.” “It is coffee.” “Both.”

I drank. She watched me do it. Then she took the cup back, drank from the same place, and looked away like she had not just made the distance worse. I stared at her. She did not look at me “If you say something,” she said, “I will throw fruit at you.”

“I was not going to say anything.” “You were thinking loudly again.” “I was thinking respectfully.” “Do it quieter.”

I looked down at the blanket. At the basket. At her knee still close to mine. At my hand, which I had placed very deliberately on my own thigh like I could not be trusted with it anywhere else. Jeongyeon noticed. Her mouth curved “Good boy.”

My head snapped up. She looked away immediately. Too late “Jeongyeon.”

“No.” “You said that on purpose.” “I said nothing.” “You said it with structure.” “I am eating fruit.” “You are a menace.”

She picked up a slice of mango and bit into it calmly. Then, after one long second, she said, “Not here.”

The whole world stopped being funny. I looked at her. She kept her eyes on the ocean “I said not here,” she repeated, quieter this time. My pulse did something unreasonable “I heard you.”

“Good.”

There was that word again. Only now it sounded less like training. More like a promise she had not decided how to keep yet. I sat beside her under the palm trees, holding myself still with both hands, and understood with sudden, terrible clarity that Jeongyeon had not made her day small because she wanted less.

She had made it small enough to survive until she could have everything properly. The problem was, I still wanted to give her something that was just hers. Not a secret. Not a crisis. Not another proof that she knew how to handle me. Her phone was still face down beside the basket. Mine was beside it.Two phones behaving better than us.

I looked at her “Can I take one?” She glanced over “One what?” “A photo.” Her eyes narrowed “Of what?” “You.”

That did it. For the first time all day, Jeongyeon looked honestly unprepared. Not embarrassed enough to hide. Not soft enough to make a moment out of it. But caught.

“Why?” “Because you looked happy when you saw the basket.” “That is not a reason.” “It is the reason.”

She looked away. The wind moved her hair again. She pushed it back, then seemed to realize too late that doing so made her look more like someone being photographed.

“I am not posing,” she said. “Good.” “That was not permission.” “It sounded like conditions.” Her eyes returned to me “Do not make me look stupid.” “I won’t.” “Do not make me look cute on purpose.” “That may be outside my control.” “John.” “I’ll try.”

She sighed like loving me was already work and somehow still sat up a little straighter. Not posing. Absolutely posing. I picked up my phone.

She looked at the ocean, one knee bent, one hand resting near the coffee. The little flower in the basket sat between us, ridiculous and delicate. Her mouth was almost flat, but not quite. The kind of almost-smile that only appeared when she was trying not to give anyone the satisfaction.

I took the photo. She looked at me immediately “That was too fast.”

“You said not to make you pose.” “I did.” “So I didn’t.”

Suspicion lingered on her face. I turned the screen toward her. Jeongyeon leaned in. The photo was simple. Her under the palm shade. Coffee between us. Ocean behind her. Hair half-moved by wind. Expression caught in the dangerous place between annoyed and pleased.

She stared at it longer than I expected. Then her face changed in that small way again. The one she never announced “You look like my girlfriend,” I said.

Her eyes lifted. I had not meant to say it like that… or maybe I had. The words had just arrived before fear could edit them. Jeongyeon watched me for a second. Then she took the phone gently from my hand and looked at the photo again.

“I am your girlfriend.” “I know.” “You forget?” “No.” “Then why do you sound surprised?”

I looked down at the blanket. Because sometimes she was so good at taking care of everyone that I forgot she wanted to be wanted too. Because sometimes her practical love looked so steady that I forgot it had a pulse underneath. Because today she had asked for small things, and I had almost mistaken small for less. I did not say all of that. Too much. Too loud. Instead, I said, “Because I like seeing it.”

Jeongyeon did not answer. She sent the photo to herself from my phone, then handed it back. No joke. No complaint. No pretending it did not matter. That was how I knew it did. A while passed after that.

Not empty. Not quiet in the bad way. Just time, stretched thin and warm under the trees. We finished the fruit. Shared the last of the coffee. Folded nothing yet. Neither of us wanted the picnic to end first. Eventually Jeongyeon leaned back on both hands, eyes still on the water.

“One question,” she said. “That sounds dangerous.” “It is.” “Can I refuse?” “No.” “Then it is not a question.” “It is mine.”

Fair. I waited. She did not look at me when she asked “When I said simple, did you think I was settling?” The answer was already there. I hated that “Yes.”

Jeongyeon nodded once. Not hurt. Or maybe hurt in a way she had already prepared for “Do you still think that?”

“No.”

That came faster. Cleaner. She looked at me then. I looked at the coffee cup between us. Empty now “I think you made it small enough for me to notice you.”

Jeongyeon’s face went still. Not blank. Still. Like something inside had stopped moving because it wanted to hear the sentence properly.

I kept my eyes down “If it was bigger, I would have turned it into logistics. If it was louder, I would have tried to manage it. If it looked too much like a perfect day, I would have spent the whole time making sure it stayed perfect.”

The wind moved around us “You made it small,” I said, “so I had nowhere to hide except beside you.”

Jeongyeon did not speak for a while. Then she reached over and took the empty coffee cup, turning it once in her hand “Good answer.”

“That sounded like praise.” “It was.” “Oh.” “Do not get emotional.” “Too late.”

Her mouth curved. There she was again. Then she nudged my foot lightly with hers “Your question.” I blinked “I get one?”

“That is how one question each works.” “That was not established.” “It was implied.” “By who?” “Me.”

I looked at her. She waited. No rush. No escape. So I asked the thing that had been sitting under the day since the bench “What did you almost not ask for?”

Jeongyeon’s fingers stilled around the coffee cup. For a second, I thought she would pretend not to understand. She did not. “To be treated like I wanted romance too.”

The words were plain. That made them worse. I looked at her. She looked at the ocean “I know I do not make it obvious like Nayeon,” she said.

“You shouldn’t have to.” “No.” “But you still almost didn’t ask.” Her mouth tightened “Yes.” “Why?” “That is a second question.” “I am abusing the format.” “I noticed.”

She turned the cup in her hands again. Then, because apparently she was feeling generous or reckless or both, she answered anyway.

“Because everyone was already worried about you. Because Nayeon’s day was big in the way hers needed to be. Because mine coming after hers made it easy to think...” She stopped “Maybe quiet would be easier for everyone.”

My chest tightened “Jeongyeon.” She lifted one hand “Do not make it a speech.”

I closed my mouth.

She breathed out once “I did not want less,” she said “I just did not want to hurt you by wanting mine.”

That was the sentence. The whole day folded around it. The walk. The flower. The photo. The coffee. The way she stopped my hands under the palm trees before wanting became something we would have to survive in public.

I reached for her hand. Slowly this time. She let me take it “I know now,” I said. Her eyes moved to our hands. Then to my face.

“Good,” she said. “Took me long enough?” “Took you all day.” “That feels fair.” “It is.”

She squeezed my hand once. No more than that. Enough. The sun had shifted by the time we packed the basket. Not sunset yet. Not dinner. But the light had grown softer around the edges, the kind that made shadows longer without asking permission.

Jeongyeon stood first. I reached for the basket. She took it before I could. I stared at her “Really?”

“You carried it here.” “I can carry it back.” “I know.” “And?” “And I want to.”

That should not have been romantic. It was a basket. A small one. With empty containers and one dead coffee cup. But Jeongyeon held it like she had decided the day had weight and she was allowed to carry some of it.

So I let her. Mostly. I took the blanket. She watched me fold it badly. Then worse. Then silently took one corner and fixed the shape without taking the whole task away from me.

“Teamwork,” I said. “Damage control.” “Romantic.” “Barely.”

We walked back slowly. No hand-holding at first. The basket hung from Jeongyeon’s hand between us, making contact inconvenient. Then halfway up the path, she shifted it to her other side and reached for me. I took her hand. No ceremony, just the way she prefers it.

By the time the pavilion came back into view, dinner had started turning the resort gold. Lanterns were being lit near the edges of the dining area. The table had filled again in clusters. The day had clearly continued without us, which should have made me anxious. It did not. Not as much. Jeongyeon felt my hand loosen instead of tighten. She glanced at me. I looked at the table. Then back at her.

“Inventory urge,” I admitted. “And?” “Lower than usual.” Her mouth curved “Good enough for dinner.” “That is a very specific grading scale.” “You need one.”

We stepped into the pavilion together. Nayeon saw the basket first. Then our hands. Then my face. Her expression softened before she could weaponize it. That, somehow, was worse. Sana smiled into her drink. Dahyun opened her mouth. Jihyo pointed.

Dahyun closed her mouth, then whispered anyway, “Picnic survivors returned with suspicious hand evidence.”

Jihyo sighed. Mina looked at the basket “Intentional?” Jeongyeon set it down near an empty chair “Enough.”

Mina nodded like that was a full report. Maybe it was. Dinner found us after that. I sat beside Jeongyeon because there was no other sensible place to sit, and because the idea of sitting anywhere else felt wrong in a way I did not want to explain. Water appeared in front of me. No coffee. I looked at it. Then at Jeongyeon “Thank you.”

She paused. Only for a second. Then placed sauce near my plate “You noticed help before explaining why you didn’t need it.”

I stared at her “I hate today.” “No, you don’t.” “No,” I admitted “I don’t.”

She looked satisfied and reached for her chopsticks. Dinner moved around us, louder than the picnic and softer than breakfast. Ben and Yeji had returned from wherever they had gone, both looking suspiciously calm in different ways. Yuna was bright again, Ryujin pretending not to watch her. Lia had tea. Of course she did. Chaeryeong and Momo were quietly discussing something over food, with Chaeryeong using her hands more than usual and Momo nodding like every word deserved consideration.

Normally, I would have tracked all of it until the table became a map. Tonight, I saw it. Then let it stay a table. Jeongyeon placed food on my plate. I ate. She nudged the water closer. I drank. The third time she did it, I did not even argue.

Across from us, Nayeon noticed. Her smile went small. Proud. Disgustingly mature. I pointed my chopsticks at her “Do not.”

“I said nothing.” “You are smiling in personal growth.” “I am allowed to enjoy continuity.” “You said that earlier.” “It remains true.” Jeongyeon looked between us “Eat.”

Both of us ate. That was unfair power.

Dinner stretched until the plates had mostly emptied and the lanterns outside had grown brighter against the dark. The ocean sounded louder now, or maybe the table had finally lowered itself enough to hear it. My shoulders started to sink. Barely. But Jeongyeon saw.

So did Jihyo. So did Mina. Nayeon saw it too, and for once, she did not make the joke first. Jeongyeon placed her chopsticks down. I turned toward her “What?”

“You’re done.” “With dinner?” “With today.”

The table paused. I looked at my plate.

“I am still awake.” “Barely.” “I am perfectly capable of remaining upright.” “Congratulations.” “Thank you.” “Bedtime.”

The silence lasted one clean second. Then Sana folded, shoulders shaking. I stared at Jeongyeon “I’m sorry?”

She stood “It is your bedtime.” “I am not a baby.” “You are arguing like one.”

Nayeon covered her mouth with both hands. Jihyo looked down at her plate, not laughing. Almost. Mina folded her napkin “Recovery compliant.”

I looked betrayed “Not you too.” “You require sleep.” “That does not mean bedtime.” Tzuyu tilted her head “What would you prefer?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Tzuyu nodded “Bedtime is clearer.” Chaeyoung smiled “Baby bedtime.” I pointed at her “No.” Momo looked at me “Do you need a snack first?” I stared “No.” Momo nodded “Okay. Then bedtime.”

The table broke.

I looked toward Ben for help. He lifted both hands immediately “I am under wife-girlfriend supervision. I cannot interfere with bedtime law.”

“You billionaire coward.” “Alive billionaire coward,” he corrected. Ryujin pointed at him “Stolen.” “Shared cultural property.”

Jeongyeon stepped behind my chair and placed both hands on my shoulders. I looked up at her. The resistance shifted. Not gone. Softer. Because Jeongyeon was not humiliating me. Not really. She was giving the table a joke so I would not have to explain the truth.

I was tired. I needed to stop. And she was making stopping sound ridiculous enough to survive “Come on,” she said.

“I can walk.” “I know.”

She held out one hand anyway. I looked at it. Then at the table. Nayeon’s expression had softened. No teasing now. Just approval. Jihyo nodded once. Mina’s gaze stayed gentle in that quiet way of hers. I exhaled. Then took Jeongyeon’s hand.

No one cheered. Good. Then Nayeon ruined it just enough “Sleep well, baby.” I turned back immediately “I am not—” Jeongyeon tugged my hand “Bed.”

I stopped talking. Sana leaned into Nayeon, silently laughing. Momo waved “Good night.” Tzuyu added, “Do not negotiate with the pillow.” I stared at her “Why would I—”

Jeongyeon tugged again. I left. The path swallowed the table slowly. Jeongyeon walked steady beside me, basket gone now, hand warm in mine. I was still muttering under my breath because dignity deserved some kind of funeral. But I did not let go. Not at the first turn. Not when the pavilion noise thinned behind us. Not when the resort lights became spaced farther apart and the ocean started sounding less like scenery and more like memory. Jeongyeon noticed. She always noticed.

“Still mad?” she asked. “I am not mad.” “You are muttering.” “I am maintaining internal commentary.” “About bedtime.” “About public betrayal.” “You looked ready to fall asleep in rice.” “I was meditating.” “You were blinking in installments.” “That sounds medical.” “It was.”

I laughed despite myself. She squeezed my hand once. We kept walking. The path curved toward the villas, the same way the resort had curved around the entire day. Public noise behind us. Private doors ahead. Somewhere beyond the trees, the seawall sat in the dark. I felt it before I saw it. Not a pull. Not a craving. A memory. A place where I had once gone because disappearing had seemed easier than being seen badly.

Jeongyeon felt me slow. She did not ask why. That helped. I looked ahead instead. To the villa path. To her hand. To the door waiting farther up the stones “I thought about going back there after dinner,” I said.

Jeongyeon’s steps slowed “The seawall?” “Yes.” Her hand stayed in mine “And?” I looked at her “I came with you.”

The night settled around that. Not heavily. Clearly. Jeongyeon’s face changed in the low light. The practical lines stayed. The softness did not erase them. It moved through them.

“Good,” she said. I let out a shaky breath “That’s it?” “You want a medal?” “Maybe.”

She stepped closer. Not enough to kiss me. Enough to make the option visible “You get me.” My mouth went dry “That is a dangerous prize.”

“You survived the picnic.” “Barely.” “You survived public indecency prevention.” “I was the victim of legal restraint.” “You were the cause.” “That is less sympathetic.” “It is more accurate.”

We reached my door. Or maybe her door. At this point, the distinction had become less architectural. Jeongyeon took the keycard from my hand before I remembered pulling it out. I stared at her “When did you—”

“You were busy making the door emotional.” “I was not.” “You looked at it like it had terms and conditions.” “It might.” “It has hinges.”

She opened it. The room was dim and cool inside, curtains half-drawn, the bed made too neatly by people who had no idea what kind of day had been carried toward it. Jeongyeon stepped in first. Then turned. She did not pull me. She waited.

That was worse. It made entering feel like a choice. So I chose. The door clicked shut behind us. Not loudly. Not like a lock. Like the day finally putting itself down. For a second, neither of us moved. Outside, the resort kept existing. Inside, the quiet changed. Jeongyeon set the keycard on the table. Then turned back to me. Her eyes moved over my face. Down to the flower still crooked at my collar. Her mouth curved.

“You kept it.” “I was afraid of consequences.” “Good instinct.” “I am learning.” “Slowly.”

I reached for the flower. She caught my hand “Leave it.” I froze. Her thumb rested against my knuckles. Not stopping. Keeping. “You warned public indecency,” I said.

“We are not public.” The words were calm. Too calm. I forgot how to breathe normally. Jeongyeon noticed. Her expression shifted. There was the practical woman who had fed me, watered me, walked me, sent me to bed like a public health measure. And underneath her, the woman who had stopped me under the palm trees because she wanted too much to keep pretending wanting was simple.

“I said not there,” she said. I swallowed “I remember.” “I also said slower.” “I remember that too.” “Good.”

The word hit differently in the room. Less like praise. More like permission with teeth. I took one step closer. She did not move back. I stopped anyway. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Now you are being too careful.” “You gave categories.” “I did.” “I am respecting them.” “You are hiding inside them.”

I looked at her. She looked back. Dry. Certain. A little flushed from something she would never admit first. Then she reached out, took the front of my shirt, and pulled me close enough that the flower at my collar brushed her hand. Not hard. Not dramatic. Enough.

“I said you were done with today,” she said. Her eyes moved over me. Practical at first. Then not “I did not say I was done with you.”

The room went very still. I looked at her mouth. Then back at her eyes “Jeongyeon.” She lifted her chin “Properly,” she said. So I kissed her.

The word was a promise, a question, and a surrender all at once. Her lips, soft and hesitant a moment ago, parted under mine. My hands, which had been resting on her hips, moved upward, pulling her against me. Her fingers, still curled around the front of my shirt, tightened, a silent anchor in the sudden shift of gravity. It was not a gentle kiss. Not entirely.

It was the frantic, desperate kind, the one that tasted of all the words left unsaid, all the care exchanged without a name. I felt the slow burn of her body pressing into mine, the soft give of her breasts against my chest, the hard line of her thighs against my own. I deepened the kiss, my tongue seeking hers, and she met me, hesitant at first, then with a sudden surge of warmth that made my knees tremble.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound escaped her, a low hum that vibrated against my lips. It was enough. More than enough. The air around us thickened, growing heavy with unspoken desires. My fingers tangled in her hair, pulling gently, tilting her head back to deepen the angle. Her response was a breathless sigh, a soft gasp that told me everything I needed to know. She was not just accepting this; she was meeting it.

“Jeongyeon,” I murmured against her mouth, the sound rough, almost a plea. “John,” she breathed, her voice a fragile thread, barely audible above the sudden roaring in my ears.

Her hands, which had been clutching my shirt, moved, spreading across my back, her fingers tracing the structure of my body beneath the fabric. It was a possessive touch, one that claimed without asking, and it ignited a fire deep within me.

I pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, still clouded with the lingering haze of the kiss, her lips swollen, glistening. The flower at my collar, a ridiculous, fragile thing, brushed against her cheek.

“You said properly,” I whispered, my voice soft. Her mouth curved in a faint, almost imperceptible smile “I did.”

My hands moved to the hem of her shirt, clumsy at first, then more sure. I pulled it free from her waistband, sliding my palms underneath, letting my fingers brush against the warm skin of her lower back. She shivered, a small, involuntary tremor that ran through her entire body. I felt the subtle shift of her weight, the way she leaned into my touch, a silent invitation.

“Let me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes still locked with mine, a silent conversation passing between us. I tugged her shirt upward, slowly, deliberately, pulling it over her head. The fabric brushed against her skin, a soft whisper of sound in the quiet room. As it came away, her tank top was revealed, clinging to her curves. I traced the line of her ribs, the soft swell of her waist, the delicate curve of her hip. Her breath hitched, a faint gasp.

“You’re beautiful,” I breathed, the words escaping before I could think to hold them back. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, a rare vulnerability “You’re just saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” My hands moved to the straps of her tank top, pulling them down, exposing the smooth skin of her shoulders, the delicate line of her collarbone. The fabric bunched around her waist, but she made no move to remove it, letting me take the lead. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt and sweetness of her skin. She arched her neck, a silent invitation, and I felt the rapid beat of her pulse against my lips.

Her own hands were not idle. As I stripped her, her fingers fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, her touch surprisingly urgent. The small flower at my collar, the one she had placed there, brushed against her knuckles. I felt the familiar pull of buttons coming undone, the soft scrape of fabric against skin. When my shirt was open, she pushed it off my shoulders, her hands gliding over my chest, tracing the outlines of it. Her touch was possessive, almost reverent.

“Stay,” she murmured, as she reached for the waistband of my shorts, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of my abdomen. She unzipped them, slowly, deliberately, her eyes never leaving mine. Then she pushed them down, along with my boxers, her touch surprisingly gentle, almost teasing.

I stood there, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly captivated by her. The cool air of the room brushed against my heated skin, a stark contrast to the burning intensity of her gaze.

“You look… good,” she said, her voice a little shaky, a rare crack in her carefully constructed composure. “You too,” I managed, my voice thick with desire.

Her hands moved to the hem of her tank top, pulling it up and over her head in one fluid motion. She unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of lace and silk. Her body was a revelation, a testament to strength and grace, every curve and line a work of art.

Then she reached for the waistband of her shorts, her fingers working the button, the zipper. As they fell, I saw the dark lace of her panties. She kicked them off, her legs long and toned, the smooth skin glowing in the dim light, her eyes challenging me to look away. I couldn't.

Jeongyeon took my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine, and led me to the bed. It was still neatly made, the crisp white sheets. She gently pushed me back, her hands on my chest, easing me onto the mattress. I landed with a soft thud, the springs groaning softly under my weight. She did not lie beside me. Instead, she straddled me, her knees on either side of my hips, her body hovering just above mine.

Her hips began to move, a slow, deliberate grind that brought her wet pussy into contact with my cock. The friction was electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that shot through me, making me arch upward, desperate for more. Her wetness, warm and slick, coated the head of my dick, teasing, tantalizing, promising release.

“Ah, Jeongyeon,” I groaned, my hips instinctively bucking against hers, seeking deeper contact.

“Easy,” she whispered, her voice a silken thread, laced with a hint of amusement. She shifted, pulling back slightly, the delicious pressure easing. My hips bucked again, a frustrated plea. “Not yet, John,” she placed her hand on my chest, her eyes dancing with a playful glint.

She leaned forward, her hips moving away from my cock, closer to my face. The glistening folds of Jeongyeon’s pussy, the soft pink flesh of her inner labia. The nectar that was dripping at her opening, a testament to her own arousal. She spread her thighs slightly, a silent invitation, a deliberate display of her wetness.

“John,” she murmured, her voice soft, but firm “When I said ‘not here’. Well this is here.” My eyes devoured the sight, every curve, every shadow, every hint of moisture. The smell of her, musky and sweet, filled my senses, intoxicating me. My cock throbbed, a relentless ache, desperate for the release she so expertly withheld.

Then, to my surprise, she reached behind her, her fingers finding the hard shaft of my cock. Her touch was feather-light at first, then firmer, her thumb tracing the sensitive ridge of my head. I gasped, my body arching upward, a guttural sound escaping my lips.

“Oh, God, Jeongyeon,” I moaned, my voice choked with pleasure. “Shh,” she whispered, her fingers continuing their exquisite torture, stroking, circling, teasing. She leaned forward, bringing her pussy even closer to my mouth, the scent of her overwhelming me. “Don’t be loud.”

Then, slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself, her wet folds brushing against my lips, her warm, slick mound pressing against my mouth. I tasted her, her musky and sweet nectar sent shivers down my spine. She shushed me again, her hips pressing down, a silent command. My tongue darted out, tracing the sensitive folds of her pussy, tasting the warm, wet essence of her.

Her breath hitched, a soft gasp of pleasure. She tilted her head back, her body trembling with suppressed desire. I licked, sucked, teased, my tongue exploring every inch of her, driven by a need to give her pleasure, to make her forget everything but this moment.

She moaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her entire body “John,” she gasped, her hands fisting in the sheets beside my head.

Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, she pulled herself away, leaving me gasping for air, the taste and scent of her still lingering on my tongue. My cock, aching and throbbing, felt utterly bereft.

She leaned forward, her eyes now open, “John, tell me that you want it,” her voice a low, seductive whisper.

“More than anything,” I admitted, my voice raw.

Her mouth curved, small and controlled, like she had already decided how much trouble I was allowed to be in. Then, with a graceful movement, she slid down my body, her mouth finding the tip of my cock. My breath caught in my throat, a sudden gasp of pure pleasure sped through my body. Her lips, soft and warm, closed around me, her tongue flicking, teasing, tasting.

“Jeongyeon,” I groaned, my hands fisting in the sheets, my body trembling.

She began to suck, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity, her tongue working its magic, stroking, swirling, teasing the sensitive head of my cock. The sensation was exquisite, overwhelming, a torrent of pleasure that threatened to consume me. I closed my eyes, my head thrashing against the pillow, lost in the rising tide of sensation.

She continued, her movements fluid and practiced, her mouth a hot, wet glove around me. Her hands moved, stroking the shaft of my cock, her fingers dancing a delicate rhythm that mirrored the movements of her mouth. Each stroke, each lick, each suck, brought me closer to the edge, the precipice of release.

“I’m going to come,” I gasped, the words choked, barely audible.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark, her lips glistening with my pre-cum “Good,” she whispered, then she leaned in again, her mouth closing around me, sucking me deep, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of my cock.

The world exploded. My back arched, my body convulsing, as a torrent of hot, thick cum erupted from me, spilling into her mouth. Even when my mouth muffled by Jeongyeon’s pussy— I groaned, a long, drawn-out sound of pure, unadulterated release, my body was trembling. She swallowed, her throat working, taking every drop, then continued to suckle, milking the last remnants of pleasure from me.

The waves of orgasm continued to wash over me, each one more intense than the last. I heard her own breath hitch, a small, choked sound of pleasure. Her grip on me tightened, her body trembling, and I realized, with a sudden jolt, that she was cumming too. The thought, the knowledge that I had brought her to this peak, ignited a fresh wave of pleasure within me.

When it was over, when the tremors had subsided and our breathing had slowed, she pulled away, her mouth still glistening. She looked at me, her eyes soft, a triumphant glint hidden deep within their depths. Then, without a word, she leaned down, her tongue flicking out, cleaning the last drops of my cum from her lips, her gaze never leaving mine. There was nothing delicate about it, but there was nothing careless either. Even like this, Jeongyeon was still trying to make sure I was the one being held.

She then shifted, sliding off me, and lay beside me on the bed. The sheets, cool against my skin, felt like a welcome embrace. She turned on her side, facing me, her arm draped over my chest, her head resting on my shoulder. Her breathing was still a little ragged, a testament to the intensity of our shared release.

“Rest now, John,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost a lullaby “You need it.”

Her fingers, cool and gentle, began to stroke my hair, a comforting rhythm that threatened to lull me into a deep sleep.  But as the initial haze of pleasure began to recede, a different feeling began to stir within me. A stubborn, insistent voice that refused to be silenced. I opened my eyes, looking down at her, her face serene in the dim light. She had given me so much, had taken care of me in a way I hadn’t realized I desperately needed. But this wasn’t just about being cared for. This was about ‘us’.

“No,” I said, my voice firm, cutting through the quiet.

She lifted her head, her eyes, still heavy with post-orgasmic haze, blinking slowly “No?”

“I’m not letting your day end with you taking care of me and pretending that counts as you being wanted.”

I shifted, slowly, deliberately, my body still heavy from release, but a new surge of energy coursing through me. I used my arms, my core, to push myself up, rolling over her, until I was on top, hovering above her, my gaze locked with hers. Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise, then something else, something I couldn't quite decipher.

“John,” she breathed, her voice a soft gasp, a mix of surprise and something akin to protest.

“You’ve been taking care of me all day,” I continued, my voice low, intense. “From breakfast, lunch, the picnic, and dinner. You made sure I ate, drank, you guided me. You’ve been my anchor today, Jeongyeon. And I appreciate it. More than you know.”

I leaned down, pressing my forehead against hers, my breath mingling with hers “But I don’t want you to end your day thinking that’s all I want from you. I want you too. Not just to be cared for, but to care for you. To make you feel wanted, desired, cherished. Not as someone who took care of me, but as Jeongyeon, my girlfriend.”

Her hands, which had been resting on the bed beside her, slowly came up, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw, then my neck. Her eyes, usually so guarded, were now wide open, vulnerable, reflecting a mix of emotions I rarely saw.

“I… I don’t want to be selfish, John,” she whispered, her voice barely audible “I know… I know how much you’ve been through. I don’t want to tire you out. I don’t want to ask for too much, and then… that’ll get you tired of me.”

The words, so raw, so honest, hit me with a sudden force. This was the fear underneath all her control, all her practical care. The fear of being a burden, of being too much, of driving me away.

“Never,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, my gaze fierce, unwavering “Never, Jeongyeon. I want you to be selfish. I want you to ask for too much. I want you to be loud in what you want, just for me. Because I want to be selfish in wanting you too. And it doesn’t matter if I get tired, or if you ask for too much, or if it’s messy. Because what matters now, what matters the most, what matters always, is us.”

I leaned down again, kissing her, softly at first, then with a growing intensity that mirrored the passion in my words. Her lips, which had been trembling, softened under mine, parting in a silent invitation. This kiss was different. It was a promise, a declaration, a silent negotiation of desires.

My hands moved, one sliding under her back, the other tangling in her hair. I deepened the kiss, my tongue exploring the warmth and wetness of her mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of our shared release. She responded with a fervor that surprised me, her body arching against mine, her hands clutching at my shoulders.

“Show me, then,” she whispered against my lips, her voice thick with emotion, a rare crack in her usual composure “Show me how selfish we can be.”

I pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes, a slow smile spreading across my face. Then, I began to move. Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself, my cock, still sensitive and swollen, pressing against her wet, slick pussy. The friction was exquisite, a slow, building heat that spread through both of us.

“You’re so wet,” I murmured, my voice husky, my gaze fixed on hers. “For you,” she breathed, her hips instinctively arching upward, meeting my descent.

I slid into her, inch by inch, feeling the tight, warm embrace of the walls of her pussy closing around me. It was a slow, sensual invasion, each movement a deliberate act of pleasure. Her muscles clenched around me, milking every sensation, every millimeter of contact.

“Ah, John,” she moaned in my ear, her body trembling, her eyes closing in ecstasy.

I pushed deeper, until I was fully embedded within her, our bodies fused together, skin against skin, wetness against wetness. The feeling was overwhelming, a perfect fit, a profound connection that settled deep within my soul.

“Feels good?” I whispered, my lips brushing against her temple. She nodded, her head thrashing softly against the pillow “So good. Don’t rush. Please, don’t rush.”

I didn’t. I pulled back, almost fully, then pushed forward again, slowly, deliberately, each thrust deep and full, filling her completely. The rhythm was unhurried, almost meditative, allowing us to savor every sensation, every ripple of pleasure.

The air filled with the soft sounds of our lovemaking: the sound of our bodies moving together, the overwhelming sensation of my cock sliding in and out of her, the gentle sighs and gasps that escaped her lips.

Her hands moved from my shoulders, tracing the lines of my back, then legs gripping my waist, pulling me deeper, urging me on. She began to move with me, her hips rising to meet each thrust, her body a willing and eager participant in our slow, sensual dance.

“Oh, John,” she moaned, a soft, almost muffled sound. She tried to keep it quiet, her instinct to contain, to control, still present even in the throes of passion. But the pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming. Her moans grew louder, more insistent, a soft cascade of sound that filled the room.

The sound she made barely escaped her. It caught somewhere against my shoulder, small and broken, like she had tried to swallow it and failed. I turned my face closer to her ear.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered “You can stay quiet. Just don’t disappear.” She gasped, her body arching, her nails pressing into my back “I… I can’t,” she breathed “It’s too much.”

But she did not get louder. She reached for me instead. Her hand slid to the back of my neck and pulled me down until her mouth found mine again. The kiss was not neat. It broke twice, then came back harder, swallowing the sounds neither of us wanted the room to have. I understood. Jeongyeon was not asking me to stop. She was asking me to stay close enough that the quiet could survive us. So I kissed her again.

Every breath she lost disappeared against my mouth. Every sound I almost made ended there too, caught between us, hidden in the small space where her control finally started to shake.

The pace stayed slow because she had asked for slow. But the kiss did not. That was where we became selfish. Not louder. Closer.

Her legs wrapped even tigher around my waist, pulling me even closer, locking me to her. Our bodies were pressed together, every inch of us in contact, the sensation overwhelming. I felt the subtle clench of her internal muscles, the way her pussy tightened around me, milking every drop of pleasure.

“I’m close,” she managed to gasp out before going back to kiss me while her body trembled.

“Me too,” I breathed before returning to the kiss, my own climax building, a relentless wave threatening to break over me.  

I looked down at her, her face flushed, her eyes half-closed, her lips swollen and parted, a picture of pure, unadulterated pleasure. This was what I wanted for her. This uninhibited, raw desire. And then, as if a dam had broken, the pleasure surged, overwhelming both of us. We held together, a single, unified sound of pure ecstasy, our bodies convulsing, trembling, as orgasm ripped through us.

I spilled deep inside her, a hot, thick gush that filled her, claiming her, marking her as mine. She shuddered around me, her muscles clenching, squeezing, milking every last drop of pleasure from me.

We lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing ragged. The silence that followed was not empty, but full with the echoes of our shared climax. She buried her face in my neck, her body still trembling, her fingers still digging into my back.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against my skin “Thank you for… for making me feel this. For wanting me like this. Not just… not just for taking care of me.”

I kissed her hair, stroking her back, my own body still thrumming with residual pleasure. “I always want you, Jeongyeon. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft, a hint of vulnerability still lingering “But… it’s hard. To let go. To just… be wanted. Without having to earn it, or be selfish about it.”

“You don’t have to earn it,” I told her, my voice firm “You just have to be you. And I want you. All of you. Even the parts that try to hide.” She chuckled softly, a warm, throaty sound that vibrated against my chest “You’re not tired, are you?”

I pulled back, looking into her eyes, a slow smile spreading across my face. My cock, already stirring within her, gave its own answer “I am tired,” I told her “But I’m not tired of you, I never will be.”

Her smile trembled before it finished forming. She looked away for half a second, blinking too quickly, then came back to me like she was angry at herself for almost crying “Then show me that you want more of me,” she whispered. Her hand found my face, careful despite the shake in her fingers “Not because you have to, because you still want to.”

I shifted, carefully, gently, pulling myself mostly out of her, but keeping the tips of our bodies connected. I moved, easing her onto her back, then sliding down, my head coming to rest between her breasts. Her legs, still wrapped around my waist, adjusted, her knees bending, her feet flat on the bed, pulling me closer. I leaned into her, my forearms supporting my weight, our bodies forming a complex, intertwined shape. My cock, still swollen and hard, pressed against her clit, teasing, tantalizing.

I looked up at her, our faces close, our eyes locked. Her breath hitched, a soft gasp of anticipation. I moved, slowly, deliberately, guiding my cock back into her, feeling the wet, hot embrace of her pussy closing around me once more.

This position, our bodies so intimately connected, allowed for a different kind of sensation. My chest pressed against hers, my hips aligned with hers, my legs tangled with her own. Each slow, deep thrust brought our bodies into full contact, a long, drawn-out glide of skin against skin, wetness against wetness. I could feel every ripple of her muscles, every soft moan that escaped her lips, every tremor that ran through her body.

“Oh, John,” she gasped, her voice a little louder now, less muffled “This… this is incredible.”

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her neck, then her shoulder, trailing my lips down to her breasts, my tongue flicking out, teasing her sensitive nipples. She arched her back, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me to continue.

“You feel so good,” I murmured against her skin, my voice thick with desire “So tight, so warm.”

I continued our slow, deep rhythm, each thrust a languid exploration of her depths. The feeling was exquisite, a profound connection that transcended the physical, touching something deep within my soul. I could feel her pleasure building, her body trembled beneath mine, every sound she tried to hold back starting to slip through anyway.

“John, we’re getting loud… again,” she whispered, breathless, her usual control reaching for the room before it could get away from her. “Someone might hear.”

I kissed her before the worry could become distance. The kiss did what words would have ruined. It caught the sounds between us, kept them small, kept them ours. Jeongyeon’s hand found the back of my neck, half correction, half surrender, pulling me close enough that every broken breath had somewhere to go. The rhythm did not stop. It only folded into the kiss. Slow enough to obey her. Close enough to forget why either of us had been trying to stay quiet in the first place.

The pleasure intensified, building to an unbearable crescendo. I felt her body clench around me, her hips bucking, her moans muffled against my mouth. Her hands gripped my back, her nails digging in, as she rode the wave of her orgasm. I pushed one last, deep thrust, spilling into her once more, my own body convulsing, trembling, as I joined her in the sweet release.

We lay there, still joined, still kissing, our bodies quivering, our breaths ragged. The world outside the room had ceased to exist. There was only us, entwined, connected, lost in the aftermath of our shared passion.

When our lips finally parted, we were both breathless, flushed, our eyes shining with a mixture of love, desire, and profound contentment. She looked at me, a soft, tender smile gracing her lips.

“I love you, John,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “I love you too, Jeongyeon,” I replied, my voice thick.

I shifted, gently pulling out of her, then rolled onto my side, pulling her against me, spooning her close. Her body, soft and pliant, molded against mine, a perfect fit. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling the sheet up to cover us, a soft, intimate cocoon against the cool night air.

The flower, the ridiculous, delicate flower, had fallen from my collar somewhere during our lovemaking. I saw it now, lying on the pillow beside us, a small, red testament to a day that had started with care and ended with unbridled passion. Our phones, face down on the bedside table, remained ignored. The keycard, resting beside them, seemed like a relic from another lifetime.

Jeongyeon snuggled closer, her head resting on my shoulder, her breathing slowing, evening out. I kissed her hair, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of her, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my back. The quiet of the room was profound, a sanctuary after the noise and demands of the day.

This was our harmony. Not just the quiet, or the care, or the passion. But all of it, intertwined, balanced, a negotiation of desires that had finally found its perfect rhythm. And for the first time in a long time, I felt utterly, completely at peace.

I did not know when I fell asleep. That was new.

Usually, sleep arrived like something I had negotiated with my body after losing several smaller arguments. This time, it took me while Jeongyeon’s hand was still at my back, moving slowly enough that it did not feel like comfort trying to prove itself.

At some point, she shifted. I stirred immediately “Stay asleep,” she murmured.

“I am.” “You answered.” “Efficiently.”

Her hand paused. Even half-asleep, I knew I had made a mistake “Do not use Mina’s language in bed.”

I smiled against the pillow. Then something cool touched my hand. A glass “Water,” she said. I opened one eye “Still?”

“Especially now.” There was no ceremony to it. No careful aftercare speech. No delicate emotional labeling. Just Jeongyeon, sitting beside me with her hair loose and her shoulder bare beneath the sheet, holding a glass of water like hydration was a moral structure.

I took it. Drank. She watched until she was satisfied. Then she took the glass back and placed it on the bedside table beside our phones, both still face down. Mine had not moved. Neither had hers.

The keycard sat beside them, crooked from where one of us had knocked it earlier. The small red flower lay near the pillow, crushed at the edges now, no longer romantic enough to survive inspection.

Jeongyeon saw me looking at it “Dead,” she said. “It served bravely.” “It was on your collar for one day and got too confident.” “That feels like slander.” “That feels like evidence.”

I laughed quietly. It came out softer than I expected. Jeongyeon looked at me for a second. Not like she was checking if I was okay. Like she was checking if I was there. I was. That seemed to matter more.

She lay down again, not beside me exactly, but half over me, one arm across my chest and one leg tangled with mine like she had decided the most practical way to make sure I did not disappear was to physically complicate it. I touched her wrist “Jeongyeon.”

“Hm?” “Do you still think selfish is bad?”

Her fingers moved once against my chest. A small answer before the real one “I think selfish can get dangerous.”

“That is not what I asked.” “I know.”

She was quiet for a while. Outside, the resort had gone soft. No pavilion voices. No pool noise. No footsteps on the path. Only the low hush of air conditioning and the faintest suggestion of ocean beyond the walls.

Finally, she said, “Less.” I turned my head toward her “Less?” “I think it is less bad than I thought.”

That was probably as much confession as I was going to get from Yoo Jeongyeon before sunrise. I took it seriously “Good.”

Her eyes narrowed without fully opening “Do not sound proud.”

“I am proud.” “Then be quiet about it.”

I kissed the top of her head. She allowed it. Then, after a moment, she shifted closer, like allowing had not been enough. That was the difference. She still took care of me. She just did not disappear inside it.

I fell asleep again before I could turn that into a speech. Growth. Possibly.

Morning came in pieces. Warm light through the curtains. Jeongyeon’s hair against my shoulder. The weight of her leg over mine.

The quiet ache of a body that had been used and loved and finally allowed to stop arguing. For once, I woke up without already reaching for a problem. Jeongyeon was awake before me. Of course she was. She was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching me with the calm satisfaction of someone inspecting a repair job that had held overnight.

I blinked at her “What?” “Well-rested?”

The question was dry. Too dry. Suspiciously dry. I stared at her for half a second, then narrowed my eyes.

“Depends.” Her brow lifted “On?” “Whether we are counting current condition or projected condition after one more round.”

Jeongyeon stared at me. Then her mouth twitched. Just once “Slow down a pace, overachiever.” I smiled “That was not a no.” “It was not a yes.” “That is a dangerous middle area.” “It is Momo’s day.”

The reminder landed with all the moral weight of a government notice. I looked at the window. Then at the door. Then at her “Technically, breakfast has not started.”

“Technically, if we are late because of that, Momo will hate both of us for the rest of the vacation.” “Would she?” “No.” Jeongyeon shifted onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “She would make the saddest face in the world, and that is worse.”

I considered this. Momo’s sad face did have structural power. Jeongyeon glanced at me “For the record,” she said, reaching blindly for the edge of the sheet like she had already decided the conversation was dangerous, “I am not against the idea.”

I sat up a little too fast. She pointed at me without looking.

“That was not permission. That was information.” “Cruel information.” “I am the sensible one here.” “You keep saying that like it makes you innocent.” “I never claimed innocent.”

That shut me up. Briefly. She smiled without giving me the satisfaction of seeing all of it. The room felt warmer than it had any right to be. Like the thing that had almost made her cry last night had not disappeared, but had learned where to sit without hurting both of us.

I reached for her hand under the sheet. She let me take it. No joke. No correction. Just fingers lacing through mine. Then she squeezed once. Private. I breathed out.

“I am tired,” I said. Her face changed before I finished. So I finished properly “Good tired.” Her eyes stayed on mine “Not seawall tired?”

The room went quiet. No dark line beyond palm trees. No smoke. No wall. No need to stand somewhere no one could ask me what was wrong. Just Jeongyeon, watching me like she did not need me to lie quickly in order to protect her.

“No,” I said “Not seawall tired.” Her thumb moved once against my hand “Good.”

The word landed differently that time. Not praise. Not correction. A place to stand. I looked at her for too long. She noticed, because of course she did “What?”

“Nothing.” “You are doing the face.” “What face?” “The face where you are about to say something that makes both of us uncomfortable.” “That is a very specific face.” “You have many.”

I smiled. She tried not to. Failed in a small way. That counted. I shifted closer and kissed her. Morning kisses were different. Less urgent. More dangerous, maybe, because there was no night to blame them on.

Jeongyeon let it happen for three seconds. Then four. Then she pulled back with the kind of restraint that deserved documentation.

“No.” I blinked “No?” “Breakfast.” “That is a harsh transition.” “You need food.” “I need many things.”

Her eyes narrowed. I shut up. Mostly.

She sat up, taking the sheet with her. Not out of shyness. Out of ownership. Her hair was messy around her face, her mouth still soft from sleep, and there was something unfair about seeing her like that after everything.

Like the night had not made her less Jeongyeon. It had just made the private parts easier to see. She looked around the room, then at the floor “My shirt.”

I pointed vaguely “There.” “That is your shirt.” “Oh.”

She stared. I corrected the direction “There.” She reached for it, then paused when she saw the flower on the pillow. The ruined one. For a second, her face softened. Then she picked it up by the stem and held it between two fingers.

“Casualty.” “Hero.” “It got crushed.” “Worth it.”

She looked at me. There was a warning in her eyes. There was also color in her cheeks. I decided not to die before breakfast. She placed the flower on the bedside table beside the keycard. Not thrown away. Not kept dramatically. Just placed there. That was somehow more Jeongyeon than either.

We got ready slowly. Not lazily. Jeongyeon did not allow laziness to become a personality trait before coffee. But slowly enough that I did not feel pulled by a schedule. Slowly enough that when I buttoned my shirt wrong, I noticed only because she stepped in front of me and fixed it without comment. Mostly without comment.

“You are bad at this today.” “I slept.” “That is not an excuse.” “It is new.”

Her hands paused at my collar. Her expression shifted. A little. Then she finished the button properly “Then keep practicing.”

I looked down at her fingers “Sleeping?”

“Yes.” “With you?”

Her eyes lifted. There it was. The smallest curve of her mouth.

“Do not make it a line.” “It was a question.” “It was a line with punctuation.”

I smiled despite myself. She looked away first, which felt like winning until she picked up my phone and held it out to me without unlocking it “Pocket.”

I took it. “I am allowed?”

“You are allowed to carry it. You are not allowed to disappear into it before breakfast.” “That is a complicated permission.” “You like clauses.” “I hate that everyone thinks that.” “You have clauses.”

I pocketed the phone. Face down in my pocket, somehow. Emotionally. Jeongyeon checked herself in the mirror once. Only once. Then she saw me watching and gave me the look.

“What?” “Nothing.” “Again?” “I like looking at you.”

Her face went still. Not frozen. Just caught. I almost apologized out of habit. I stopped. She saw that too. The silence changed around us. Then Jeongyeon turned back to the mirror and fixed a piece of hair that did not need fixing “You are going to make breakfast difficult,” she said.

“I think breakfast was always going to be difficult.” “Yes, but now it is your fault too.” “That feels like progress.” “It is not.”

But she was smiling when she said it. I reached for the door. Then stopped. Jeongyeon noticed immediately “What?” I looked at the handle. Then at her “Are we late?”

“Yes.” “How late?” “Enough.” “That is not a number.” “It is a consequence.”

I closed my eyes. The table would know. Of course the table would know. Breakfast had too many eyes, too much history, and Nayeon. There was no version of walking into breakfast late beside Jeongyeon that ended quietly. Even if no one knew anything, they would invent something accurate through sheer emotional violence.

Jeongyeon stepped beside me “Do not make that face.”

“What face?” “The one where you are planning how to enter breakfast.” “I am not planning.” “You are.” “I am considering route options.” “That is planning.” “It is survival.” “It is breakfast.” “With them.”

She accepted that point with a small nod. Then she opened the door herself. Light from the hallway spilled into the room. Morning resort noise came with it. Distant dishes. Someone laughing near the pavilion. A staff member’s polite greeting somewhere down the hall. The world had continued without me holding it up.

Jeongyeon stepped out first. Then stopped and looked back “John.”

“Yes?” “Walk.” I stared at her “Again?” “It worked yesterday.” “I am beginning to feel managed.” “You are.” “At least you are honest.” “Growth.”

I stepped into the hallway beside her. Not behind. Not ahead. Beside. She looked at the distance between us like she was checking the setup of another picnic. Then she took my hand. No warning. No speech. Just fingers sliding through mine like the most practical thing in the world. I looked down. She did not.

“Is this intentional?” I asked. Her grip tightened “Do not start.” “I was asking for classification.” “You already took notes yesterday.”

I froze. Jeongyeon kept walking. My ears warmed before I could stop them “I did not take notes.”

“You asked if the picnic looked intentional.” “That was environmental awareness.” “You asked if one coffee was too obvious.” “That was beverage strategy.” “You asked if sharing the blanket would look forced.”

I stopped walking. She tugged once and made me start again “Jeongyeon.”

“What?” “That was private.” “So was last night.”

My entire body forgot how to be a person. She looked ahead, calm as ever. Too calm. Terrifyingly calm “You would not.”

“I have not decided.” “That is worse.” “It should motivate you.” “To do what?” “Eat breakfast.” “That is blackmail.” “That is efficient.”

I stared at her. She did not look sorry. She looked rested. Satisfied, maybe. No. Not maybe.

The path opened toward the pavilion, sunlight spilling over the stone walkway. Voices grew clearer. Nayeon’s laugh cut through first, bright and dangerous. Sana followed, softer. Dahyun said something that made Jihyo say no before the sentence finished. Somewhere, Ben’s voice carried just enough smugness to offend the morning.

Jeongyeon slowed before the final turn. Not because she was nervous. Because I was. Her thumb moved across the back of my hand. Once. Private.

“Are you ready?” she asked. “No.” “Good.” “That is not reassuring.” “It is honest.”

I breathed out. I thought about the phone in my pocket. The flower on the bedside table. The glass of water. The way she had said selfish like it scared her. The way she had taken my hand anyway.