Warning: I don't speak English, so I'm using a translator. Please forgive any mistakes! 🥺
Summary: how would the characters react when you are angry with them?
Characters: Lee Kang Soo, Kang Dae Ho, Noh Woo Sung, Kim Yo Han, Wang Wook.
Lee Kang Soo
You had been waiting for him a long time. He promised to be back by nine, but the hours ticked by, and he was nowhere to be found. Your heart whispered that something was wrong. You called Kang Soo, but there was no answer.
You had already begun to play out the worst-case scenarios in your head when you suddenly heard the turn of a key in the lock.
Kang Soo stepped into the apartment, and you froze.
His face... you had never seen him like this. A split lip, a massive bruise under his eye, a graze on his cheekbone. His white tank top was stained with blood, and his blazer was caked in dirt.
Kang Soo moved slowly, as if every step brought him pain.
"Kang Soo..." you gasped, springing up from the couch.
"It’s fine," his voice was hoarse, uncharacteristically quiet. "Just a small disagreement with a few people."
"Small?!" You stepped closer, trying to inspect the damage. "Your face is not a 'small disagreement'!"
He tried to smirk that signature slick, arrogant smirk of his, but winced in pain and simply waved you off instead.
"I’ve had worse. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill."
You clenched your fists. Anger seethed in your chest — at Kang Soo and at whoever did this to him. But he brushed it off, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"Sit down," you said in a glacial tone. "I’ll get the first aid kit."
"No need, I’ll..."
"Sit down, Kang Soo," your voice sounded remarkably stern.
Kang Soo had never seen you this angry before. Your command intimidated him more than the brawl with the drug dealers. He simply sat on the edge of the sofa, shoulders slumped, staring toward the bathroom where you had gone.
You brought the kit, stood before him, and began to gently treat his wounds. Kang Soo hissed as the antiseptic touched his skin, but he didn't complain.
"What happened?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady even though you were fuming inside.
"Nothing. Just an occupational hazard."
"Kang Soo!"
"I told you, it’s fine!" He flinched, and you noticed him clutching his ribs. Something was definitely broken or severely bruised.
"Take off your shirt," you demanded.
"What? Now is not exactly the best time for lovemaking..." Kang Soo tried to joke his way out of it.
"Kang Soo, take off your shirt, or I’ll take it off myself. And I swear, it’ll hurt more than it does now."
He sighed and, grimacing, pulled the shirt over his head.
You gasped. His entire torso was covered in bruises.
"Who?" your voice trembled.
"It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter?! Kang Soo, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck! Do you have any idea how I feel when you come home like this? When you don't answer my messages? When I don’t know if you’re alive or..."
You couldn't finish. Tears welled up in your throat.
Kang Soo looked up at you. His eyes were filled with profound regret.
"Come here," he said softly, reaching out a hand.
"No. You’re not getting out of this with a hug. You..."
"I’m not trying to get out of it. Just... come here. Please."
And those words, spoken in such a tired, broken voice, made you step forward.
You sat beside him, careful not to touch his bruises. He wrapped his relatively healthy arm around you and pulled you close. He buried his nose in your hair and went still.
"I should have anticipated their move," he said hollowly. "I should have. Но they turned out to be... faster."
"Kang Soo..." You closed your eyes and shook your head.
"I’m not used to losing," he cut in. "I always knew what to do. I was always one step ahead. And today... today I almost..."
He trailed off, and you felt his grip tighten around you.
"Don't you dare," you whispered. "Don't even think about it."
"I’m not," he chuckled, though the smile was crooked. "I’m here. Alive. Mostly in one piece."
"Mostly?" You pulled back and looked him in the face. "Kang Soo, your ribs might be broken!"
"I’ll see a doctor tomorrow. I promise."
"Now."
"Now? Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning."
"I don’t care. You’re going to the hospital, or I’m calling an ambulance. And I swear, I will personally destroy Prosecutor Goo for giving you such dangerous work! I won’t let anyone take you away from me!"
Kang Soo stared at you for a long moment. A flicker of something like respect or perhaps gratitude shone in his eyes.
"You are impossible," he said.
"I know."
"You’re the only person who can boss me around."
"I know."
"And you love it."
He smirked a real one this time.
"Fine. The hospital. But you’re coming with me."
"Of course."
He stood up, winced, but kept his balance. You took his arm.
"Kang Soo," you said softly as you walked toward the door.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Please, next time you go on a mission... take care of yourself."
Kang Soo looked at you. His face was battered and bruised, but his eyes held that tender spark he reserved only for you.
"Always, sweetheart. Because I have someone to come home to."
He took your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.
Kang Dae Ho
Dae Ho is used to molding himself to fit others, being who they need him to be: strong, reliable, cheerful. But when you are angry with him, the mask cracks. And underneath is a frightened little boy who fears being scolded and cast aside.
Dae Ho lied to you about his service. He served in the Marines, but he had to leave due to panic attacks. He embellished the truth to look better in your eyes.
You found out the truth from one of his sisters. She told you about their father, who took out all his rage on his youngest son.
You don't scream; you just look at him.
"Dae Ho, why didn't you tell me?"
Dae Ho freezes. He recognizes that tone: not angry, but disappointed. That’s the worst kind.
"I... I wanted to," his voice breaks. "I wanted to, but I was scared. I thought if you found out I wasn't the real deal... that I was pretending all this time... you’d leave."
"And you think I won't leave now?" You look him dead in the eye.
Dae Ho’s broad shoulders sag, and his gaze drops to the floor.
"Please don't," he whispers. "I’ll do anything. I’ll make it right. I’ll never lie again. Just don’t leave."
"Dae Ho..."
"I know I’m pathetic," his voice trembles. "I’m no Marine, no hero, not the man I claim to be. I’m just... a guy who wanted someone to be proud of him. And you’re the only person who ever looked at me with love... If you leave..."
He stops, unable to finish.
You look at this big, strong man who is now shaking. Your anger melts away. In truth, you weren't even truly angry; you were disappointed because it felt like he didn't trust you. But seeing him now, you realize he just needed time to open up. After a lifetime of his father's cruelty, he isn't used to the idea of being loved for who he is.
"Dae Ho," you step closer. "I’m not upset because you aren't perfect. I’m upset because you didn't trust me. Do you think I only love you because you were a Marine?"
He raises his eyes.
"I don’t love you for some made-up biography," you continue. "I love you for who you are. For your kindness, your clumsiness, the way you care for everyone around you. But if you lie, I can’t trust you. And there is no love without trust."
Dae Ho swallows hard.
"Never again," he says. "I swear. I’d rather be the most pathetic version of myself as long as I’m honest. Just stay."
He reaches out his hand but doesn't touch you, waiting for your permission.
You take his hand. He flinches slightly and then, unable to believe his luck, presses your palm against his cheek.
"You’re the most precious person in my life," he whispers. "I’ll make everything right. I promise."
"I really hope so, Dae Ho. Don't be afraid to talk about your problems. We’ll find a solution together. I promise you that."
Wang Wook
Wang Wook is a man accustomed to ruling the world. He is a prince, a strategist, always knowing how to turn a situation to his advantage.
But once again, Wang Wook has done things his way. He sacrificed your interests for the sake of power, choosing the throne over you.
You come to him. You don't cry or scream. You simply stand there and look at him.
"I know everything," you say. "You used me."
Wang Wook remains silent. He doesn't make excuses; that is beneath his dignity. But there is pain in his eyes.
"I did it for us," he finally says.
"Not for us. For yourself. You chose power. You always choose power."
"If I don’t have power, I can’t protect you!" His voice rises.
"And if you have power, you lose me," you reply quietly. "You already have."
Wang Wook turns pale. He reaches out, but you recoil.
"Don't," you whisper. "Don't touch me. Not after what you’ve done..."
He lowers his hand. For the first time in his life, he is at a loss for words.
"I cannot be the man you want me to be," he says softly. "I am a prince. I have duties and obligations. I cannot simply... love."
"Then don't," you turn to leave.
"Wait!" He grabs your arm. There is desperation in his voice. "You don't understand. You are the only thing keeping me from becoming a monster. If you leave..."
"You will become one," you finish for him. "I know. Но that is your choice, Wang Wook. You’ve done enough..."
You wrench your arm free and walk away.
He does not follow. He stands in the empty hall, watching you go. His face is a stone mask, but a single tear rolls down his cheek.
This isn't the end. He will come again. He will plead, he will prove himself, he will fight for you. But in this moment, he realizes there are things that can never be undone. And you have no intention of going back.
Noh Woo Sung
Woo Sung is used to keeping his problems to himself. He is used to silence in general — silence about pain, fear, and love. Но when you are angry with him, his silence becomes a weapon used against himself.
Woo Sung recently bought an apartment, but he hasn't invited you over even once. You didn't know how difficult it was for him to live in a place where the neighbors were trying to drive him mad.
You try to talk about something important, but he remains withdrawn. You can see something is wrong; he looks nervous, though he tries to hide it. You want to understand his heart, but he retreats into himself. He doesn't want to burden you with his problems or tell you about the strange noises he hears. He keeps you at a distance to keep you safe from his "crazy" neighbors.
You ask him to tell you what's going on, but he just stands there, paralyzed.
Finally, you snap.
"Woo Sung, do you even hear me?!" You look at him, tears in your eyes. "If you don't care, just say so! I’ll leave!"
Woo Sung freezes. He looks at you. His expression doesn't change, but his hands are shaking.
"Don't leave," he says quietly.
"Then say something!" you nearly shout. "Anything! Just show me that I matter to you! Tell me what is happening to you!"
Woo Sung is silent for a long time, searching for words.
He approaches and simply takes your hand. He places your palm against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering. Its rhythm is frantic, as if he’s terrified.
"I know it sounds strange, but... my neighbors are trying to drive me crazy. Every night I hear strange sounds that keep me from sleeping."
Woo Sung tells you everything that has been haunting him.
You look at him. There is fear in his eyes. He’s afraid you’ll leave. You are his only reason not to lose his mind completely.
"Woo Sung..." your voice softens. "I’m sorry... if only you’d told me sooner..."
He is silent for a second. Then, very softly, almost inaudibly:
"I need you. Please, don't leave." He pulls you into a tight embrace. "I was afraid those people would come after you, too. You’re so precious to me, and I didn't want you to get hurt."
You hug him back, stroking his back.
"I’m not going anywhere," you whisper into his shoulder. "Just don't shut me out. At least not all the time."
"Okay..." He strokes your hair. "Okay..."
Kim Yo Han
Yo Han is the type of person who never loses. He is always three steps ahead, always in control, always knowing how to maneuver through any situation. But when you are angry with him, he faces something he can’t calculate: your feelings.
Yo Han has decided everything for you again. Behind your back, without your knowledge, "for your own safety." He got rid of the people you had a conflict with, but in doing so, he stripped you of your choice.
You find out and you are livid.
"You had no right!" You stand before him, eyes blazing. "You aren't my father or my guardian! You are my boyfriend! You shouldn't decide these things for me unless I ask!"
Yo Han is silent. His face is inscrutable, but you know him well enough to see that he’s agitated.
"I did it to protect you," he says calmly.
"I didn't ask you to protect me!" you nearly scream. "I asked you to be there for me! To trust me! And you... you just went ahead and decided. As if I don’t exist. As if I’m a small child."
Yo Han takes a step toward you.
"Stay back!" You recoil. "I’m not a toy, Yo Han. I’m not a pawn in your game. If you don’t see me as someone worth consulting, then why am I even here?"
He falters. For the first time, there is a look of bewilderment in his eyes.
"You’re right..." he says quietly. "I’m used to controlling everything. I’m used to the idea that if I don’t handle it, everything will fall apart. But you... you aren't part of the system. You’re my... my safe harbor. And I brought my games into that harbor. I’m sorry."
"Sorry?" You look at him. "You didn't even ask if I wanted that kind of protection. You didn't even give me the chance to say, 'No, I can handle this myself.'"
Yo Han bows his head. For the first time in his life, he doesn't have an answer.
"I don’t know how to be any other way," he says. "In my world, if you show weakness, you’re gone. I’m used to guarding what’s dear to me. I was terrified that if I didn't intervene, I’d lose you."
"And now you might lose me because you did," you say softly.
He looks at you, and his eyes are filled with pure pain.
"Tell me what I can do," he says. "And I’ll do it. I don’t want to lose you."
"You can start by asking me what I think, what I want. Ask if I’m afraid or not. If I need help. Just see me as a person, not an object to be protected."
Yo Han nods.
"I understand. I will do that." He looks at you earnestly. "But you... if I mess up again... tell me immediately. Don't let it build up. I’m not good at reading emotions like others. Just say it straight: 'Yo Han, you’re an idiot.' I’ll understand that."
You can't help but smile.
"You’re an idiot," you say.
"Thank you," he almost smiles back. "I’ll remember that."
He reaches out his hand. You look at it for a second, then place yours in his. Yo Han pulls you into a gentle embrace, and you rest your head on his shoulder.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A redraw of one of Woosung’s album covers, Moth. It’s funny how he voiced Kit and looks so much like him. His songs and the album Moth remind me of Kit’s story as well.
pairing: noh woo-sung x fem!reader
warnings: MDNI. 18+. smut, p in v, unprotected, m!receiving, smoking, aftercare.
word count: 4.3k
a/n: still can't believe people thought 84 m² was a bad movie, i had no idea what to expect watching it and it shook me. this is smutty, do not read if you're a minor!
“Woo-sung?”
You lightly tapped his shoulder, the sleeping man didn’t stir. You glanced around at the curious gazes from your co-workers. Lightly, you shook Woo-sung’s shoulder once more, the motion a little rougher than the first time.
Startled, Woo-sung woke up and shrieked out loud, causing your co-workers to gasp and murmur to themselves. Some laughed, in return you sent them a hard stare, not thinking the situation was funny at all. Woo-sung had fallen asleep multiple times at his computer, you were concerned for him as he was never like this until recently. You had worked with Woo-sung for some time now and he seemed quiet, kept to himself but you noticed the change in his demeanor. He was tired often, the bags under his eyes meant he hadn’t gotten good sleep.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t want you to get in trouble again,” you said placing a hand softly on his shoulder, trying to calm him down after scaring him awake. Woo-sung glanced around at everyone who was now pretending they weren’t just eavesdropping on him sleeping. The problem with working in such a confined space was everyone around you being nosy. They had nothing else better to do than pry.
“No, no it’s fine. I’m sorry, I haven’t been getting good sleep,” Woo-sung said, rubbing his eyes hoping to wake them up. You pitied him, hearing rumors about his financial struggles fluttering through the office every now and then.
“Do you want to take a break? Maybe walk around outside to wake your body up?”
Woo-sung nodded, he was still lightly dazed but he accepted your offer gladly. You were the only person besides his friend, Chang-wu, that showed any concern for his well being. He always found you to be beautiful and had even told Chang-wu on a drunken night that he wished he could take you out at some point. His financial situation, however, stopped him from gaining the confidence to do so.
You grabbed an umbrella before leading Woo-sung to the rooftop where normally your coworkers would take their smoke and lunch breaks. He followed you silently, still trying to wake his body up though it was very exhausted.
Opening the umbrella, you covered both you and Woo-sung though in hindsight you should’ve grabbed two considering how tall Woo-sung was. It had been raining all day, the rooftop was slightly flooded from the rain but you didn’t care. The breeze was nice and you always came up here to relieve some stress from work.
Woo-sung offered to hold the umbrella as you pulled out two cigarettes, the nasty habit giving you a little bit of relief. Woo-sung thanked you before he inhaled deeply and exhaled, he needed that.
“Pardon my curiosity but are you alright? I’ve noticed that you’ve been extremely tired recently. This wasn’t the first time you’ve fallen asleep at your desk,” you said, gazing out at the city view. The traffic and the rain the only sounds to be heard on the rooftop. Woo-sung took another drag out of the cigarette before glancing down sheepishly.
“I’m alright. I’ve just been having trouble sleeping. I have extremely noisy neighbors and the noise is constant, I can’t even think straight sometimes.”
You nodded as he spoke, you knew that he owned an apartment building but also knew the apartment prices weren’t the greatest right now. Chang-wu briefly spoke to you about how Woo-sung was waiting for the apartment prices to skyrocket so he could sell the place and be free of his debt. Though this seemed like something Chang-wu shouldn’t openly be sharing, he was coming out of a place of concern for his friend.
“I’m sorry to hear that. When I was renting an apartment in my early 20s, I had noisy neighbors as well. Drove me absolutely crazy, I complained to the manager daily. I eventually moved out once I scrambled enough money to. It was tough though, I get it.”
Woo-sung glanced at you, he studied certain features on your face and it made him relax for a moment. You caught him staring to which he quickly glanced back at the city line. You smiled to yourself, thinking it was cute. You were always fond of Woo-sung, he was sweet to you and he was quiet.
“Would you like to grab a drink with me after work? Get you away from home for a little bit?”
Woo-sung looked at you in surprise, he felt embarrassed. He was supposed to be the one brave enough to ask you to go out but he knew you merely pitied him. He took your offer, excited to not have to go back to that apartment so soon after work. The both of you finished your cigarettes and walked back into the building. Woo-sung thanked you for taking him to get some fresh air, he apologized for being such a bother to which you denied.
"It's no bother, really. I'll buy you a few rounds tonight."
Later that evening, Woo-sung had managed to get through the rest of his shift without falling back asleep. The adrenaline at the thought of having a drink with you kept his energy up.
He glanced around at the empty office, slightly upset that he hadn’t seen you leave. You must’ve changed your mind. Embarrassed, he scrambled to gather his things together, unplugging his electric fan from the charger he hid underneath the desk along with his portable light.
“Woo-sung?”
Your voice startled him, he hadn’t even noticed you were standing behind him as he scrambled to put his belongings in his bag.
“I’m sorry! I keep scaring you,” you chuckled slightly in embarrassment. Woo-sung placed a hand over his chest, trying to calm his heart down, though he wondered if it was because of the small scare or because you were here waiting for him.
“I went to say goodbye to my friends, they usually give me a ride home but I told them I had a drinking buddy tonight.”
Woo-sung smiled slightly, cheeks feeling flushed. You pointed at his belongings, “Do you need help?” Hastily, Woo-sung stuffed the rest of the items in his bag, standing up too fast. You caught his arm, stopping him from falling. You gave him a smile, hoping to ease his concern. You didn’t care that he had things he was ashamed of having to charge every night to keep his electric bill down. He realized you were being genuine and tried to relax a little bit. The lack of sleep clouding his thoughts.
“Ready?”
Woo-sung nodded before following you. He sent a quick text to Chang-wu about his plans for the night to which Chang-wu responded with a wink and thumbs up emoji.
You took Woo-sung to a local pub that ran late nights, you were friends with the owners so they let you have the first couple of drinks on the house. The alcohol immediately relaxing Woo-sung, though his body was tired, he tried to fight the sleep to spend as much time with you as possible.
“Tell me about this apartment you’re in,” you said as you shot back a drink. The alcohol burning your throat, you scrunched your nose at the taste. Woo-sung laughed at your reaction. You liked seeing him this relaxed, he seemed to let loose of that tension he always bore.
“I purchased it in 2021, it was supposed to be a new beginning for me and my fiancée.”
His words stopped you for a moment, you had no idea he was engaged. He seemed to notice the sudden tension and immediately panicked. He put his hands up and shook his head.
“My then fiancée, I should’ve mentioned. We’re not together anymore.”
You couldn’t help the ease in your shoulders, you tried to catch any sign of regret from him but he showed none.
“The apartment’s value just seemed to be crashing the longer I stayed there. I called off the wedding, she left me. I am in a lot of debt now and I work a shitty job,” Woo-sung said, face palming but he laughed. You smiled softly at him, listening as he openly told you about his struggles. The slight pink tint in his cheeks caught your attention, you glanced around his face as he shot back another drink. The stubble that was growing gave him a more mature look, you wondered what it would feel like pressed against your face, if it would be scratchy or if you would feel anything at all. The alcohol was now taking effect you realized, trying to distract yourself from analyzing Woo-sung too closely.
“Have you complained to someone about the noises?”
“Yes. The residential representative lives in the penthouse, I paid her a visit one night. She sort of paid me to keep quiet about the noises, she was hopeful about the value skyrocketing soon. Told me to be patient,” Woo-sung played with the small glass in front of him as he recollected his brief meeting with the representative.
“She paid you to keep quiet?”
“Nobody really believes me about the noises. I went through every floor, each tenant blamed another and it eventually circled back to me which was annoying.”
You thought to yourself for a moment, the situation seemed eerie. The thought of the residential representative paying Woo-sung to keep quiet about the noises left you feeling unsettled. You wondered how loud these noises were in Woo-sung’s apartment.
“Woo-sung, would you mind if I came over to hear these noises? Would they be happening at this time of night?”
Woo-sung scoffed slightly, “This is about the time it starts, really.”
You stood up then, now eager to hear just what has been keeping this guy from getting a good night’s rest. Woo-sung looked up at you, you held your hand out for him to take to which he accepted nervously. Thankfully, he had just cleaned his apartment in a sudden burst of energy to get his life together. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have dared let you enter his sad excuse of a home.
The both of you were slightly drenched as it was still raining steadily by the time you arrived to his apartment building. The building was tall and he lived on the 14th floor. Woo-sung’s mood seemed to dampen as you entered the elevator. He had a certain paleness in his once warm skin tone. You brought it upon yourself to grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. You gave him a comforting squeeze which relaxed his shoulders a bit.
Sitting in the hallway was a bike and an umbrella propped up on the wall. Woo-sung shifted awkwardly as you looked at the bike curiously.
“I also deliver food for some extra money, usually it’s pretty busy after work. Dinner rush and all,” he said sheepishly. You merely gave him a small smile and waited for him to open the door which had an obscene amount of sticky notes taped onto it. You scanned the various scribbling on the sticky notes, all noise complaints. Woo-sung ripped the notes down, releasing an annoyed huff as he did so.
“I told you some blamed me for the noise.”
“They can hear the same noise from below and above you?”
“These are from a woman that lives below me but yes, the man upstairs also believes it to be me.”
You scrunched your eyebrows in thought, how was it that three different people on different floors were hearing the same amount of noise? It couldn’t have been Woo-sung.
Woo-sung opened the door, holding it open for you to step inside. You took your shoes off in the entrance as he opened the door to his apartment, he did the same. The place was a decent size though you noticed the lack of furniture, it was completely empty besides a small foldable bed and a laptop that sat on a small table next to the island.
He also wasn’t in a hurry to turn on any lights and the confined space was hot. Your heart sank a little at the view of his living conditions. Woo-sung turned on the portable light and placed it on a laundry rack to which he placed his suit jacket on.
“I’m sorry for the room temperature, I really aim to keep the electricity down as much as possible.”
You shook your head, not minding the temperature, in fact you were slightly cold from the rain. He offered to take your own jacket, you placed it in his hand and he then set it on top of his.
That’s when you heard it, loud and clear. There was banging from what seemed to be coming through the ceiling, though you weren’t sure. Woo-sung, however, didn’t react at first. Now there were various noises, the faint sound of a piano playing, along with running. You couldn’t keep up with the variety of sounds you were hearing. It was unbearable just standing here for a moment, you couldn’t imagine trying to sleep with this. It was late, so the amount of noise happening was uncanny.
The noise was not coming from Woo-sung’s apartment, he barely had anything to make any type of noise. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing yet alone the audacity of those living around him accusing him of being the problem. Though if the tenants were also experiencing this type of noise in their own apartments, you didn’t blame them for trying to point the finger at anybody trying to get answers.
Woo-sung ran his hands over his face, this place was draining his energy the longer he stood in it and heard the noise. You grabbed your jacket along with Woo-sung’s, he watched as you made your way to the door.
“Come on,” you said, opening the door which activated the motion light in the entryway. “You’re not staying here tonight.”
Woo-sung was baffled for a moment, watching as you held the door open waiting for him.
“I believe you, Woo-sung. This isn’t right. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help you figure out how to get out of this place.”
You didn’t need to say anything more, Woo-sung gathered his things making sure to pack his laptop and chargers. Making your way out of the door, he locked his apartment behind you as you shuffled to put your shoes back on. Woo-sung grabbed the umbrella that was placed by the bike, he followed you onto the elevator.
It only seemed like the right thing to do to bring him to your apartment, which you were simply renting instead of owning. The apartment was smaller but comfortable and there was absolutely no noise here. Woo-sung needed sleep, you were more concerned for his mental state than anything.
Woo-sung sat on the loveseat as you warmed up a cup of ramen for him, he glanced around your apartment. Smiling at certain photos of you on the wall along with your friends and family. He took in various collections you had placed on bookshelves: movies, manga, books, etc. It was comfortable and the humming of the air conditioner was something he wouldn’t bring himself to have at his own place.
“Here,” you said as you sat down next to him on the loveseat. You had quickly changed into more comfortable clothes before making him something to eat. Woo-sung thanked you before scarfing down the ramen, you laughed at his eagerness. You enjoyed his company, he fit in perfectly here.
The soft whir of the air conditioner turned back on which Woo-sung released a moan at the sound and feel of the air. You couldn’t believe he was living in those conditions for three years.
“I apologize if me bringing you here is very forward. I just wanted you to get a good night’s rest. I don’t mind if you stay here for the weekend just to ease the tension you’re carrying.”
Woo-sung shook his head, “I couldn’t possibly ask you of that.”
“I’m offering. I don’t mind at all. You have a couple days to rest before we return to work, you need it.”
Woo-sung looked at you then, he admired the way you tied your hair up and the cute pattern on the pajama pants you wore. He laughed suddenly, completely unprovoked which confused you.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been trying to gain the courage to ask you out for some time now and here we are, not of my own doing. It’s embarrassing, really.”
You smiled at him, finding it cute that he had looked at you the same way you looked at him. You looked down at your hands which you were playing with nervously, your cheeks flushed.
“Chang-wu would give me hell for not making the first move,” Woo-sung said, scoffing slightly at the thought of his friend. His words sent a warmth through your lower belly.
“Technically, the first move hasn’t been made yet,” you said quietly, Woo-sung froze for a moment making sure he had heard you correctly. He glanced at you, your eyes were still down, playing with your hands shyly.
Maybe it was the lingering effects of the alcohol or maybe it was because Woo-sung was finally comfortable but he didn’t want to take this moment for granted. He placed the cup of ramen on the small table in front of him. Woo-sung gently placed his hand underneath your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes met his.
He shook slightly but leaned forward, his nose grazed yours as he waited a moment. He was waiting for you to pull away but you didn’t. It had been a while since he was intimate with someone, though he noticed you. He wasn’t sure if you had felt the same way so he merely waited. Slightly taking in your scent which sped up his heart. Hand still placed underneath your chin, he gently pressed his lips against yours. You reciprocated, gently placing one hand on the back of his neck as he kissed you.
The kiss was soft at first, Woo-sung merely testing the waters. You sighed into the kiss, seemingly waiting too long for this moment. The sigh ignited something in Woo-sung, he deepened the kiss, gently grazing your lip with his tongue to which you gladly accepted.
“Y/N, is this okay?”
You nodded, desperately not wanting him to get cold feet now. He laughed slightly into your lips, the feeling of his smile against yours sent butterflies through your stomach. He kissed you like you would leave his grasp at any moment, the only time you pulled apart was to catch your breath. You shifted slightly, Woo-sung grabbed your hips, he moved you to sit on top of his lap. You straddled him, placing both hands on his cheeks. He moaned at the feel of you on top of him. You responded with a moan of your own, the feeling of his growing bulge underneath you sent heat throughout your body. You wanted more than anything to relax him. The kiss was desperate, he needed this release.
You grinded your hips on top of him, Woo-sung moaned at the friction. He met your hips with his own, his bulge rubbed against your clit causing you to shudder in pleasure. His large hands kept your hips in place, he slipped his hands underneath your top the warm feeling of them causing goosebumps to form on your skin.
He felt your skin prickle at his touch, he continued his touch, rubbing your back softly. He broke apart from your lips for a moment and placed his own on the base of your neck. He kissed, licked and sucked around your neck trying to find that sweet spot. It didn’t take him long before he had you gasping, he played with that spot causing to shiver and moan.
Woo-sung’s hands raised your top, silently asking permission to take it off. You pulled away from him and lifted your arms, Woo-sung frantically took your top off, your breasts in bare display now. He admired your body for a moment before attaching his lips on your collarbone, his lips trailed down until he latched onto one of your nipples. One hand placed on the other one, playing with the hardened nipple. You placed your hand on the back of his head, keeping him close to you. His warmth overwhelmed your body, the soft moans he released nearly sent you over the edge.
Woo-sung’s hands then scrambled to unbutton his own shirt, he fumbled for a moment before ripping the rest of the shirt off. He didn’t care if he had just ruined his only work shirt, he just needed to feel your skin on his. You broke apart from his hungry mouth, getting down on your knees in front of him. Untying your hair, you let your hair fall over your shoulders.
Woo-sung watched as you unbuckled his slacks, he bit his lip anxiously. You didn’t take your eyes off of him as his cock sprung free from his pants. Your mouth watered at the sight of him in front of you. You maintained eye contact as you licked along the base of his cock, causing his eyes to roll back, he shuddered as you took him into your mouth. The sounds of your lips around his cock the most amazing sound he had ever heard. He watched you as you licked and sucked, your lips were soft around him it was hard for him to control himself. He didn’t want to finish so early but the way you kept eye contact with him building up that feeling in his lower belly.
“Oh fuck, Y/N. I’m gonna…” he trailed off as you took him deeper, he moaned loudly, grabbing your hair keeping you right there. You gladly kept your mouth on his cock as he spilled inside of your mouth. You lapped up any extra that fell, Woo-sung shook with aftershock. Woo-sung leaned forward, kissing you again. The taste of you mixed with him sent a feral feeling throughout his body. You hastily took off your pajama pants, Woo-sung equally in a hurry to remove his completely. He gazed hungrily at you as he released you were not wearing any underwear underneath your pants.
He growled lowly as he grabbed your hips again, placing you back over his hips. You straddled him once more, kissing him deeper and deeper. He placed his cock at your entrance before sinking you down on top of him. The feeling of him entering you causing you to throw your head back, releasing a deep moan. You sighed as you fully sunk on top of him, Woo-sung hissed at the feeling. He was so deep inside of you, it took you a moment to adjust to his size.
Woo-sung bit your shoulder gently at the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him, your skin glistening with sweat. You started to move then, Woo-sung matching your pace with his hips. He whimpered in your ear as you rode him. You kissed him, not wanting to be apart from him for a moment.
You felt his hands cup your ass as he stood, still inside of you he started to walk toward the hallway.
“The door on the left,” you moaned into his mouth. He obeyed, keeping you tucked against him. He continued to kiss you as he entered your bedroom. Woo-sung gently placed you on the edge of the bed. Still standing, he lifted your legs over his shoulder, causing him to go deeper. The feeling drove you wild, he was hitting that spot just right. Woo-sung picked up his pace, hands placed on your breasts as he thrusted. The sound of his moans and huffing sent a spark through your lower belly.
Woo-sung then leaned down, your legs still over his shoulders. He roughly grasped onto your hips helping his momentum.
“Woo-sung, fuck!”
He moaned in response, catching your lips once more. He broke apart, placing his forehead against yours. He nodded, at a loss for words. Your moans were the only sound he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.
Woo-sung’s thrusts started to get sloppier as he was close to finishing, he looked at you with question. You tucked his head down so his ear was beside your mouth, “I’m on the pill.” That was all you had to whisper before he reached his climax, you followed suit the feeling of him spilling inside of you warmed your belly. He collapsed on top of you, panting in your ear, slight whimpers left his mouth as he tried to calm his heart rate down. You gently ran your fingers through his hair and placed gentle kisses on the side of his head.
After catching his breath, Woo-sung walked to the bathroom down the hall which gave you a nice view as he walked away. You smiled to yourself cheekily. He grabbed a small hand towel and dampened it before making his way back to you. You laid there in a daze trying to process what had just happened, your heart was full of adrenaline. Woo-sung prompted you to lay all the way back so your head was resting on the pillow as he cleaned you up.
“You want to take a shower with me?”
Woo-sung chuckled, still slightly out of breath but he placed the towel in a hamper and placed both hands around you, carrying you to the bathroom bridal style. Woo-sung placed various kisses on your cheek as he walked toward the bathroom, you giggled as his stubble tickled your face.
“I might not be able to stop myself,” Woo-sung said as he set you down, you started the shower making sure it was nice and warm. You turned back toward him, smiling gently.
“No one’s stopping you,” you giggled as Woo-sung picked you up again, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he stepped into the shower.
The sounds of your laughter and the light shower filled him with a certain peace he had been seeking for three years. He never wanted to hear another sound again.
pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader
summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.
general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!
warnings: somewhere in this chapter, seokjin punches jeongguk
word count: 12.7k
author's note: oooh look at her coming back after more than a YEAR!
i have no words, no excuses to offer. most people would have forgotten this story already. BUT I DIDN'T and that's all that matters right now <3
gentle reminder that italics are flashbacks! please forgive any oversights or mistakes or whatnot; as of posting, i am sick and i just wanted to post this chapter that's been sitting in my drafts for the longest time now.
one more very important thing: since i haven't updated in so long, i lost track of my taglist i am very sorry! to make everything more organized, i came up with a google form that readers can fill out if they're interested in being included. i know this is such an inconvenience but because i am a very irregular poster, i will need all the help with tracking i can get!!!
so if you're interested in being tagged for this fic, please fill out this form. any requests for tags in the comments or ask box will not be considered at this time. tysm!! enjoy this very humble update!
As usual, you didn’t notice time passing until you realized it was already nighttime.
You are still cleaning up the art room at the university where you were teaching until you heard the pitter-patter of the rain. Big, fat raindrops relentlessly hit the window, creating a steady beat. The sound calms you but at the same time, it seems to mirror the turbulent thoughts that are running through your mind. Not that the thoughts were anything urgent or worrying; your mind just can’t seem to stop… thinking.
You pack the last of the paintbrushes your students forgot to return to the crate when your phone starts to ring. You wipe your hands across your paint-stained apron before picking up. You place the phone between your ear and shoulder as you start packing your bag.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Mrs. Jeon ____?”
You haven’t heard that name in years; let alone be addressed as such.
“I um— may I know who is speaking?” you ask, your grip on the handle of your bag tightens.
“This is Kim Ae-jung calling from Gangnam Heights Medical Center. I’m calling regarding Mr. Jeon Jeongguk,” the caller states. Your heart starts to beat faster, knuckles almost turning white as you now grip your bag strap even more.
“Oh. Right. Is everything okay?”
“I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Jeon has been admitted to our hospital. There's been a health emergency and they're currently receiving medical attention.”
The moment you hear “medical attention,” the thumping in your ears becomes louder. You clutch your heart tighter as the caller goes on, “I understand this is a lot to take in. The situation is being taken care of by our medical team. It's important that you come to the hospital as soon as possible to be with them—”
You didn’t have to be told anything further. You start gathering your things, hastily putting them inside your bag, and run out the door.
It didn’t matter that you got soaked in the pouring rain on the way to the bus stop. Of all days, you had to have your car at the shop for an oil change. You gnaw at your nails as you anxiously wait for the next bus to come. You look at your watch: 9:30 PM. You wonder why Jeongguk was in the hospital. You wonder why he was here— in Seoul.
As a self-proclaimed overthinker, you start to spiral and descend into negativity. You try to recall if Jeongguk has ever had any illnesses while you were still together. You try to remember if you missed anything then— a symptom, a cough, a fever.
The moment you sit down on the bus your heart starts to steady a bit and it allows you to think a bit clearer. Gangnam Heights Medical Center was a few kilometers away from the university. You can’t help but glance at the time almost every minute, your leg bouncing in agitation.
In that seemingly long bus ride, you are flooded with so many memories of Jeongguk almost instantaneously— the day you met him, the day he held your hand for the first time, the day he kissed you after a fireworks display—
The day he married you.
All of the memories you have tried so hard to keep buried in the recesses of your mind— they all came rushing back like no time has ever passed.
When you are reminded of Jeon Jeongguk, you are reminded of pain. But you are also reminded of the deepest love you’ve ever known your entire life.
As the public announcement on the bus declares that the next stop is the hospital, you hastily push the STOP button above you.
And you have never run as fast as you did to the hospital lobby. You were met by a very kind nurse who gently asked you to fill up a form before anything else even though you were clearly in distress.
You didn’t know what to write on the form. Legally speaking, you aren’t Jeongguk’s legal guardian. Not anymore. You grip the pen tighter, the ballpoint hovering just above the line that asks for “Spouse Name”. Your eyes start to blur and because of the adrenaline, you don’t realize right away that you are in near tears. For whatever reason, you didn’t know what to do.
So many questions run through your mind— why did the hospital call you? Why isn’t anyone coming to Jeongguk? Was he alone here in Seoul? Does he have anyone at all?
Your hands shake as you give back the form to the nurse. She gives you a small smile as she directs you to the room where Jeongguk is. Inside was the doctor in charge, as well as a different nurse.
They tell you Jeongguk had a panic attack on the side of the road. They also tell you that the attack was quite alarming because he fainted from sheer panic. You were asked if he had been taking his medication– a question you couldn’t straightforwardly answer. The doctor continued to advise you on his condition and what you could do to support him further but their words barely registered.
All you cared about at that moment was that Jeongguk was here with you in the same room. Lying on a hospital bed.
“Is— is he going to be okay?” you ask softly, your eyes never leaving Jeongguk’s form.
“Yes, he will fully recover. However, I do advise that he monitor his triggers and form a safety plan should another panic attack happen when he’s out in public or when he’s alone. Your husband was lucky because kind strangers helped take him here.”
You wanted nothing more but to cry, but your tears cannot seem to fall. You thank the doctor as he leaves the room, leaving you and Jeongguk completely alone.
You didn’t wake up today thinking that you’d see him again. Under the worst circumstances yet again, you look at the man who you used to call your husband. Jeongguk is no longer the lanky 21-year-old you married. He's more muscular now, with his physique sculpted in all the right places. Although his face was covered with an oxygen mask, you could still see the prominent eye lines, perhaps due to exhaustion and sleepless nights. He now sports a full tattoo sleeve on his right arm, a striking blend of intricate designs that flow seamlessly down to just above his wrist. A delicate lotus flower blooms amidst the ink, its petals unfolding with quiet elegance, while scattered stars add a celestial touch, as if mapping constellations across his skin. He finally did it, you thought. You look at Jeongguk and see that everything and nothing has changed.
You step closer to his bedside, your movements hesitant, almost fragile. With a trembling hand, you reach for the one free of the IV, your fingers brushing against his skin as if afraid he might break or worse– wake up. A shudder runs through you and your bottom lip quivers. You swallow hard, desperate to contain the sob threatening to slip past your lips.
Since when did Jeongguk suffer from panic attacks? No matter how hard you search your memory for warning signs, for any fleeting clue, you come up empty. Jeongguk was always strong, always steady—if anything, it was you who carried the weight of a restless mind.
Jeongguk had always been the one to carry the both of you.
You remain still, fingers laced with his as silent tears slipping down your cheeks. You mourn not just for him, but for everything you’ve lost—the Jeongguk you once knew, the love that once consumed your world, now reduced to fragments of what used to be.
"Mind telling me about you and ____?" Jeongguk starts, voice steady but laced with something ugly underneath.
He had been discharged just a day after—against Yoongi’s insistence. It wasn’t just the recklessness of it all that pissed Yoongi off—it was Jeongguk’s sheer stubbornness, his refusal to rest, his insistence that keeping himself busy was better than being left alone with his thoughts. He claimed it was for his mental health and that working was preferable to rotting away in self-pity.
But the truth was simpler. Jeongguk didn’t want to be alone.
Not after seeing you again.
Not after seven years.
Yoongi exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets, already anticipating where this conversation is headed. He meets Jeongguk’s gaze—there’s something raw there, something unsettled. He tries to deflect. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? Because I am and—”
“I’m not in the mood to eat,” Jeongguk cuts in, his voice quieter but firm, the weight of his words sinking deep. “I need you to tell me what the hell is going on.”
Yoongi stills. The moment Jeongguk’s tone changed to his CEO voice, he knew—there was no dodging this.
The worst part is, Yoongi doesn’t even need to deflect. He just doesn’t think this is the time. They had barely even settled back in Seoul, and already, they’re reopening old wounds that never really healed. Then again… had he really expected Jeongguk to just let it go? To come back here, breathe the same air as you, and not at least try to find you?
Yoongi sighs. Over the years, he’s learned something that even Jeongguk himself refuses to admit—your name still undoes him. Every single time. Jeongguk is haunted by you— in ways he doesn’t even realize. It’s written in the way he grows quiet, in the way his jaw tenses, in the way his eyes darken with a sadness that only those closest to him can recognize.
And now, with Jeongguk looking at him like this—like he’s grasping for something, anything—Yoongi knows there’s no way out.
“It’s not a big deal, Jeongguk.” Yoongi hates downplaying anything especially when it comes to his friends, but even he doesn’t believe his words. “We just talk sometimes. I send her wishes on her birthday, greet her during Christmas, check in every now and then. But it’s rare.”
If Yoongi had any sense, he’d realize he sounded defensive. And if Jeongguk had any sense, he wouldn’t care.
But he does. Of course he does.
Jeongguk lets out a breathless scoff, shaking his head. “And you just… what? Didn’t think to mention that to me?” His tone is sharp, but not out of anger—out of something deeper, something resembling hurt. “Because everything you just said doesn’t sound like ‘rare.’”
And the worst part? Jeongguk isn’t even mad at Yoongi for keeping this from him. He’s mad at himself—for the fact that it even matters. That even after all these years, anything to do with you still destroys him.
God, Jeongguk hates himself for it—because it reminds him of all his past mistakes.
Yoongi sighs. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”
Jeongguk stills. His grip tightens. “Like what?”
Yoongi meets his gaze, exhausted. “Like this, Jeongguk. Tearing yourself apart over something that’s already gone.” He pauses, measuring his next words. “If I told you, would it have helped? Would it have made you feel better to know that your ex-wife still keeps in touch with your best friend?”
Jeongguk blinks, stunned into silence. Yoongi referring to you as his ex-wife is a fresh kind of pain he hadn’t anticipated.
"But you’re supposed to be my friend, Yoongi—” His voice wavers, cracking. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
"I am your friend, Jeongguk. I am on your side.” Yoongi’s voice is steady. Then, softer, “But ____ is my friend too. And you know damn well that I don’t condone what happened between you two.”
That shuts Jeongguk up. His mouth opens, but no words come out. Because he knows. He knows exactly what Yoongi is talking about. He knows the extent of the damage he caused. He’s known for years, and yet, it still hits him like a freight train.
His bottom lip trembles but he forces himself to keep it together. “It just… really hurts.”
Yoongi’s expression softens. “What does?”
Jeongguk swallows, looking past the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Everything.”
Yoongi exhales, his gaze dropping to the floor. In the heavy silence that follows, the only thing Jeongguk can hear is the thick sound of him trying to keep it together.
Then Yoongi speaks. “She panicked that night, you know?” His voice is quieter, careful. “Last night was the first time I heard her voice in a long time. She was worried about you.”
Jeongguk turns, eyes glassy. “She was?”
What Yoongi doesn’t tell him is how worried you were. The way your voice cracked when you said Jeongguk’s name. It wasn’t just panic— it was also helplessness, the way you sounded just as lost as Jeongguk feels now.
Yoongi hesitates, but Jeongguk speaks first. “I’ve always thought about it,” His voice is quieter now. “What it would be like… if I ever saw her again.”
Yoongi tilts his head. “And? Was it what you expected?”
Jeongguk lets out a humorless chuckle, one that sounds more like a sigh. “Definitely not me lying in a hospital bed because of a panic attack.” He rubs his face, shoulders slumping. “I thought about it a million times. But never like that.”
Yoongi watches him carefully. “You know what’s interesting?” His voice is almost amused, though his eyes remain heavy. “You never changed your emergency contact.”
Jeongguk doesn’t move.
Yoongi shrugs. “Jeongguk if the same thing had happened while you were still in New York—”
“I know.” Jeongguk cuts him off, a pang of something sharp hitting his chest. His voice drops. “I just… never got around to changing it.”
There’s a beat of silence. A kind of silence that carries the weight of all the things left unsaid.
Yoongi nods, almost to himself. “I guess that’s just it, huh?”
Jeongguk exhales. “I guess that’s it.”
And for some reason, those words feel heavier than anything else.
Yoongi sighs just as his phone notifies him of a text message. "I'll see you later, kid, okay? Take it easy, will you? You're still healing."
Jeongguk scoffed, "Healing is such an understatement, hyung." Yoongi gives him a look. "Fine, fine, I won't work too much today. Happy?"
Yoongi nods and walks out of Jeongguk's office. He takes a look at the message he received once he closed the door behind him.
It was you.
"How’s Jeongguk?"
NEW YORK, 2016
The golden hour light had long since faded from the university's art room windows, replaced by the harsh fluorescent glow that buzzed overhead. You sat motionless on the paint-splattered stool, your brush suspended mid-air above a canvas that remained untouched since morning. The half-finished painting— a landscape of a giant tree where you and Jeongguk used to find shade when you were in high school— seemed to mock you now with its vibrant colors and brushstrokes.
The divorce papers lay beside your easel like a death sentence— a few stark white pages against the chaos of paint tubes and dirty water jars. You hadn't moved them. Hadn't touched them since a stranger had placed them in your trembling hands eight hours ago.
"Ms. ____? Papers from Lee & Associates Law Firm."
The memory echoed in the silence.
The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway broke through your trance. The footsteps paused, then quickened, and suddenly the art room door burst open with enough force to rattle the supply cabinets.
"____! Thank God, I've been looking everywhere for—" Yoongi's voice cut off abruptly as he took in the scene before him. His chest heaved from running, dark hair disheveled, but his eyes immediately found your slumped figure, seemingly spaced out looking outside the window. The color drained from his face.
You didn't turn around. You continued staring out the window at the empty courtyard below where university students had laughed and studied just hours before. Now it was nothing but shadows and abandoned benches.
"____..." Yoongi's voice was barely above a whisper. He stepped closer, his usual confident demeanor cracking.
You finally moved but only enough to quietly acknowledge Yoongi’s presence. Your movements were eerily calm, like someone sleepwalking through their own nightmare. Without a word, you picked up the papers and slowly extended them toward him, never meeting his eyes.
Yoongi's hands shook as he took them. The sound of rustling paper seemed deafening in the still room as he scanned the first page. His face went through a series of emotions—confusion, disbelief, and then a rage so pure it made his jaw clench.
"That bastard," he breathed, his voice trembling with fury. "That absolute—" He looked up at you and the words died in his throat.
You had finally turned to face him and the sight nearly broke him. Your eyes were dry but hollow. Dark circles shadowed your face, and your lips were pressed into a thin line that spoke of hours spent holding back screams.
Or sobs.
"____, I... I didn't know. He didn't tell me he was—" Yoongi's voice cracked. He crumpled the papers in his fist, then immediately smoothed them out again, as if destroying them could somehow undo what they represented. "When did this happen?"
"This morning." Your voice was barely audible, hoarse from not speaking the whole day. "Around ten maybe."
"It's past six now." The realization hit him like a physical blow. "You've been sitting here alone for eight hours?"
You shrugged, the gesture so small and defeated it made his heart ache. "I kept thinking... if I didn't move, if I didn't acknowledge those papers, maybe they weren't real."
Yoongi sank into the chair across from you, the divorce papers still clutched in his hands. He wanted to storm out, to find Jeongguk and demand an explanation, to shake his best friend until he came to his senses. But looking at you—really looking at you—he knew he couldn't leave. Not like this.
"Why didn't you call someone? Call me?"
"What was I supposed to say?" Your laugh was bitter, maybe a little broken too. "'Hi Yoongi, your best friend just divorced me through a law firm'? 'Could you come sit with me while I figure out how to breathe again'?"
"Yes," he said fiercely, almost frustrated. "Exactly that. You should have said exactly that."
Your composure finally cracked. Your shoulders shook, and you pressed your hands to your face. "I don't understand, Yoongi. We— we fought three days ago and he never came home after. He— he did that sometimes. But I always thought he’d come back, you know?" Your voice rose with each word, years of pain spilling out. "B-but how do you go from an argument to divorce papers in three days?"
Yoongi felt his own eyes burn. He'd known Jeongguk since they were teenagers, and had watched him fall for you like a man falling off a cliff— completely and without reservation. He'd been your witness at the courthouse wedding, had celebrated with you both, and had listened to Jeongguk talk about growing old with you just last month.
"I don't know," he admitted, his voice thick. "I swear to you, ____, I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me about problems, about wanting... this."
"Maybe that's the problem," you whispered. "Maybe he never talked to anyone about us. Maybe I was the only one who thought we were okay."
The words hung in the air like a funeral shroud. Yoongi wanted to argue, to tell you that wasn't true, but the evidence was literally in his hands. No one files for divorce if they're happy– were you and Jeongguk happy? But no one serves papers through a stranger if they still care.
"I want to confront him," Yoongi said quietly. "I want to find him and demand answers. Maybe punch him. Definitely yell at him." He looked down at the papers, then back at you. "But now... God, ____, I can't leave you alone like this."
"You should go to him. He's your best friend. This probably hurts you too."
"You're my friend too," Yoongi said firmly. "And right now, you need someone more than he does."
You stared at him for a long moment, and he saw the exact instant you stopped holding herself together. Your face crumpled, and the sob that escaped you was raw and devastating. Yoongi was out of his chair in seconds, pulling you into his arms as you finally, finally let yourself break.
"I loved him so much," you cried into his shoulder. "I loved him so much, and it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."
"Don't say that," Yoongi whispered fiercely, his own tears falling now. "Don't you dare say that. This isn't about you not being enough. This is about him being a coward."
You cried until you had no tears left, until your body was exhausted from the force of your grief. Yoongi held you through all of it, one hand stroking your hair while the other kept the divorce papers from falling to the floor. Even now, even in your pain, he found himself protecting you from having to see them.
When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen and red, but there was something different in them. Not peace—you were too far from that—but a kind of terrible clarity.
"I need to sign them," you said.
"What are you– no. Not tonight." Yoongi's voice was gentle but firm. "Tonight, you need to go home and rest. The papers can wait."
"What if waiting makes it worse?"
"What if rushing makes it final when it doesn't have to be?"
You looked at him with something that might have been hope, if hope could be so fragile. "Do you think... do you think he might change his mind?"
Yoongi's heart broke all over again, because he could see how much you wanted him to say yes. How much you needed him to say yes. But he also knew Jeongguk, knew that his friend never did anything without thinking it through completely. The divorce papers weren't a mistake or a moment of anger— they were a decision.
"I think," he said carefully, "that you deserve someone who doesn't make you question whether you're enough. Whether he changes his mind or not."
It wasn't the answer you wanted, but it was the truth. And somehow, that seemed to be what you needed to hear.
You nodded slowly, then looked around the art room as if seeing it for the first time. "I should clean up. I've made a mess."
"Leave it," Yoongi said. "Just... leave it all. Come on, I'll drive you home."
As you gathered your things, you paused at the easel. The unfinished painting of the tree stared back at you, beautiful and incomplete.
"I don't think I'll ever finish it," she said quietly.
Yoongi looked at the painting, then at you. "Maybe that's okay. One battle at a time, hm?"
You nodded, understanding. Some stories didn't have happy endings. Sometimes love wasn't enough to make someone stay. And some paintings would forever remain half-done, frozen in a moment before everything fell apart.
The muted hum of the café outside your art studio filtered through the walls, but inside, the space remained still, save for the quiet strains of piano music playing in the background. The scent of paint and brewed coffee lingered in the air as you moved through the space, half-distracted by the canvas in front of you— until you heard your friends’ voices.
"Holy fuck, are you kidding me?"
You paused, your brush hovering mid-stroke over the canvas. That was Hoseok’s voice.
"Jesus wouldn’t be too pleased with your manner of expression, but no, I am not kidding." Taehyung’s response was calm, almost deadpan. "Can you keep your voice down? You should be feigning ignorance about all this."
"What good would that do?" Hoseok huffed. "Feigning ignorance, are you crazy? This is big, sweetie, and you know it."
Taehyung sighed like he was explaining something to a particularly slow student. "Honey, you’re acting like this is news. We already knew Jeongguk was back in Seoul."
“Yes, obviously, because you told me like five minutes ago!” Hoseok shoots back.
You froze for half a second before rolling your eyes. So that’s what they were talking about.
"It’s different knowing and talking about it," Hoseok shot back. "You’re gossiping."
"Of course I’m gossiping," Taehyung replied, unfazed. "We are gays, babe. We live for piping hot tea."
Hoseok groaned. "This is not the same as discussing someone’s bad haircut, babe—"
At that, you stepped into the room, making sure your voice was casual. "Someone had a bad haircut?"
The effect was immediate. Hoseok nearly jumped, eyes widening like he’d just been caught committing a crime, while Taehyung— though externally composed—blinked a little too fast.
"Ah," Hoseok choked out, his voice a little higher than usual. "____! Didn’t see you there. You, uh, move so quietly."
You arched a brow. "I literally opened a door."
Taehyung shot Hoseok a glare before turning to you, slipping into his usual laid-back demeanor—except for the way his fingers twitched against the edge of the table. "Nothing important," he said smoothly. "Just... discussing world events."
You bit back a smirk. "World events?"
Hoseok nodded a little too quickly. "Yes. You know, global issues. The stock market. The weather—"
"The weather," you repeated, unimpressed.
"Yes! Very unpredictable these days."
There was a beat of silence where you let them both squirm under your gaze. Internally, you were highly entertained. Two grown men who dominated the fashion industry– usually so confident and self-assured, reduced to awkward messes right in front of you.
You sighed, pretending to contemplate their words. "Hmm. The weather. That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I heard Jeongguk’s name before I walked in."
Hoseok visibly winced. Taehyung dragged a hand down his face. "Goddammit."
"You two do realize that I already knew Jeongguk was back, right? And that I heard you both talking about it just now?" you asked, amused.
Taehyung exhaled, resigned. "Yeah, but we didn’t know if you were, like, in a place where you’d want to talk about it."
You hummed, considering. "And instead of asking, you decided to whisper behind my back like two teenagers?"
"Technically," Taehyung said, "only Hoseok was whispering. I was speaking at a reasonable volume."
Hoseok scoffed, offended. "Excuse me, I was being discreet!"
"You said ‘holy fuck’ loud enough for the café and for Jesus to hear."
Hoseok looked away. "Can you stop it with the holy jokes–"
You shook your head, lips twitching. "You two are ridiculous."
"But... are you okay?" Taehyung asked carefully.
You took a slow breath. The truth was, you didn’t know what you felt yet. Maybe it would hit you later, maybe it wouldn’t. But for now, you only had one response.
"Yes," you said simply. "I think I am."
Hoseok let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours, while Taehyung gave you a long, measured look before nodding. They do not believe you— not even one bit.
But they let it slide for now.
"Alright," Taehyung said. "But if that changes, we’ve got you."
You smiled, softer this time. "I know."
The first time Woosung came to your art studio, he didn’t say much. He just wandered the space with his hands in his pockets, eyes drifting over your half-finished paintings and the faint smudges of color on your fingers.
Now, years later, he was here again, seated at the small wooden table near the windows while you worked, a book in his hand and a cup of coffee cooling beside him. You weren’t sure when it started— when he began showing up like this, keeping you company without needing to fill the silence with words.
Today was one of those days. Rain pattered against the glass, the sky outside dark, but inside, the air was warm.
You stood by the canvas, brush in hand, completely concentrating on your work. You had long since tuned out the world, lost in the rhythmic strokes of color. You always tie your hair up in a bun whenever you work but you also barely notice the strands of hair that keep falling in your face, sticking to your skin when you become so focused on the work.
At some point, you felt your lover’s quiet presence beside you. Without a word, Woosung reached over and gently tucked the stray strands behind your ear. His fingers were warm, his touch like a feather, and when you blinked out of your trance to look at him, he just smiled—soft, unhurried.
"Better?" he asked.
You nodded and smiled. "Yes. Thank you."
He hummed, stepping back, but before he could return to his seat, you reached for his wrist.
"Wait."
Woosung stopped, his eyes curious.
"Stay here. Just for a little bit," you murmured, not even sure why you said it. Maybe you just liked having him close.
Woosung didn’t question it. He just nodded, pulling a stool and positioning himself beside you. He watches you paint in comfortable silence.
Every so often, he would tilt his head, his gaze intent as if he were memorizing the way your fingers moved, the way the colors blended together under your touch.
"You’re really focused today," he observed after a while.
You hummed, biting your lip as you tried to perfect a small detail. "I am. It’s nice, though."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think it’s because you’re here."
You said it without thinking and you realized how easily the words had slipped out. Woosung smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He lifted his hand, brushing a smudge of blue paint off your cheek with his thumb.
"Then I guess I’ll stay a little longer," he murmured.
And he did.
A little while later, the rain had softened to a drizzle, leaving the air thick with that post-rain stillness. Your brush hovered over the canvas, but your mind had long drifted elsewhere. Across the room, Woosung sat at the table, still flipping absently through his book, but you could tell— he wasn’t really reading. He was waiting.
It had been like this since last night.
He had held you while you cried, rubbing slow circles into your back, whispering, "It's okay, I’ve got you," even though he had no idea what had shattered you. He never asked, never pushed. But now, with the night stretching thin between you, you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down.
"You didn’t sleep much," Woosung finally said, his voice gentle, as if he were testing the waters.
You swallowed, still dragging the brush along the canvas in slow, aimless strokes. "Neither did you."
Woosung exhaled a small chuckle, but it was knowing. "You cried yourself to sleep, ____. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I slept soundly through that?"
You winced at that—at the truth of it. At the guilt that curled in your stomach. He wasn’t accusing you of anything, but you felt like you had placed something heavy between you both.
You took a deep breath, still not looking at him. "It was just… a hard night."
Woosung nodded, his gaze steady. "Because of what happened at the hospital?"
Your fingers clenched around the brush. A long pause settled between you.
You could lie. You could brush past it, act as though it was just one of those nights where the weight of everything caught up to you. But Woosung had always been careful with you, had always made space for you to be honest in your own time. You had told him that you saw someone unexpectedly at the hospital before you went silent all over again last night.
You exhaled. And you poised yourself to tell Woosung the rest of what happened.
"I saw him," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Jeongguk."
Woosung didn’t react—not right away. He just closed his book, setting it aside, like he had been expecting this. He didn’t ask how it happened. Didn’t ask why you hadn’t told him immediately. He just let you sit with it, let you offer whatever you were willing to.
You hesitated before continuing. "I didn’t even know he was back in Seoul, but then I got a call… he was in the hospital. I don’t know why they called me, but they did, and I—I went."
A deep breath.
You could feel Woosung’s eyes on you, but you kept your gaze on the canvas, focusing on the way the paint streaked across the surface, trying not to feel the way your throat was tightening again.
"I didn’t stay long," you added, half-truthfully. "I just… made sure he was okay before Yoongi came."
You heard the shift of a chair, and then Woosung was beside you. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist before curling around it lightly.
"How do you feel?" he asked quietly.
You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t know. Everyone keeps asking me that today."
“Everyone?” Woosung asked.
“Taehyung picked me up from the hospital. He uh, of course, he told Hoseok about it right away.”
Woosung nodded as if he understood that more than words could ever explain. Without hesitation, he pulled you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. His arms around you were steady, warm. A grounding weight.
"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. "Just… let yourself feel it. Whatever it is."
You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He smelled like rain and coffee, like the warmth of something familiar and safe.
"I’m here," he added, voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it. "Whatever you need."
And just like that, the ache inside you loosened, just a little.
The apartment in Seoul was vast and hollow. Open-space style with high ceilings and sleek, modern finishes—everything about it screamed luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows spanned one entire wall, revealing the bustling Seoul skyline, lights flickering like stars.
It was the kind of apartment regular people dream of having. But right now, Jeongguk thought it felt more like an empty shell.
Half-unpacked boxes scattered all over the floor, some opened, some untouched. The air smelled of unlit scented candles, the kind his assistant had left, thinking they would make the place feel more like a home. He hadn’t bothered.
Jeongguk went through his things with quiet efficiency, pulling out clothes, books, old notebooks filled with immature, maybe even brilliant thoughts. His movements were mechanical— until his eyes landed on a single, still-sealed box in the farthest corner of the living room.
Something in his chest tightened.
For a long moment, Jeongguk just stood there, jaw tense. When he finally mustered up whatever courage was left of him, he crouched down, pressing his fingers into the packing tape and tearing it open. Inside, neatly stacked and untouched for years, were remnants of a past he had buried but never truly let go of.
Art books, their covers slightly worn. A few pieces of clothing, folded carefully as if waiting to be picked up again. And at the very bottom, almost like a cruel afterthought— photographs.
Jeongguk swallowed as he reached for them.
They were yours– belongings you never brought back to Seoul with you. And the photographs were from his high school years. Senior year. Before New York, before the weight of adulthood, before everything fell apart.
In one, you were laughing, head tilted back, eyes shining under the golden autumn sun. Jeongguk was next to you, hand in his pocket, pretending to be indifferent, but the way he looked at you even then—it told a different story.
Memories rushed in, sharp and clear as if no time had passed at all. Jeongguk braced himself for a fresh wave of unshed tears.
Busan, Hanseong High School - Three Years Before New York
Jeongguk had been at Hanseong High for three weeks and already, he was used to the routine.
The stares. The whispers. The way people spoke his last name like it carried weight, like it meant something.
Jeon Jeongguk. The son of a powerful real estate family. The new kid who was rich, handsome, untouchable. He was already bored of it all.
That afternoon, he found himself lingering in the school’s indoor gym—not because he had a reason to be there, but because he had nowhere else to be. The air smelled of sweat and old wood, the faint echo of bouncing basketballs in the distance. He leaned against the railing on the second floor, watching the scene below with disinterest. Maybe even boredom.
A group of girls sat huddled together on the bleachers, giggling. Among them was you— though you didn’t seem to be part of it. Not really.
You sat slightly apart, a book open on your lap, fingers idly turning the page. Your expression was neutral, but Jeongguk had already spent the last few weeks observing you in passing. You were in the same classes as him and yet, not even once did you acknowledge Jeongguk’s presence, let alone look his way. You weren't loud like the others and weren't desperate for attention. You had this quiet presence— one that didn’t demand space but somehow held it anyway.
You intrigued the hell out of Jeongguk.
But then it happened.
One of the girls suddenly stood, walking up behind her with a smirk. It was a slow, seemingly calculated movement, the kind that sent an uneasy feeling crawling up Jeongguk’s spine.
“Oops,” the girl said mockingly, just before tilting her hand.
A full carton of milk tipped forward, spilling over your head, soaking through your uniform, dripping onto the pages of the book.
Laughter erupted around you after that.
Jeongguk didn’t move. He should have done something. But he didn’t. Other people who were in the gym stopped whatever they were doing– waiting to see what you’d do next.
You sat there for a moment, milk running down your hair, shoulders stiff, fingers clenched into fists. Then, after what seemed like an eternity– silently, you shut your now soaked book, stood up, and walked away.
To this day, Jeongguk does not know what compelled him to follow you. His feet, at the time, moved of their own accord, his heart knowing he needed to do something. Anything.
He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was guilt because he could have warned you of what was going to happen. Maybe it was something else entirely.
You had made it outside to the back of the school, where the sky stretched wide and empty, where no one could see you. You stood with your hands braced on your knees, shoulders shaking—not in sobs, but in silent frustration.
“Hey.”
You flinched at Jeongguk’s voice, turning sharply. Your wet uniform clung to you, strands of milk-dampened hair sticking to your cheek. Your eyes flickered with something unreadable before you schooled your expression.
“What do you want?” you asked flatly as you turned away from him in humiliation.
Jeongguk shoved his hands into his pockets. “That was messed up.”
He hears you scoff. “No kidding.”
For some reason, your sarcasm made the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth twitch.
“Here.” Jeongguk shrugged off his school blazer, holding it out to you. “You’re cold.”
You looked at the blazer, then at him. “I don’t need it.”
“Well clearly, you’re shivering.”
You straightened. “I don’t need your pity.”
Jeongguk tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “Who said I pitied you?”
Silence. You stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him. After a few seconds, without another word, you turned away, arms crossed tightly over yourself.
Jeongguk didn’t leave.
Instead, he sat down on the steps nearby, watching as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement. You didn’t tell him to go away.
And Jeongguk, for the first time since moving to this school, wasn’t bored.
The memory faded, but the feeling remained, lingering in the quiet of Jeongguk’s new, empty space.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. The box remained open in front of him, pieces of the past staring back at him. He should have put them— the whole box— away. But instead, he picked up the photograph again, tracing the edges with his thumb.
It had been years since that day in the gym. Since he saw you stand at the cramped space at the back of the school looking so defeated, arms crossed, yet too stubborn to accept his help.
And yet, even now, you remained the only person who had ever made him feel like he wasn’t just Jeon Jeongguk—the boy with a name too heavy to carry.
Maybe, he thought bitterly and quite sadly, he had been trying to follow you ever since.
Yoongi stared at his phone screen, your message glowing back at him: "How's Jeongguk?"
Three simple words that felt like a loaded gun.
He set the phone down, then picked it up again. Typed a response, deleted it. Typed another.
His apartment felt suffocating suddenly. He walked to the window, looking out at the Seoul skyline—the same view Jeongguk probably had from his new place. With a scotch in hand, Yoongi clenched his jaw, thinking about how everything that was starting to unfold was quite funny.
He hadn’t counted on Jeongguk finding you so soon– even if it was by accident. Yoongi chuckles to himself like an idiot. “I guess this is what they call fate.”
Yoongi closed his eyes. How could he explain that Jeongguk looked like a ghost of himself? That he'd been carrying this weight for seven years?
"He's struggling," he typed. "But then again, so are you."
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
"Did he ask about me?"
Yoongi's heart clenched. The honest answer was complicated— Jeongguk had asked, but not in the way you'd want to hear.
"He knows you were there that night— you already know that."
"That's not what I asked."
Yoongi found himself smiling despite everything. Even through text, you were still sharp, still direct.
"Yeah," he typed. "He asked about you."
Yoongi's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He could discourage you, protect you both from reopening old wounds. Or he could do what his heart was telling him to do.
“What now?”
“I just want him to be well,” you respond.
Yoongi purses his lips– you were still the same girl he met all those years ago. Selfless, kind-hearted.
Self-sacrificing.
And he will do anything in his power to protect you.
It was nearing closing time when the bell above the café door jingled softly, signaling one last customer. The warm yellow lights reflected on the glass, casting long shadows along the wood-paneled walls. Jimin, who was wiping down the counter, looked up instinctively and froze mid-motion.
Jeon Jeongguk stood just inside the doorway.
For a moment, Jimin simply stared, cloth in his hand. There was something surreal about it— Jeongguk, in this space, under this light, in this cafe of all places, with his hair slightly damp from the rain and his hoodie slightly crumpled from travel. Seoul clung to Jeongguk in an unfamiliar way, the years since New York etched into the way he carried himself. But Jimin recovered quickly, stepping forward with a practiced smile.
"Welcome," he said, his voice pleasant and casual. “Long day?”
Jeongguk blinked, slightly thrown off. He nodded, eyes flicking around the café. “Yeah. Just needed a place to warm up. This place looked...” He trailed off. Familiar? Safe? He didn’t finish the sentence.
Jimin gave a soft chuckle and gestured to the counter. “We’re just about to close but I can still get you something. Americano? Or do you want something sweet?”
There was a flicker of recognition in Jeongguk’s eyes as he looked at Jimin more closely. “...Have we met before?”
Jimin paused before giving a small nod. “New York. At a student exhibit in university. You came with Kim Namjoon.”
Jeongguk’s brow furrowed, but nothing clear surfaced. “Right,” he said quietly, though it was clear the memory didn’t fully register. “Sorry— I’ve had a long few days.”
“No worries.” Jimin’s smile didn’t falter but there was something distant in his eyes. “What can I get started for you?”
“Oh, um… a hot latte would be nice.”
Jimin worked the register but when Jeongguk was about to give him his card, Jimin smiled politely. “It’s on the house.”
“Oh, god no, I don’t want to—”
“It’s okay, Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin smiles. Jeongguk honestly does not have the energy to argue further. Slumping his shoulders, he nodded and quietly thanked Jimin.
“You are very welcome. Please take a seat. I’ll get your drink started for you.”
Before Jeongguk could move toward a table, another door swung open at the back of the café.
“Yah Jimin-ah, did we confuse the flour with the cornstarch this time—”
Seokjin.
Still wearing his apron, flour smudged along one sleeve, Seokjin halted mid-step the moment he laid eyes on Jeongguk. The tray in his hands clattered onto the counter as his face twisted— recognition sharp and instant.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
The words cut across the room like a knife. Jimin looked up sharply from behind the espresso machine.
Jeongguk straightened, confusion flashing across his face before he registered who it was. “Seokjin?”
Seokjin didn’t give him a chance to speak further. He strode toward him in a blur of fury, fists clenched at his sides. “You have the audacity to walk in here? Like nothing happened? Like you didn’t fucking destroy my sister—?”
“Seokjin—”
“No,” Jin snarled, closing the distance. “You don’t get to say anything.”
Before Jeongguk could defend himself, before he could even raise a hand, Seokjin’s fist landed squarely against his jaw with a sickening crack.
Jeongguk staggered back, clutching the side of his face. He didn’t fall but the impact left him breathless. “What the hell—?”
The doors to the art studio burst open from the sound and you emerged, paintbrush still tucked behind your ear, paint smudges along your forearms. “What’s going on—?”
Your voice faltered as you took in the scene: Jeongguk standing by the counter, blood forming on the corner of his mouth; Jimin frozen; and Seokjin, chest heaving with rage, his knuckles still clenched and red.
“Jeongguk?” Your voice broke around his name.
He looked up slowly, eyes meeting yours like he’d been hit a second time. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.
You turned sharply to Seokjin. “Did you hit him?”
“He deserved it,” Seokjin snapped.
“What the hell, Seokjin?”
“You’re really going to defend him?” Seokjin barked, disbelieving.
“I didn’t say that—” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “But punching him isn’t going to fix anything.”
Seokjin let out a sharp but bitter laugh. “Oh, so now you're protecting him? After everything?”
“I’m not protecting anyone, I’m trying to de-escalate this.”
Jeongguk wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stepped back, unsure whether he was allowed to speak, to breathe, to even stand there. It felt like trespassing. Maybe it was.
Seokjin turned on you now, jaw tight, voice low but shaking. “He broke you, ____. And now you’re defending him like he didn’t spend years forgetting you existed.”
You clenched your hands into fists, shoulders squaring. “I’m not defending what he did. But I am asking you not to turn this place into a battlefield. This is our café, Seokjin. Not a fucking war zone.”
Seokjin looked at you for a long moment, anger still coursing through his veins— but it was your eyes, calm but hurting, that finally made him yield.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t ask me to be civil. Not with him.”
With that, Seokjin turned on his heel and stormed back toward the kitchen, door slamming shut behind him.
The silence that followed was tense. Jimin still stood behind the counter, lips parted as if unsure whether to speak.
You turned to Jeongguk. You didn’t step forward. You didn’t smile. Your voice came out quieter this time. “Why are you here?”
Jeongguk looked at you with wide, pained eyes, as if trying to memorize you all over again.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know this was your place.”
You nodded once as if that explained everything and nothing.
“You should go,” you added, softly. “It’s late and it’s raining.”
Jeongguk didn’t argue. Only glanced once more around the space, at the painting above the pastry display, at the polished wood tables, at you.
Then he turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him.
You stood there for a long while after, the paintbrush behind your ear suddenly feeling like the heaviest thing in the world.
After what seemed like an eternity, the clang of the swinging door echoed louder than it should’ve. You stood in the middle of the café for a moment longer, letting the silence settle like dust, before turning and pushing your way into the kitchen.
Seokjin was by the sink, aggressively scrubbing a saucepan that didn’t need cleaning. His back was tense, shoulders rising and falling with every breath like he was trying—and failing—to calm himself down.
“You didn’t have to hit him,” you said, voice steady, but your chest still trembled.
Seokjin didn’t look at you. “Didn’t I?”
“You don’t get to make that call.”
He whipped around at that, eyes blazing. “He left you, ____. No— he ruined you. And now what? He shows up here, like nothing ever happened, and I’m supposed to just, what, smile? Be polite? Serve him coffee?”
You folded your arms– not out of defiance but to stop your hands from shaking. “I’m not asking you to be polite. I’m asking you not to lash out like this is still your fight.”
“It is still my fight!” Seokjin’s voice cracked. “____ do you really think I forgot what you looked like after he walked out? I remember how quiet you got. How you stopped painting for months. How I had to sit with you in silence night after night because you couldn’t even cry anymore. You were gone, ____. He didn’t just leave you. He took the best parts of you when he did.”
His words stung because they were true. You bit your lip and looked away. “I let him in. I let him love me. That was my choice.”
“Don’t you dare turn this into your fault,” Seokjin said, voice softer now but still full of that same frustration. “You didn’t deserve what happened.”
“I didn’t say I did.”
There was a beat of silence. The sound of the refrigerator humming in the corner filled the space between you.
“He’s not the same,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “His eyes… he looks like someone trying to hold the world together with fraying thread.”
“I don’t care,” Seokjin said but it was a lie. You both knew it.
You stepped closer to your brother. “I’m not defending him, Seokjin. But I’m also not ready to hate him as much as you do. I never did… I don’t know what that says about me… but it’s how I feel.”
Seokjin exhaled, hands braced on the countertop. “It says you’re kinder than he deserves.”
You gave a small, broken smile. “Or stupider.”
Your brother didn’t argue. Instead, after a long pause, he turned to you again. “Just… promise me one thing.”
“What?” You realize your exhaustion was already weighing you down.
“Don’t let him back in just because you think he’s broken.”
You nodded slowly. “I won’t.”
That was a lie too. But you both let it slide.
The door of the café closed behind Jeongguk with a dull thud and the cold Seoul air hit him like a wave. The rain hadn’t let up but he didn’t pull his hood over his head. He decided to walk slowly even though his car was still parked near the cafe, no destination in mind, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as water soaked through the fabric.
His jaw ached where Seokjin had punched him but that pain was nothing compared to the one building in his chest.
Seeing you again had cracked him open.
You looked like someone he’d only ever see in dreams now—still ethereal, still grounded in color and softness. But the way you looked at him… like he was a stranger wrapped in old clothes. Like he didn’t belong in the same room as you anymore.
And maybe he didn’t.
Jeongguk wandered for blocks, barely paying attention to the street signs or blinking storefronts. He only stopped when he reached the Han River. The wide stretch of water lay quietly under the moonlight, blurred by the drizzle. Jungkook sat on the bench, shoulders hunched, and stared out at the current as it flowed without him.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. No new messages. No missed calls. He unlocked it anyway and scrolled to his contacts, hovering over your name.
Still there. Still untouched.
His thumb brushed against it but he didn’t press.
Instead, he leaned back, eyes closing. Rain kissed his cheeks, soaked into his lashes. He welcomed it because it was easier than crying.
He let himself remember. Your laugh echoing across a sunlit room. The way you’d wrinkle your nose when you were concentrating on a painting. The way you used to trace circles on his palm when you thought he was asleep.
And he remembered the day it all fell apart.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He didn’t know what he wanted.
No— he did. He wanted to rewind time. To walk into that café and see you smile at him like you used to. But time didn’t offer that kind of grace. It only offered consequences.
Jeongguk let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how long he sat there— just that eventually, the rain stopped and he was still alone.
The apartment was quiet when you got home.
Too quiet.
You slipped your keys onto the dish near the door and toed off your shoes slowly, trying not to make any noise. The familiarity of home—the throw blanket on the couch, the books stacked near the lamp, the faint scent of jasmine from the candle Woosung lit earlier—should’ve grounded you.
But it didn’t. Not tonight.
You stood in the dark for a moment longer than necessary– unsure whether to head straight to the shower or collapse into bed. You weren’t expecting to find Woosung still awake, let alone waiting for you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a warm mug in his hand.
“I made tea,” he said gently, as if his voice might spook you. “It’s probably cold by now.”
Your throat felt tight. “I didn’t think you’d still be up.”
He gave you a soft, crooked smile. “You said you were heading back late, not that you'd come home looking like you fought a ghost.”
You offered a weak laugh. “It kind of feels like I did.”
He didn’t press. Just walked to you, slowly, like he always did when he sensed you needed space and presence at the same time. When he reached you, he simply wrapped his arms around you, grounding you in the warmth of his chest, his chin resting lightly atop your head.
You didn’t cry. Not this time.
You just stood there and let yourself be held.
After a long pause, he spoke, voice low and careful. “Was it him?”
You didn’t need to ask who. “Yeah.”
You didn’t miss the way he stiffened just slightly before exhaling. “Did you talk?”
You nodded against his chest. “Not really. Seokjin hit him. I… I stopped it. Then I told him to leave.”
Another silence.
Woosung's hand moved in slow, rhythmic circles on your back. “How do you feel?”
You let the question hang there because you weren’t sure. Hollow? Rattled? Like someone had opened a box in your chest you’d long sealed shut?
“I don’t know,” you whispered.
Woosung didn’t respond with reassurance or try to fix it. He just kissed the crown of your head.
“I’m here,” he said.
You finally pulled back to look at him, eyes scanning his face. Kind. Patient. Still here.
You hated that part of you wished he weren’t.
The sun was already high in the sky when Jeongguk dragged himself into Yoongi's studio. He hadn’t slept. He looked like hell— bloodshot eyes, jaw bruised, hair a mess. But he moved like he had unfinished business burning in his veins.
Yoongi noticed immediately.
“Jesus, you look worse than yesterday.”
Jeongguk ignored the jab and dropped onto the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Yoongi didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the screen in front of him, tapping a few keys absently, before finally swiveling in his chair to face Jeongguk.
“Didn’t sleep, huh?”
“I walked for hours. I don’t even know how I ended up by the river.”
“You always end up there when you’re falling apart.”
Jeongguk let out a dry laugh. “You know me too well.”
Yoongi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So? What now?”
“I saw her. I mean—I really saw her. It wasn’t just a memory or a picture in some gallery post. She was right in front of me, looking at me like I was…”
“A stranger?” Yoongi offered.
Jeongguk nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”
“She didn’t look angry?”
“No,” Jeongguk muttered. “She looked… tired. Like she didn’t know whether to scream or hug me. Like she’s been trying to forget me and I just made it harder.”
Yoongi sighed. “That’s because you did make it harder. By showing up unannounced. Walking into her safe space.”
“I didn’t know it was her café. I swear.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Jeongguk stared down at his hands. “I think she has someone.”
Yoongi didn’t answer right away, which told Jeongguk enough.
“Where did that come from?” Yoongi asked.
“I’m not sure… but just thinking about it… it hurts more than I expected,” he added quietly. “I don’t know what I want from her. I just… wanted to be seen. Not hated. Not erased.”
Yoongi’s voice softened. “She did see you.”
Jeongguk shook his head. “But not the way she used to.” He slumped further into the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.
“I used to be her whole world.”
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “And then you burned it down.”
Jeongguk didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
“What do I do now, Yoongi?”
Yoongi looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “You ask yourself if you’re ready to rebuild anything. And if you’re willing to accept that the pieces might not fit the way they used to.”
Woosung watched you sleep from across the room, hands loosely wrapped around his coffee mug. The pale morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor—and across your face, peaceful but withdrawn, even in rest.
You hadn’t said much since last night. Just that you were tired. Just that it had been “a long day.”
But he wasn’t dense. He saw it.
The tremor in your voice when you said his name. The way your arms wrapped around him like you were bracing yourself for a storm that hadn’t yet passed. The way your body felt warm against him but your mind had drifted somewhere far, far away.
He knew what a closed door looked like.
Woosung loved you. That wasn’t in question. And in most moments, being with you felt like being home— quiet, anchored, enough. But there were times—like now—when he could feel something slipping between his fingers. Something he couldn’t hold, no matter how gently he tried.
He knew you had a past. He’d accepted that. But he hadn’t prepared himself for what that past would look like when it returned, not as a memory, but as a man.
Jeongguk.
The name alone was a ghost in his mind. You rarely said it but when you did, it was with the kind of softness that didn’t belong to pain. Not completely. Woosung didn’t want to be the jealous type. Didn’t want to become the man who questioned the cracks in someone else’s heart. But when you looked at him last night, it wasn’t just sleep in your eyes— it was absence.
And he hated that he didn’t know how to bring you back.
He walked over to the window, mug still warm in his hand and stared out at the quiet street below. He’d give you time. Space. Safety. Whatever you needed.
But part of him already knew: if Jeongguk was back in your world, he would have to brace for a future that might not include him in it.
And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
The rain had finally stopped by the time you stepped out of the university gates that afternoon, sunlight peeking out from behind thin clouds. You hadn’t planned on stopping by the park, but your legs carried you there anyway. The world felt too loud lately— colors too sharp, memories too close— and you needed quiet after teaching the whole day.
The small café near the entrance of the park wasn’t busy. A few students occupied scattered tables, chatting over drinks, the occasional laughter bubbling into the air. You stepped inside and ordered chamomile tea.
You didn’t see him right away.
It wasn’t until you turned toward the window seat—your favorite one—that you noticed him. Sitting at the far corner of the room, hood pulled low, black journal open in front of him, pen tapping against the edge.
Jeongguk.
Your stomach dropped.
He looked smaller here somehow. Not in stature—his presence still drew attention—but in energy. Like someone trying to disappear into the corners of a page.
He hadn’t seen you yet. You froze, cup warm in your hands, unsure whether to approach or flee. You could walk away. You should.
But then he looked up.
Your eyes met. And time, once again, forgot how to move. He didn’t smile. He didn’t stand. He just looked at you like he’d been waiting. You walked toward him slowly. Carefully.
“Is this seat taken?” you asked, quietly.
Jeongguk stared at the empty chair across from him then shook his head. “It’s yours.”
Neither of you spoke for a moment. The air between you was heavy but not hostile—more like something ancient and sacred. Something that didn’t know how to begin again.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, finally breaking the silence.
“I didn’t expect to be seen,” Jeongguk replied, eyes flickering to yours. He looked down at his journal, then closed it slowly. “I’m sorry. About the café. About… all of it. I didn’t know it was yours and Seokjin’s.”
You didn’t respond right away. You let the words hang there.
“I know,” you said eventually. “I believe you.”
He blinked, surprised by how easily you’d said it. But you weren’t done.
“That doesn’t change what happened,” you continued, voice steady, even if your heart wasn’t. “Seokjin was right. It doesn’t erase what we lost.”
“I know,” he said again. “I’m not here to fix anything.”
You looked at him then— not as the man who hurt you but as the man who now sat quietly with his regret. Not demanding anything. Not begging. Just… present.
For the first time in years, you didn’t look away.
“You don’t have to walk on eggshells,” you murmured. “Not with me. Not anymore.”
Jeongguk swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m trespassing.”
You gave a faint, sad smile. “Then don’t try to be anything. Just… be here. If you want to be.”
Jeongguk nodded, jaw tight with the kind of relief that was almost indistinguishable from grief. And for a while, you both just sat there. Not as lovers. Not as exes. Not even as old friends.
Just as two people who once loved each other so deeply.
Jeongguk left the university café feeling hollow. The brief encounter with you—unexpected, painfully gentle—had undone something in him. You hadn't screamed. You hadn't walked out. But your voice, your eyes, the way your fingers gripped the edge of your mug—it haunted him more than any shouting ever could.
He had rehearsed nothing and left with everything unspoken lodged in his throat. It hadn’t been enough.
Not by a long shot.
So when night fell, his legs carried him somewhere he hadn't planned—your café. The one you shared with Seokjin. He didn’t expect to see you. Not really. But part of him hoped, in the smallest, most reckless corner of his heart, that maybe you’d still be there. That maybe you’d let him speak.
That maybe he could try again.
“I’m telling you, I nearly salted the croffle again,” Seokjin said as he wiped down the counter with exaggerated flair. “That’s the third time this month.”
“Hyung, you’re not cursed,” Jimin laughed, nudging the sugar shaker toward him. “You just have poor labeling habits.”
“It’s not labeling. It’s sabotage. Someone moved the sugar again. Probably Hoseok. He always looks guilty when I serve the wrong order.”
“He looks guilty because you gave someone a tuna melt instead of a vegan sandwich last week.”
“That was one time.”
Jimin smirked. “You are the chaos. Don’t drag Hoseok into your crimes.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes, drying the last mug. “Speaking of chaos, where’s my sister?”
“Still in the studio,” Jimin said, nodding toward the door to the attached workspace. “She’s been trying to finish that commission all week.”
At that moment, you emerged from the studio door with paint on your sleeve and a weary but focused expression.
“You guys can go,” you said, waving them off. “I want to get this done tonight.”
“You sure?” Seokjin asked, frowning. “I can stay—”
“I’m fine, really. The piece is almost done, I just need a few more hours.”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You just want to be alone with your tortured genius.”
You snorted. “Exactly.”
Seokjin opened his mouth to argue again but you raised a hand. “I’ll lock up. Promise.”
“Okay, but if a raccoon breaks in again, don’t call me,” Seokjin muttered as he grabbed his coat.
“Noted.”
Jimin gave you a kiss on the cheek before heading out. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”
You nodded. “Goodnight, both of you.”
The café door clicked shut behind them, leaving you with the hum of quiet jazz and the smell of old coffee grounds. You turned back into the studio, prepared to pull an all-nighter.
You were cleaning brushes when you heard the door chime. Without looking up, you called out, "We're closed today, sorry—"
"I know."
The brush slipped from your fingers, clattering into the sink. You turned slowly and there he was.
Jeongguk stood in the doorway of your studio, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense.
"Hi," he said quietly.
"Hi." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between you. Jeongguk's gaze wandered around the studio—taking in your paintings, the organized chaos of your workspace, the coffee-stained easel in the corner.
"It’s a really nice cafe… it has an art studio just like how you wanted it," he said, for lack of anything else.
"Thank you." You wiped your hands on a towel, grateful for something to do with them.
"I wanted to thank you," Jeongguk continued. "For coming to the hospital. You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." The words came out sharper than intended. You softened your tone. "I mean... when someone calls and says you're in the hospital, of course I'd come."
His jaw tightened slightly. "Right. The emergency contact thing."
"Why didn't you change it?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Jeongguk looked down at his hands. "I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
You set the towel down slowly, trying to still your hands. The air between you had grown heavier, charged with too many years of silence and everything neither of you had the strength to say before now.
"Why are you really here, Jeongguk?" you asked, your voice low but steady. "Because if it's just to thank me—"
"It's not," he interrupted, voice frayed at the edges. He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture so familiar it knocked the breath from your lungs. "I don't know, okay? I’ve been back in Seoul for three weeks and I can’t stop thinking about you. About us."
"There is no us, Jeongguk."
"I know." His voice cracked. "Trust me, I know that better than anyone."
You leaned back against your workbench, exhaustion creeping in like a tide. “Then what do you want from me?”
“I want to explain—”
"Seven years too late for that, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. Probably. But I have to try.” He stepped forward instinctively, then caught himself, freezing mid-step like he didn’t trust himself to be closer. “The way I left… the way I ended things… it was wrong.”
“Wrong?” You let out a short, breathless laugh— one with no humor in it. “Jeongguk, you served me divorce papers through a stranger. A fucking stranger from some law office. I found out my marriage was over from a man who mispronounced my name.”
Jeongguk flinched, visibly. Shame seeped into the curve of his shoulders, the downturn of his mouth. “I know.”
“Do you?” Your voice wavered now, frustration bubbling up with the grief. “Do you know what that did to me? I sat in a room for eight hours—eight, Jeongguk—just staring at those papers, waiting for someone to tell me it was a mistake. That maybe they got the wrong person. That my husband wouldn’t do something so… something so….”
“____…”
“Do you know I reread the papers so many times I memorized the clause about 'irreconcilable differences'? Do you know I hated that phrase because it sounded so... neat, like we were just a bad spreadsheet?”
His face crumpled. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” you snapped, voice breaking. The tears came before you could stop them, burning hot trails down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t give me back the part of myself I lost when you decided I wasn’t even worth a conversation.”
There was a beat of silence so loud it pressed against your ribs.
“You think this was easy for me?” His voice rose slightly, hoarse and unsteady. “You think I wanted to hurt you like that?”
“I don’t know what you wanted. That’s the problem. You never gave me the chance to understand anything. You just... vanished, Jeongguk. I know we didn’t really resolve anything after our last argument. I knew we had our problems but…” Your tears continue to betray you. You bite your lip to keep yourself from sobbing even further.
“I didn’t think you’d leave me, Jeongguk…” you whisper helplessly.
Jeongguk took a deep breath then exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to keep standing there. He wanted to come closer, maybe wrap you in his arms but he didn’t. He stood where he was. “I was scared.”
The words landed like a stone in water.
“Of what?” you asked, quieter now.
“Of everything,” he whispered. “Of not being enough for you. Of waking up next to you and realizing you were slipping away and I couldn’t stop it. Of becoming a burden. Of watching you look at me and wonder why you ever said yes.”
You stared at him, stunned. “So you left instead.”
“So I left instead,” he echoed, bitterly.
Your tears had stopped but your chest felt hollow.
“You didn’t even let me choose,” you said. “You didn’t give us a chance to fight.”
He looked at you then, something desperate flickering in his eyes. “Would you have? Chosen me?”
The silence that followed wasn’t cold—it was aching.
You wanted to say yes. To scream it. But the truth was heavier than that. The truth lived in long nights and unanswered texts and waking up alone.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, and it hurt you to say it. “But I would’ve tried.”
Jeongguk nodded slowly like he had already guessed your answer but hoped hearing it might change something. It didn’t.
“I think about that night a lot,” he said, his voice lower now. “Our last fight. I replay it all the time, trying to figure out where the breaking point was.”
“What was it even about?” you murmured. “I’ve tried to remember but all I can see is you walking out.”
He hesitated. “Money. My parents. My crazy ambitions. But it wasn’t really about that, was it?”
“No,” you whispered. “It was about the silence. About how we were living side by side but stopped reaching for each other.”
“Yeah.”
You stood in that shared quiet for a long beat, surrounded by the smell of paint and memory.
"I loved you Jeongguk," you said, your voice barely audible. "Even at the end, even when everything was falling apart, I loved you."
“I know.” His voice broke entirely now. “And I loved you. That’s why I thought letting go was the least selfish thing I could do.”
Another silence stretched, not as sharp this time. Just tired. Real.
Jeongguk rubbed at his jaw, the movement weary. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… needed you to know. I’ve carried this for so long and it’s eaten me alive… ____ I’m really sorry. I know there’s no apology that can ever make up for everything I’ve done to you but… I’m just really sorry.”
You look up at Jeongguk with your tear-stained eyes and it breaks Jeongguk more than he can ever describe in words.
“____ I am so sorry for leaving you the way I did…”
You nodded, barely. “I— I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied gently. “You’ve said more than I deserve.”
The studio had grown darker without either of you noticing.
Only the soft light from the café filtered in through the open door, casting long shadows across your half-finished painting and the uneven flecks of dried pigment on the floor. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed. A door slammed. But here, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—and the distance between what was and what could never be again.
Jeongguk looked down at the floor then back up at you, his mouth pressed in a tight line, like he was still deciding whether to say one last thing. Maybe something small. Maybe something huge.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he stepped back, slowly, like approaching a cliff’s edge he’d finally accepted he couldn’t jump from. His gaze lingered on your face a moment longer—memorizing you, or maybe just letting go. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it again. Whatever words he might’ve said had dissolved before they ever formed.
“I should go,” he said finally, and his voice was hoarse in that way people get when they’ve cried recently or haven’t slept in days.
You nodded. It was all you could manage.
He turned to leave, his footsteps almost soundless on the studio floor. When he reached the door, he hesitated—just long enough to make you wonder if he’d look back.
He did.
A brief glance over his shoulder. Nothing dramatic. No tears. Just that same familiar sadness in his eyes, now quieter. A little more surrendered.
“Goodnight, ____,” he said softly.
And then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a soft click. You stood there for a long while, staring at the space he’d just vacated, your hands still smeared faintly with color and time. The silence returned—but it was different now. Not peaceful, not exactly painful either.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Don't expect him or any one of us to not make mistakes. Don't expect us to be in your category of things that are right because we are not, we are our own human beings, I have categories that I think is right and you have your category, I don't pressure you to think my way, you don't need to pressure me to think your way and that's that"
TwiX
Celebrity is an unfortunate byproduct of an individual's or group's desire to make music and communicate their truth. In these toxic times with SK artists falling like flies to unrealistic expectations and horrendous double standards it is refreshing to hear someone speak about it. 100% agree Woosung, people either need to accept their artist for the unique, fragile and fallible human beings that they are, with their own opinions and ways of living, or find another hobby. If you are looking for perfection you won't find it here on earth.
