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He’s out the door by 6:30 every morning , but he always lingers for a second by the bed. Even if he’s running late, he’ll lean down to press a kiss to your forehead while you’re still buried under the duvet, his voice low as he tells you to go back to sleep.
He actually keeps a drawer in his desk. It’s a mix of things you always lose, such as spare hair ties and your specific lip balm along with those sickly sweet coffee pods he personally finds undrinkable but stocks anyway just for when you drop by.
He’s known for being terrifyingly focused in negotiations, but he still finds five seconds to send a text that just says, "Still thinking about how you laughed at dinner." Then he locks his phone and go right back to closing a multimillion-dollar deal.
The CEO Heeseung persona dies the second he enters the elevator. When he’s in the penthouse, his tie is loose, his sleeves are rolled up, and his only priority is you.
His wallpaper is a candid photo of you sleeping. He uses it as a sort of mental reset button during particularly brutal board meetings.
He never makes a thing out of it, but your favourite flowers just... appear. Every couple of weeks, the vase in the entryway is full again, always the white roses, your favourite.
When he’s really tired, he gets clingy. He will pull you onto his lap soon as he sits down, and then he hides his face in the crook of your neck and just breathes you in.
He once spent an hour badgering the family chef to teach him how to make your go-to comfort food. Now, if he sees you’re stressed or studying late, he’ll cook a version of it that’s probably a bit burnt or salty, but he looks so proud of it you’d never tell him.
If you text him saying you’re feeling under the weather, the "important" business dinner is over. He will let his assistant take care of the rest and show up at the door twenty minutes later with takeout. Then he will hold you until you fall asleep.
At those stuffy company events, he’s never not touching you. While he’s nodding along to some executive’s story, his thumb is constantly tracing absentminded circles over the back of your hand, keeping you anchored to him.
He claims to be a tsundere, but you know him better than anyone else and how sentimenal he is. He has a box hidden in his cupboard, It doesn't hold documents or keys; it’s filled with every single note of good luck note you’ve ever tucked into his briefcase. He considers those more valuable than any contract he’s ever signed.
He has a specific wokrk voice that is dangerously calm and cold when he’s frustrated. But the second you walk into the room, his eyes soften visibly, and his posture shifts from intimidating CEO to just... your husband.
He loves it when you steal his expensive dress shirts. He’ll see you walking around with the sleeves hanging past your hands and just look away with a tiny, satisfied smirk, feeling like he’s absolutely won at life. (which, tbh he did)
No matter how late his flight lands or how jet-lagged he is, he refuses to go to bed until you’re there. You’ll often find him waiting up on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned and exhausted, because the day doesn't actually end for him until he’s seen you.
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the baby monitor crackled through the dark room, your baby, haeun's tiny cries breaking the silence of the night.
before you could even move, heeseung was already sitting up.
"i'll get her, babe.." he mumbled, his sleepy voice filling the room.
his hair was all over the place, eyes barely open, but he was already shuffling over to the crib.
the crying stopped the second he picked haeun up.
"aigoo.. was our baby that hungry?" he whispered, tucking her against his chest.
her tiny fist immediately grabbed onto his shirt, nuzzling closer into him.
by the time you made it into the kitchen, heeseung was already standing by the counter with your baby girl resting on his shoulder, one hand rubbing slow circles over her back while the bottle warmed.
the kitchen was dim, only the light above the stove illuminating the space, making everything feel soft and quiet.
haeun let out another tiny cry, her face all scrunched up with tiredness.
"i know, princess.. i know.. just a second." hee said, kissing the side of her head.
when the bottle was ready, he sat down and settled her against his chest, like she was made to fit there.
the split second the bottle touched her lips, the crying stopped.
a tiny sigh left her tiny mouth, and her little fingers wrapped around heeseung's thumb while she drank.
heeseung just looked at her for a second, the sleepiest smile tugging at his lips.
"so dramatic.. just like her mama." he whispered, brushing his thumb over her round cheek.
you moved beside him, leaning your head lightly against his shoulder.
the whole kitchen was quiet except for the slow humming of the fridge and haeun's tiny little drinking sounds.
halfway through the bottle, her eyelids started fluttering.
heeseung tilted it slightly, making sure she was still drinking, then let out the smallest laugh when she kept sucking even as sleep was clearly taking over.
"she's trying to hard to not fall asleep.." you whispered.
heeseung smiled. "she doesn’t wanna miss time with her appa."
your chest ached as you watched him hold her.
by the time the bottle was empty, haeun was fully alseep against his chest.
a little drop of milk sat at the corner of her mouth.
heeseung gently wiped it away with his thumb, then lifted her onto his shoulder.
he swayed her in his arms, carefully patting her back, resting his cheek against the top of her head.
a small burp slipped out, followed by the sweetest sigh.
"there you go, my pretty girl.."
but instead of putting her down straight away, he stayed there for another minute, holding her.
haeun's cheek was squished against his shoulder, her tiny lips slightly parted.
even after she’d fallen asleep, hee kept swaying a little, just like he always did.
"you can put her back, hee.."
he looked down at her and smiled. "in just a second.."
a few minutes later, he finally carried her back to the crib.
he lowered her down, his thumb rubbing over her pajamas until she fully made it to dreamland.
when he climbed back into bed beside you, his shirt collar was damp from drool and a little bit of milk.
you smiled and fixed it for him.
"she loves her appa.." you whispered.
heeseung slipped his hand into yours under the blanket, nearing closer.
a sleepy sound came from the crib, and both of you looked over at the same time.
then he let out the quietest laugh into the pillow.
pairing: Single Dad! Sunghoon x Single Mom! Reader
wc: 9,545
synopsis: Shy kids spark fearless friendships, and two single parents find love where they least expect it. Family isn’t just born—it’s chosen.
rie’s notes: this has been on my drafts for a while and ERRORS AHEAD! enjoy~ feedbacks are highly appreciated!
disclaimer: this fic is not based from the kdrama hehe
Park Sunghoon never expected to be called into his daughter's kindergarten class for a “parent-teacher meeting,” much less one involving another child. Jiwoo had never been the type to cause trouble—she was quiet, polite, and more likely to cry over a lost stuffed animal than pick a fight.
Yet here he was, stepping into the colorful classroom, still in his work attire, sleeves rolled up from a long day at the office. His eyes immediately landed on the woman already seated across from the teacher.
She looked just as confused as he felt.
Y/N.
Her gaze flickered toward him briefly before returning to the two children sitting cross-legged on the play mat. Sunghoon followed her gaze. His daughter, Jiwoo, and Y/N’s son, Minjun, were whispering to each other, exchanging giggles like they shared a lifelong secret.
“Ah, Mr. Park, please have a seat,” the teacher greeted with a warm smile. “Now that you’re both here, I just wanted to address something that happened today.”
Sunghoon took the chair beside Y/N, feeling the awkward tension settle between them. She shifted slightly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He caught a faint scent of vanilla—probably from her shampoo.
The teacher cleared her throat, drawing their attention back.
“It seems that Minjun stepped in to protect Jiwoo from some teasing today,” she explained gently. “Some students made fun of her pigtails, saying they made her look like a baby. Minjun defended her, saying Jiwoo was like his little sister, and no one was allowed to bully her.”
Sunghoon’s fingers instinctively curled into his palm. His little girl had been teased? Jiwoo rarely spoke up for herself, and the thought of her being targeted—no matter how small—made his chest tighten.
Beside him, Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That sounds like Minjun,” she murmured. “He’s always had a hero complex.”
The teacher chuckled. “It didn’t end there, though. Another student questioned Minjun, saying he was ‘too small’ to protect anyone, and Jiwoo immediately fired back, saying Minjun oppa was the strongest boy she knew.”
Sunghoon blinked in surprise. Jiwoo—the same girl who once cried over stepping on an ant—had stood up for someone?
Y/N exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head. “Of course she did,” she muttered, a smile tugging at her lips.
For the first time, Sunghoon glanced at her properly. Up close, he noticed the subtle exhaustion in her eyes, the faint lines of stress that most parents carried. He wondered if she, too, had spent nights trying to calm a feverish child, or woken up to a tiny human climbing into her bed at three in the morning.
The teacher continued, “Their bond is quite remarkable. But I wanted to bring this to your attention so we could encourage their kindness while also ensuring they don’t get too involved in conflicts.”
Sunghoon nodded. “Of course. I’ll talk to Jiwoo about it.”
Y/N hummed in agreement. “Same with Minjun.”
As the meeting wrapped up, they stood awkwardly outside the classroom, watching their kids run ahead to the playground. The silence between them stretched, neither quite sure how to proceed now that the formalities were over.
Sunghoon cleared his throat. “So, uh… Minjun, huh?”
Y/N turned to him, raising a brow. “What about him?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s… very protective.”
She huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, sometimes a little too much. But I guess it’s nice to know Jiwoo has someone looking out for her.”
Sunghoon nodded slowly. “Yeah… it is.”
More silence.
Jiwoo and Minjun were now attempting to climb the jungle gym together, laughing every time one of them stumbled. It was an easy kind of friendship—the kind Sunghoon vaguely remembered from childhood, before life got complicated with responsibilities and heartaches.
Sunghoon shifted awkwardly. He wasn’t used to making small talk, especially not with another parent. He had been so focused on work and raising Jiwoo that socializing beyond casual greetings at drop-offs wasn’t really part of his routine.
“Um,” Y/N spoke first, surprising him. “Do you… work nearby?”
He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh, yeah. I run a business in the city.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head. “What kind of business?”
“Tech.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, mostly software development.”
She nodded, seemingly impressed. “That sounds complicated.”
Sunghoon let out a breathy chuckle. “It is. But I guess it’s better than some of the jobs I had before.”
“Like what?”
He hesitated before admitting, “I used to be an athlete.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Really?”
“Figure skating.”
Y/N blinked, then looked him up and down, as if reevaluating him. “That… actually makes sense. You look like someone who’d be good at that.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
She smirked. “You just… have that ‘cold perfectionist’ vibe.”
Sunghoon scoffed. “I’m not cold.”
“Really? Because you barely spoke for the first ten minutes of the meeting.”
“I was processing.”
Y/N laughed, and something in his chest loosened.
For the first time in a long time, he found himself enjoying a conversation with someone outside of work. There was something easy about talking to Y/N—even if it was still slightly awkward, even if they were just two parents trying to navigate an unexpected friendship between their kids.
After a beat, she glanced at him again. “Do you… want to exchange numbers? You know, in case the kids want to set up a playdate or something?”
Sunghoon hesitated for half a second before pulling out his phone. “Yeah. That sounds… practical.”
She grinned. “Practical, huh?”
He rolled his eyes but felt the corners of his lips twitch.
As they exchanged contacts, Minjun suddenly ran up to them, panting. “Mom! Jiwoo and I want to have a playdate this weekend!”
Jiwoo appeared beside him, nodding eagerly. “Yes! Please?”
Sunghoon and Y/N exchanged amused glances before Y/N shrugged. “Well, I guess we don’t really have a choice, do we?”
Sunghoon sighed dramatically. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other now.”
Y/N smirked. “Guess so.”
And just like that, something new began.
A friendship.
A connection.
The weekend arrived faster than expected, and before Sunghoon knew it, he was stepping into a cozy family café with Jiwoo’s small hand clasped tightly in his. The place was lively but not overwhelmingly crowded—parents chatted over coffee while their kids ran around the brightly colored indoor playground, laughter echoing through the space.
Y/N was already there, seated at a booth near the play area, watching as Minjun excitedly pointed out the different slides and climbing structures. When she spotted Sunghoon and Jiwoo, she waved them over with a warm smile.
“You made it,” she said as Jiwoo slid into the booth beside Minjun, the two kids already chatting animatedly.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon replied, scanning the menu before setting it down. “This place is nice. I didn’t even know it existed.”
Y/N chuckled. “That’s because you probably don’t get out much.”
He scoffed. “I get out.”
She raised a brow. “For something other than work?”
Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it. “…That’s beside the point.”
She laughed, and for some reason, he didn’t mind being teased.
After ordering drinks—coffee for the parents, juice for the kids—Minjun and Jiwoo took off toward the play area, leaving Sunghoon and Y/N with a rare moment of quiet. They watched as their children climbed the soft jungle gym, giggling as they chased each other through tunnels and down slides.
“They really are inseparable, huh?” Y/N mused, stirring her coffee.
Sunghoon nodded, taking a sip of his own. “Yeah. It’s… nice. Jiwoo’s always been a little shy, so it’s good to see her open up like this.”
Y/N hummed. “Minjun’s always had that effect on people. He’s been trying to ‘take care’ of others since he could talk. I think it’s his way of making up for—” She paused, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
Sunghoon didn’t push. He understood all too well what it was like to avoid certain topics.
Their conversation drifted to safer subjects—parenting struggles, favorite kids’ movies, the absurdity of some kindergarten rules. It was easy, effortless, even with the occasional awkward pause.
Then, a small voice interrupted their moment of peace.
“Jiwoo, where’s your mommy?”
Sunghoon’s grip on his cup tightened slightly as he turned to see Minjun looking at Jiwoo with innocent curiosity.
Jiwoo blinked, her small hands gripping the edge of the play structure. “I don’t have one,” she said simply.
Minjun frowned. “But… everyone has a mommy.”
Sunghoon felt a familiar ache settle in his chest, but before he could step in, Jiwoo continued, tilting her head as if deep in thought.
“I only have Daddy,” she said matter-of-factly. “He does everything. He braids my hair, packs my lunch, and even sings bedtime songs—though he’s not very good at it.”
Sunghoon nearly choked on his coffee.
Minjun nodded in understanding. “Oh. That’s okay! My mommy does everything too. I don’t have a daddy.”
Jiwoo’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Minjun nodded again, looking down at his feet. “Mommy says he’s not here.”
Jiwoo considered this for a moment before reaching out and taking Minjun’s hand. “It’s okay. You can have my daddy too!”
Sunghoon and Y/N both froze.
Minjun’s face lit up. “Really?”
Jiwoo nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Daddy is the best! He makes yummy pancakes and gives piggyback rides. You can borrow him if you want.”
Y/N covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. Sunghoon, on the other hand, could only stare, his ears turning red.
“Wait a second—” he started, but Minjun was already grinning.
“Okay! Then you can have my mommy too,” Minjun declared. “She gives the best hugs and always makes sure I have warm socks. She can be your mommy when you need one!”
Jiwoo gasped. “Really?”
Minjun nodded proudly. “Yes! We can share!”
At this point, Y/N lost it, dissolving into laughter. Sunghoon groaned, running a hand down his face. “This is not how it works, kids.”
“But why not?” Jiwoo pouted.
“Yeah!” Minjun crossed his arms. “It makes sense to me.”
Sunghoon looked helplessly at Y/N, who wiped away a tear from laughing. She met his gaze, amusement twinkling in her eyes.
“Well, what do you think, Daddy?” she teased.
He groaned again, muttering under his breath. “I am never living this down.”
Y/N smirked, sipping her coffee. “Nope.”
As their kids resumed playing, Sunghoon found himself sneaking glances at Y/N, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.
Maybe—just maybe—this playdate wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
The playdate lasted longer than either parent anticipated. What was supposed to be a quick meet-up turned into hours of laughter, spilled juice, and stories exchanged over cooling coffee. The café buzzed with life, but Sunghoon and Y/N were caught in their own little world—occasionally interrupted by their children, who kept finding new ways to drag them into their games.
“Mommy, watch me!” Minjun called as he climbed up the jungle gym.
Y/N turned, ready to cheer him on, when Jiwoo grabbed Sunghoon’s hand. “Daddy, let’s play too!”
Sunghoon blinked. “Huh?”
“Come on!” Jiwoo insisted, already pulling him toward the play area.
Minjun grinned. “Yeah! You too, Mommy!”
Y/N laughed, but before she could protest, Minjun was dragging her along. Within seconds, both adults found themselves standing awkwardly in the middle of a room full of bouncing, giggling children.
Sunghoon looked around, slightly horrified. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”
Y/N smirked. “What, afraid of a little fun?”
He scoffed. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t think I’ll fit in these tiny tunnels.”
“Oh, come on.” Y/N nudged him playfully before turning to the kids. “What should we make them do?”
Minjun and Jiwoo huddled together in deep discussion before perking up. “Tag!”
Y/N laughed. “Tag it is.”
Before Sunghoon could react, Jiwoo poked his leg. “You’re it!”
And just like that, she and Minjun ran off squealing, leaving Sunghoon standing there, dumbfounded.
Y/N gave him a teasing smile before dashing away. “Better start running, Dad of the Year!”
Sunghoon groaned but took off after them, his long legs giving him an advantage. The next few minutes were a blur of laughter, squeals, and near-misses as he chased after the two kids and an annoyingly fast Y/N. Jiwoo and Minjun worked together to evade capture, while Y/N effortlessly avoided him, throwing playful taunts over her shoulder.
By the time they all collapsed onto the padded mats, out of breath and laughing, Sunghoon realized something strange—he was actually having fun.
It had been so long since he let loose like this, so long since he laughed just for the sake of it.
And it was because of them.
Because of her.
After that day, playdates became a regular thing.
Some days, they met at the park, where Jiwoo and Minjun raced each other on the slides while their parents sat on a nearby bench, slowly peeling away the layers of awkwardness. Other times, it was Y/N’s apartment, where she made snacks while Sunghoon helped Minjun with his homework. And sometimes, it was Sunghoon’s home, where Jiwoo proudly showed off her toy collection and Minjun tried to teach her how to ride a scooter in the hallway.
Each visit brought them closer.
Sunghoon learned that Y/N was a hopeless romantic who cried at every movie, even the animated ones. Y/N discovered that Sunghoon had a habit of talking to himself when he was focused—muttering under his breath like he was coaching himself through life.
He found out that she loved early morning walks, coffee way too sweet, and her son more than anything in the world. She learned that he wasn’t as intimidating as he looked, that he was secretly terrible at cooking, and that every night, without fail, he checked on Jiwoo at least three times before going to bed.
And just like that, an unspoken rhythm formed between them.
Neither of them talked about it, but something was shifting.
It wasn’t just about the kids anymore.
One evening, after a particularly long day, Sunghoon and Y/N took their usual seats at the café while Jiwoo and Minjun played. The kids had been extra energetic, and both parents were exhausted—but content.
Y/N stretched her arms above her head with a small groan. “I swear, I’m aging ten years every time Minjun decides to climb something he shouldn’t.”
Sunghoon smirked. “Tell me about it. Last week, Jiwoo tried to ‘fly’ off the couch. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
She laughed, shaking her head. Then, as if something had been on her mind, she hesitated before speaking.
“Hey, Sunghoon?”
“Hm?”
Y/N twirled her straw between her fingers, eyes flickering to the playground before settling back on him. “Do you ever… think about how different things would’ve been if—” She paused. “If you weren’t doing this alone?”
Sunghoon’s expression faltered slightly.
She didn’t push, but he knew exactly what she meant.
Did he ever think about what life would’ve been like if Jiwoo had both parents? If he didn’t have to figure everything out by himself? If things hadn’t… ended the way they did?
He let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
Y/N gave him a small smile. “Me too.”
There was a quiet understanding between them.
No pity. No judgment. Just two people who knew what it was like to carry everything on their own.
After a moment, Y/N exhaled, forcing a chuckle. “Sorry. That was kinda heavy for a playdate.”
Sunghoon shook his head. “It’s fine.” He met her gaze, voice softer now. “Really.”
Y/N’s eyes lingered on his for a second too long, something unreadable flickering behind them before she looked away.
But before either of them could say anything else, a small voice interrupted them.
“Mommy?”
They turned to see Minjun standing beside the table, looking up at Y/N with curiosity. Jiwoo stood next to him, her little hand wrapped around his wrist.
Y/N smiled. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Minjun hesitated, then finally asked, “Do you think Jiwoo can be my real sister one day?”
Sunghoon choked on his coffee.
Y/N’s eyes widened. “Minjun—”
But the little boy was serious. “I mean, she already feels like my sister. So can she be my real sister?”
Jiwoo nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I like that idea!”
Sunghoon was still coughing.
Y/N, however, managed to keep a straight face. Barely. “Uh… well… that’s not really how it works, sweetheart.”
Minjun frowned. “Why not?”
Jiwoo crossed her arms. “Yeah! Why not?”
Y/N stammered, looking at Sunghoon for help, but he was too busy trying to regain his composure.
With a sigh, she finally said, “Because—um—things like that take time.”
Minjun seemed to think about this before nodding. “Okay! Then I’ll wait.”
Jiwoo beamed. “Me too!”
Sunghoon groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “I am never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
Y/N patted his shoulder, laughing. “Nope.”
But even as the kids ran off, giggling about their “future sibling plans,” Sunghoon couldn’t help but glance at Y/N again.
And for the first time, the idea didn’t seem so impossible.
A week had passed since Minjun and Jiwoo’s unexpected proposal, and neither child had let it go. If anything, they only got bolder—holding hands while walking to class, declaring each other as family to their friends, and once even trying to convince their teacher that they should be seated together at all times.
Sunghoon and Y/N were still recovering from the secondhand embarrassment.
But aside from their children’s antics, things between them had settled into something… easy. Comfortable.
Which was probably why Sunghoon didn’t hesitate when he found himself in loaded for work one afternoon.
Sunghoon: Are you home?
Y/N: Yeah, why?
Sunghoon: Can I ask you a favor?
Y/N: Depends. How illegal is it?
Sunghoon rolled his eyes but found himself smiling.
Sunghoon: Not illegal. Just need someone to watch Jiwoo tonight. I have a work thing I can’t skip.
It took less than ten seconds for Y/N to reply.
Y/N: Of course! Minjun will be thrilled. You don’t even have to ask.
Sunghoon exhaled, relief washing over him. He’d been scrambling to find a sitter for the past hour, but Jiwoo had never stayed with anyone else before. He trusted Y/N more than anyone else, and Jiwoo was already comfortable with her and Minjun—it was the best option.
Still, asking for favors wasn’t exactly his strong suit.
Sunghoon: Thanks. I owe you one.
Y/N: You owe me ten, but who’s counting?
He chuckled, shaking his head.
Later that evening, Sunghoon arrived at Y/N’s apartment with Jiwoo in tow.
The second the door opened, Minjun let out an excited gasp. “Jiwoo!”
Jiwoo barely had time to react before Minjun grabbed her hand, already pulling her inside. “Come on! I set up a fort in my room!”
Sunghoon watched, slightly stunned, as Jiwoo disappeared into the apartment without so much as a glance back.
“Well,” Y/N said, amused, “I guess we know how she feels about staying over.”
Sunghoon sighed. “Should I be offended?”
Y/N grinned. “Probably.”
After handing over Jiwoo’s overnight bag and making Y/N promise to call him if anything happened, Sunghoon reluctantly turned to leave. But just as he stepped out the door, a small voice called after him.
“Daddy?”
Jiwoo peeked out from Minjun’s room, eyes wide.
Sunghoon immediately crouched down. “What is it, baby?”
For the first time that night, she looked unsure. “Are you coming back soon?”
His chest tightened.
Even though Jiwoo was comfortable here, it was still her first time sleeping somewhere new. Sunghoon hesitated, glancing at Y/N.
Y/N smiled gently. “You can call him before bed, sweetheart.”
Jiwoo perked up. “Okay!”
Sunghoon ruffled her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Be good.”
“I always am!” Jiwoo said proudly.
Y/N snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
Sunghoon gave Jiwoo one last hug before standing. As he turned to Y/N, something warm settled in his chest—something dangerously close to gratitude and something else he wasn’t quite ready to name.
“Thanks again,” he murmured.
Y/N shrugged like it was nothing. “Anytime.”
And as Sunghoon walked away, he found himself wondering if he really would take her up on that offer.
Sunghoon was halfway through reviewing reports when his phone buzzed. Seeing Jiwoo’s name flash on the screen, he quickly picked up.
“Hey, baby,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Everything okay?”
“Daddy!” Jiwoo’s excited voice came through, followed by Minjun’s laughter in the background. “Minjun’s room is so cool! We made a fort, and it has fairy lights and pillows and everything!”
Sunghoon chuckled. “That sounds fun. Are you having a good time?”
“Uh-huh!” Jiwoo hummed, then lowered her voice like she was telling him a secret. “Mommy—oh! I mean, Minjun’s mommy—helped us build it.”
Sunghoon’s breath hitched at the slip. He glanced at the clock. It was getting late, and he could already hear the sleepiness in her voice.
“Are you in bed now?” he asked softly.
“Mm-hmm. Minjun let me borrow his extra blanket.”
There was a brief rustling sound before another voice came through. “Hi, Mr. Park!”
Sunghoon smiled. “Hey, buddy. Taking good care of Jiwoo?”
“Of course!” Minjun declared proudly. “She’s my baby sister.”
Sunghoon heard Y/N’s soft laughter in the background, making his chest warm.
“Alright, you two, say goodnight,” Y/N said. “Jiwoo, your dad has work.”
Jiwoo yawned. “Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, baby. Sleep well.”
As he ended the call, Sunghoon exhaled, his heart feeling unexpectedly full.
After the call, Y/N was helping her brush her teeth when the little girl suddenly paused, staring at her reflection in the mirror with a thoughtful expression.
Y/N noticed right away. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
Jiwoo turned to her, toothbrush still in her mouth. “Can I ask you something?” she mumbled through the foam.
Y/N smiled, taking a tissue to wipe the excess toothpaste from the corner of Jiwoo’s lips. “Of course. You can ask me anything.”
Jiwoo spit into the sink, rinsed her mouth, and then turned to Y/N with big, hopeful eyes. “Can I… can I call you Mommy?”
Y/N’s heart nearly stopped.
She blinked, taking in the little girl’s earnest expression, the slight nervousness in her voice. Jiwoo had always been affectionate, clinging to her the way she did Minjun, but this… this was different. This was something Jiwoo had thought about. Something she wanted.
Y/N’s throat tightened.
She crouched down to meet Jiwoo’s gaze properly, tucking her damp hair behind her ear. “You really want that, baby?”
Jiwoo nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh! It feels right! And I already feel like you’re my mommy, so… can I?”
Y/N’s heart melted. But she knew this was something bigger than just her and Jiwoo—this was something Sunghoon needed to be okay with, too.
She smiled gently. “You know what, sweetheart? Let me talk to your daddy first, okay?”
Jiwoo’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”
“Because Daddy is very important to you, and I want to make sure he’s okay with it too,” Y/N explained, brushing her fingers through Jiwoo’s soft hair.
Jiwoo thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Okay! But I think he’ll say yes. Daddy likes you a lot.”
Y/N chuckled at her confidence, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll see, baby.”
That night, after tucking Jiwoo and Minjun into bed, Y/N sat on her couch, phone in hand, debating how to phrase the message.
Finally, she took a deep breath and typed:
Y/N: Hey, Jiwoo asked me if she could call me Mommy today… I told her I’d talk to you first. Are you okay with that?
She stared at the message for a moment before hitting send.
It didn’t take long for Sunghoon to reply.
Sunghoon: She asked that?
Y/N: Yeah. She seemed really sure about it.
There was a pause. Then—
Sunghoon: … I was actually wondering when she’d ask. She’s been attached to you since day one.
Y/N smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.
Y/N: So… you’re okay with it?
Sunghoon: Of course I’m okay with it. If Jiwoo wants to call you Mommy, it’s because she sees you as one.
A pause. Then another message.
Sunghoon: And honestly… I don’t think I’d want anyone else to have that role in her life.
Y/N’s breath caught.
She stared at his words, her heart thumping a little faster.
Jiwoo’s question had been unexpected, but Sunghoon’s response? That was what truly made her feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Sunghoon arrived at Y/N’s apartment early the next morning, dressed casually in a sweater and jeans. When he knocked, the door swung open almost immediately, revealing Minjun in his dinosaur pajamas.
“Hi, Mr. Park!” Minjun beamed. “We’re having breakfast!”
Sunghoon smiled. “Good morning, buddy.”
As he stepped inside, his eyes landed on Y/N sitting at the dining table—with Jiwoo on her lap.
She had a comb in one hand, gently brushing through Jiwoo’s tangled hair while the little girl sat patiently, nibbling on a piece of toast.
The sight made Sunghoon pause.
Something about it—Jiwoo looking so at ease, Y/N’s soft, motherly touch—struck him deep in his chest.
For a moment, it felt like coming home.
“Daddy!” Jiwoo’s face lit up when she saw him.
Sunghoon snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat. “Hey, baby. Did you sleep well?”
Jiwoo nodded eagerly. “Minjun’s bed is really comfy!”
Y/N glanced up, smiling. “Morning. Want some coffee?”
Sunghoon blinked. “Uh… sure.”
Before he could say more, Minjun grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the table. “Sit next to me!”
Y/N handed him a fresh cup of coffee while Minjun proudly pointed at their breakfast spread. “We have pancakes, eggs, and toast! Mom made them.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “You cook?”
She scoffed playfully. “I survive.”
He chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.
As they ate, Jiwoo and Minjun chatted nonstop—about their fort, their dreams last night, and even their wedding plans (which Sunghoon was still trying to process).
But somewhere in between, as he watched Y/N cut up Jiwoo’s pancake like it was second nature, Sunghoon felt something shift.
Breakfast at Y/N’s apartment felt strangely different from the ones Sunghoon was used to.
At home, mornings were quiet—just him and Jiwoo, half-asleep as they rushed through breakfast before school. But here, the air was filled with laughter, the clinking of plates, and Minjun talking a mile a minute about dinosaurs.
And then there was Y/N.
She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just making sure the kids ate properly, cutting Jiwoo’s pancakes the way she liked them, absentmindedly tucking Minjun’s hair behind his ear when it got in his face. But there was something about it—about her—that made Sunghoon feel warm in a way he couldn’t quite place.
Jiwoo giggled beside him, smacking Minjun’s arm playfully. “You eat so fast! Like a T-Rex!”
Minjun gasped dramatically. “T-Rexes don’t eat pancakes! They eat meat!”
Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Then chew properly before you choke, little carnivore.”
Sunghoon smirked. “Do you say that from experience?”
She shot him a look. “I don’t choke, Park.”
He hummed, amused. “Good to know.”
Jiwoo looked between them, her tiny brows furrowing. “Daddy, are you flirting?”
Sunghoon nearly choked on his coffee.
Minjun gasped. “Mommy, what’s flirting?”
Y/N held up a hand. “Nope. Not at the breakfast table.”
The kids whined in protest, but she swiftly changed the subject, asking Minjun if he wanted more orange juice.
Sunghoon shook his head, biting back a grin. This woman is dangerous.
After breakfast, the kids ran off to play, leaving Sunghoon and Y/N to clean up.
As they stood side by side at the sink—her washing, him drying—Sunghoon stole a glance at her.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said. “Watching Jiwoo, making breakfast…”
Y/N shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. Honestly, it was nice.”
“Nice?”
She smiled. “Having another little one around. Minjun loved it. And… I did too.”
Sunghoon’s fingers tightened around the dish towel.
She wasn’t saying much, but somehow, he understood.
Raising a kid alone wasn’t easy. No matter how much love you poured into them, there were always moments of loneliness—the empty chair at the dinner table, the silence after bedtime.
But this morning? It didn’t feel lonely at all.
“You’re really good with her,” he said quietly.
Y/N glanced at him, surprised. “Jiwoo?”
He nodded.
She dried her hands and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “She makes it easy. She’s such a sweetheart.”
Sunghoon huffed a small laugh. “She can be a handful.”
Y/N smirked. “I like handfuls.”
His breath hitched slightly, caught off guard by the way she said it—casual, teasing, but somehow laced with something deeper.
Before he could fire back, Minjun came running in, dragging Jiwoo behind him.
“Mom! Can Jiwoo stay for lunch too?”
Jiwoo’s eyes lit up. “Please, Daddy?”
Y/N glanced between them, about to say something when Sunghoon spoke first.
“How about this,” he offered, leaning against the counter. “Instead of staying in, why don’t we all go out for lunch?”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, all of us?”
Sunghoon nodded, glancing down at the two kids, who were now bouncing excitedly.
“Really? We can go together?” Minjun asked, eyes wide.
Sunghoon smirked. “You don’t want to?”
Minjun gasped dramatically. “Of course I do!”
Jiwoo clapped her hands. “Yay! Where are we going?”
Sunghoon looked at Y/N. “That depends. Do you have plans?”
Y/N hesitated. It wasn’t like she had anything else scheduled, but the idea of going out together—like a family—made something flutter in her chest.
Before she could answer, Minjun latched onto her arm, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Mom? I wanna eat with Jiwoo’s daddy, too.”
Y/N sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Alright, alright. Lunch it is.”
Jiwoo and Minjun cheered, running off to get ready, leaving Sunghoon and Y/N standing in the kitchen.
Sunghoon tilted his head. “You’re sure? I don’t want to intrude on your day.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You invited us.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Right.”
Their eyes met, something unspoken lingering in the air.
It wasn’t a date. Just lunch.
But for some reason, it felt like something more.
The mall was bustling with families, couples, and groups of friends enjoying their weekend. Sunghoon walked slightly ahead, one hand in his pocket while the other carried Jiwoo’s small backpack. Beside him, Y/N held onto Minjun’s hand, making sure he didn’t run off in excitement.
They had already stopped by a toy store—something Sunghoon had insisted on when Jiwoo and Minjun pressed their faces against the glass, completely mesmerized.
"You don’t have to—" Y/N had started, but Sunghoon waved her off.
"They deserve it," he had said simply before crouching down to their level. "Alright, you two. Pick something, but don’t go overboard."
Jiwoo had clung to his arm, beaming. "Really, Daddy?!"
"Really," he chuckled, ruffling her hair.
Minjun, on the other hand, looked hesitantly at Y/N. "Is it okay, Mom?"
She sighed, knowing she couldn’t say no when Minjun was practically vibrating with excitement. "Just one, okay?"
The kids had immediately run off to browse, leaving Y/N and Sunghoon to linger near the entrance.
"You didn’t have to do that," she murmured, watching the two excitedly pick out toys.
Sunghoon glanced at her. "I know."
"But you did anyway."
He smirked. "Call it an investment. Keeps them happy, which means we get a peaceful lunch."
Y/N shook her head, but she couldn’t hide the amused smile on her lips.
In the end, Jiwoo picked out a plushie—a chubby little cat she immediately hugged to her chest—while Minjun opted for a toy car set, already planning how he’d race them when they got home.
After paying, Sunghoon handed the bag to Minjun, who looked up at him with awe.
Sunghoon chuckled, giving him a small pat on the head. "Just Sunghoon is fine, kid."
Jiwoo pouted. "But he calls Mommy 'Mom!' Can’t he call you something else too?"
Minjun hummed, thinking. "Can I call you Uncle Hoon?"
Sunghoon blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He looked at Y/N, who was stifling a laugh, then back at Minjun.
"...Yeah," he said, lips twitching. "That works."
With their new toys in hand, they made their way to a casual family-friendly restaurant inside the mall. Jiwoo and Minjun sat side by side, happily showing each other their new things while Y/N and Sunghoon sat across from them, scanning the menu.
Halfway through lunch, an elderly couple at the next table leaned over, smiling warmly.
"You have such a beautiful family," the old woman said kindly. "Your children are adorable."
Y/N choked on her drink, eyes widening. Sunghoon coughed into his fist.
The older man chuckled. "Ah, young love. You remind us of when we were raising our boys."
Sunghoon cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Ah, we’re actually not—"
Jiwoo suddenly piped up, flashing a toothy grin. "I love Minjun’s mommy! She’s really nice!"
Minjun nodded enthusiastically. "And Uncle Hoon is super cool!"
The old couple chuckled, completely convinced. "You’re very lucky to have each other," the woman said before turning back to her meal.
Y/N and Sunghoon exchanged a look, both unsure whether to laugh or correct them. Instead, Y/N just shook her head, picking up her drink again.
Sunghoon smirked, leaning slightly toward her. "Guess we make a convincing pair."
Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth creeping up her neck.
It was just a misunderstanding. Nothing more.
And yet, for some reason, the idea of them looking like a family didn’t seem so strange at all.
After lunch, they wandered around the mall, letting Jiwoo and Minjun explore. The kids led the way, dragging them from one store to another—first a bookstore, where Jiwoo picked up a picture book about animals, then a game shop where Minjun excitedly pointed out all the racing games he wanted to try someday.
Through it all, Sunghoon and Y/N followed closely, occasionally exchanging amused glances when the kids got too excited.
“You realize we’re basically just funding their happiness today,” Y/N murmured as she watched Minjun beg Jiwoo to pick a game for him to buy ‘next time.’
Sunghoon smirked. “I’ve accepted my fate.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re going to spoil them.”
Sunghoon shrugged. “They deserve it.”
It was such a simple statement, yet something about the way he said it made Y/N pause. He wasn’t just saying it to brush her off—he truly meant it. And for a brief moment, she saw past the charming, slightly teasing father figure and glimpsed the man underneath.
Before she could dwell on it, Jiwoo and Minjun came running back, holding hands.
“Can we get ice cream?” Jiwoo pleaded, eyes sparkling.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “You’re the one who enforces rules.”
She shot him a look before turning back to the kids. “Fine. But only one scoop each.”
The kids cheered, running ahead toward the food court. Y/N and Sunghoon followed at a slower pace, watching them.
“They really are close,” Y/N mused.
Sunghoon hummed in agreement. “Yeah… It’s nice, though.”
She glanced at him. “Jiwoo’s lucky to have you.”
He looked at her, surprised. “You think so?”
Y/N nodded. “She adores you, you know. I can tell.”
Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle. “I try my best, but sometimes I feel like I’m just figuring it out as I go.”
She smiled. “That’s what being a parent is, isn’t it?”
Sunghoon glanced at Minjun, who was animatedly talking to Jiwoo while they stood in line for ice cream. “Your son’s lucky too.”
Y/N looked at Minjun fondly. “He’s my whole world.”
Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah… I get that.”
For a moment, there was silence between them—not uncomfortable, but something almost… understanding.
And then Jiwoo waved at them excitedly. “Hurry up, slowpokes!”
Y/N laughed. “Alright, alright, we’re coming.”
Sunghoon chuckled beside her.
And just like that, the moment passed, but something about it lingered.
Something neither of them were ready to admit just yet.
Time had passed, and playdates had become a regular occurrence. Whether at Y/N’s place, Sunghoon’s, or even out at parks and cafés, their little group naturally gravitated toward each other. It wasn’t just Jiwoo and Minjun anymore—it was the four of them, moving in sync like a makeshift family.
That realization hit Y/N the hardest when she saw Sunghoon’s fatherly instincts in full force.
They were at her apartment for dinner. She had cooked a simple meal, letting the kids play while she and Sunghoon set the table. It had been a long day, and she didn’t have the energy to go out, so Sunghoon had suggested they just eat together at home.
It felt easy. Normal.
And then, in a split second, normal almost turned into disaster.
Minjun, in his excitement, had grabbed his fork and started waving it around as he talked animatedly to Jiwoo. In one careless movement, he nearly jabbed himself in the cheek with it.
But before Y/N could even react, Sunghoon was already there.
“Hey!” His voice was firm, but not harsh. In an instant, he had reached over, gripping Minjun’s wrist gently but firmly, stopping the fork just inches away from his face. His usually relaxed expression was serious, brows furrowed.
Minjun’s eyes widened in shock. Jiwoo went silent. Y/N held her breath.
Sunghoon sighed, loosening his grip but not letting go. “Minjun,” he said, his voice softer now. “You have to be careful. You could have really hurt yourself.”
Sunghoon exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before crouching slightly to Minjun’s level. “It’s okay. Just… be more careful, alright? You scared me for a second there, kid.”
Y/N finally let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her heart was still racing.
Minjun hesitated before looking up at Sunghoon with guilty eyes. “Are you mad at me?”
Sunghoon’s expression softened immediately. “No, bud. I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re too important for that, got it?”
Minjun nodded, his lips pressing into a small pout.
Sunghoon chuckled, ruffling his hair before finally letting go of his wrist. “Good. Now finish your food before it gets cold.”
The tension eased, and Jiwoo started chatting again like nothing happened. But Y/N wasn’t as quick to move on.
Her eyes lingered on Sunghoon as he returned to his seat, taking a sip of his drink as if he hadn’t just shown the most natural display of fatherly protectiveness toward her son.
And the way Minjun had looked at him—like he truly admired and cared for him—made her chest tighten with emotions she wasn’t ready to name.
Sunghoon caught her staring and raised a brow. “What?”
Y/N blinked, quickly looking away. “Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was something.
Something that made her heart race for an entirely different reason this time.
The days blurred into weeks, and their little group had settled into an unspoken routine—weekend outings, dinner at each other’s places, school pickups when one parent was busy. It felt so natural that sometimes Y/N had to remind herself that this wasn’t how things had always been.
That she and Sunghoon weren’t actually together.
But lately, something had shifted.
It was in the way Sunghoon lingered a little longer after dropping Jiwoo off at Y/N’s. In the way his touches had grown softer, more intentional—his hand brushing against hers when they reached for the same dish, the way his gaze lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
And it was in the way he looked at Minjun.
Like he was already someone important to him.
That was when Y/N knew she was in trouble.
But it wasn’t just her that Sunghoon had to think about.
Which was why, on one quiet evening at his penthouse, after Jiwoo had finished her bedtime story and snuggled into his side, he finally asked the question that had been weighing on his mind.
“Jiwoo,” he murmured, running his fingers through her soft hair.
“Hmm?” she mumbled sleepily.
Sunghoon hesitated, his heart pounding slightly. He hadn’t been this nervous in a long time.
“Can I ask you something?”
Jiwoo yawned, nodding as she tucked herself closer to his side. “Mhm.”
Sunghoon took a breath. “What if… what if I liked someone?”
Jiwoo blinked up at him, sleepiness momentarily forgotten. “Like? Like how Minjun likes dinosaurs?”
Sunghoon let out a small chuckle. “No, sweetheart. Like how a prince likes a princess in your bedtime stories.”
Jiwoo’s little face scrunched up in thought. “Do I know them?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You know her really well.”
Jiwoo gasped dramatically, pushing herself up. “Is it Minjun’s mom?!”
Sunghoon blinked. “Uh—”
“I knew it!” Jiwoo clapped her hands excitedly. “You always look at her the way Minjun looks at cake! And you smile more when she’s around! And you always take care of Minjun like how Minjun takes care of me!”
Sunghoon was caught completely off guard. “I—wait, what?”
Jiwoo nodded eagerly, then paused. Her expression turned serious as she fiddled with the hem of her blanket. “But… does that mean she’ll be my mom?”
Sunghoon felt his throat tighten. This was the moment he was afraid of. Jiwoo had only ever had him—her mother had left when she was too young to remember.
He didn’t want to force anything on her.
He cupped her small face gently. “Only if you want her to be, Jiwoo. I’d never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just… I just really like her. And I think she’s really special.”
Jiwoo was quiet for a moment. Then, in a small voice, she asked, “Will she still love Minjun more than me?”
Sunghoon’s heart clenched.
“Oh, baby…” He pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “She loves Minjun because he’s her son. But that doesn’t mean she won’t love you too. You know how you and Minjun are like siblings, even though you weren’t born in the same family?”
Jiwoo nodded slowly.
“Well… families can grow. Just like how you and Minjun became best friends, maybe… maybe one day, she can love you like a mom too.”
Jiwoo thought about this for a long time. Then, she whispered, “I like her too.”
Sunghoon smiled, his chest filling with warmth. “Yeah?”
“She’s really nice. And she makes yummy food.”
Sunghoon chuckled. “That she does.”
Jiwoo yawned again, her little body relaxing in his arms. “I think… I think I’d like that.”
Sunghoon’s breath hitched.
“Yeah?”
Jiwoo nodded against his chest. “Mhm. But you have to make her happy, Daddy. Like how princes do in stories.”
Sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat.
He had never needed a fairytale ending.
But if this was what it felt like—his daughter in his arms, and a future with Y/N within reach—then maybe… maybe this was even better.
After that night, something in Sunghoon shifted.
Not in a grand, dramatic way—but in quiet, deliberate moments.
It started with flowers.
The first time he brought them, Y/N was caught completely off guard. She had just opened the door to let Jiwoo in for a playdate when Sunghoon handed her a bouquet of soft pink tulips, his expression unreadable but his ears tinted pink.
“For you,” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
Y/N blinked, looking down at the flowers before looking back up at him. “These are…”
“Pretty?” Sunghoon smirked.
“Yes, but—” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why?”
Sunghoon shrugged, his lips quirking up. “Just thought you’d like them.”
Y/N stared at him for a moment before shaking her head with a small laugh. “Thank you, Sunghoon.”
He only hummed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he watched Jiwoo and Minjun dash past them into the living room. “You should put them in water before they wilt.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but did as he said, a soft smile lingering on her lips.
Then came the touches.
At first, they were almost imperceptible—his hand brushing against hers when they reached for the same plate, his fingers ghosting over her lower back when he guided her through a crowded café, the lingering warmth of his palm when he handed her a cup of coffee.
They were small gestures, so subtle that Y/N might have convinced herself they meant nothing.
Until the teasing started.
“Oh, so you can cook,” Sunghoon remarked one evening as they had dinner at her place. He watched as she plated the food, his lips curling in amusement. “And here I thought you just ordered takeout every time I came over.”
Y/N scoffed, shooting him a look. “Excuse me, Park Sunghoon, but I’ll have you know that I am an amazing cook.”
Sunghoon leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Amazing, huh?”
“Yes,” she said confidently. “Minjun always finishes his food, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Sunghoon said, “but he also eats crayons when he’s bored.”
Y/N gasped, smacking his arm lightly as he laughed. “You are the worst!”
Sunghoon only grinned, his gaze lingering on her a second too long.
It was in those moments—the teasing, the playful banter, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her—that Y/N realized he wasn’t just being nice.
He was trying.
Trying to tell her something without saying it outright.
Trying to show her, in his own quiet way, that this—they—meant something to him.
And the scariest part?
She wasn’t sure when she had started hoping for it, too.
—
It was a Wednesday afternoon when Sunghoon found himself waiting outside Minjun’s school, hands in his pockets as he leaned against his car. Y/N had called earlier, apologizing for not being able to pick up the kids due to a last-minute work meeting. Without hesitation, Sunghoon had offered to go instead.
He spotted them before they saw him—Jiwoo skipping happily alongside Minjun, their hands swinging between them as they talked about something animatedly.
Minjun noticed him first. “Uncle Sunghoon!” he called out, waving.
Sunghoon smirked at the title. He had long gotten used to Minjun calling him that, though sometimes he wondered if the kid saw him as more than just Jiwoo’s dad.
“Hey, buddy.” He crouched slightly as Minjun approached. Jiwoo immediately hugged Sunghoon’s waist before letting go to rummage through her backpack.
Minjun tilted his head curiously. “You’re picking us up today?”
Sunghoon nodded. “Your mom had a meeting. Figured I’d come get you both.”
Minjun hummed in understanding before looking up at him seriously. “Are we getting ice cream?”
Sunghoon huffed a laugh. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“But you always get us ice cream,” Jiwoo pointed out, blinking up at him with those innocent eyes that always managed to make him weak.
Sunghoon sighed dramatically. “Fine. Ice cream it is.”
The kids cheered, and just as Sunghoon was about to open the car door for them, he hesitated.
There was something he had been meaning to do—something important.
“Hey, Minjun,” he said, kneeling down so they were at eye level.
Minjun, who had been adjusting the straps of his backpack, turned to him. “Yeah?”
Sunghoon took a slow breath, suddenly feeling nervous. He had closed multi-million dollar deals without breaking a sweat, yet here he was, feeling like a teenager about to confess.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” Sunghoon started carefully. “Man-to-man.”
Minjun straightened at that, his little chest puffing up slightly. “Okay.”
Sunghoon smiled at his seriousness before continuing.
“I… I really like your mom,” he admitted, watching Minjun’s reaction closely.
Minjun blinked. “Well, duh.”
Sunghoon coughed. “What?”
“You like her,” Minjun stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You always bring her flowers, and you look at her like how the princes do in those movies Jiwoo makes me watch.”
Jiwoo giggled beside them but said nothing, seemingly enjoying the conversation.
Sunghoon cleared his throat, both amused and caught off guard by how perceptive Minjun was.
“Well… yeah,” he admitted. “And because I like her, I wanted to ask if it’s okay with you if I… court her?”
Minjun’s brows furrowed slightly. “Court?”
“It means I want to take care of her, bring her on dates, and maybe—if she wants—become something more in the future.” Sunghoon met the boy’s gaze earnestly. “But only if you’re okay with it.”
Minjun was silent for a moment. Then, he asked seriously, “Will you still buy me ice cream even if I say no?”
Sunghoon burst out laughing. “Yes, you little rascal.”
Minjun grinned before thinking for a few more seconds. Then, he shrugged. “I mean, if Mom likes you too, then it’s fine with me.”
Sunghoon felt something warm spread in his chest. “Yeah?”
Minjun nodded. “Yeah. But—” He crossed his arms. “You have to promise to never make her cry.”
Minjun studied him for a second before nodding. “Okay, then. You can court her.”
Sunghoon chuckled. “Glad I got your approval, Minjun.”
Minjun beamed proudly while Jiwoo clapped excitedly. “Yay! That means we can be a real family one day, right?”
Sunghoon smiled, glancing between the two kids before looking toward the school entrance, where he knew Y/N usually stood during pickups.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “If your mom lets me.”
—
Y/N had no idea why Minjun was acting so strangely that afternoon.
First, he insisted she wear something “nice but not too fancy.” Then, when she asked what the special occasion was, he and Jiwoo only exchanged mischievous glances before running off to their room, whispering like they were planning something top secret.
When she pressed for answers, Minjun only grinned. “Just trust me, Mom.”
That should have been her first clue that something was up.
Now, standing in front of her door, she blinked in surprise as she found Sunghoon waiting on the other side—holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers.
She stared at him, momentarily speechless. “What’s going on?”
Instead of answering, Minjun grabbed her hand, Jiwoo doing the same on the other side. “Come on, Mommy!” Jiwoo chirped excitedly. “You’ll see!”
Y/N let them pull her along, still glancing back at Sunghoon in confusion. He only chuckled, falling into step beside her as they led her toward the balcony.
And that was when she saw it.
A small but beautifully set dinner table, warm fairy lights strung above, casting a soft golden glow over the space. A cake sat in the center, decorated with delicate frosting, and next to it lay a wrapped gift with a handwritten note on top.
It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was thoughtful. Cozy. Personal.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Surprise,” Sunghoon said, scratching the back of his neck as he stepped beside her.
Y/N turned to him, still taking it all in. “You did this?”
Minjun huffed dramatically. “We did this.”
Jiwoo nodded eagerly. “We helped, Uncle Sunghoon did the cooking, and Minjun made sure everything was perfect!”
Y/N looked between them, her chest tightening. “Why, though?”
Sunghoon exhaled, suddenly looking slightly nervous. “Because… I wanted to ask you something.”
Minjun nudged him. “Do it now!”
Jiwoo bounced in excitement. “Yes, yes! Do it now!”
Y/N chuckled, looking back at Sunghoon, who was now gazing at her with an expression softer than she’d ever seen before.
He cleared his throat. “I was going to ask if I could court you. Properly. But honestly?” He let out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t want to wait. I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I don’t need a courting phase to know that I want to be with you.”
Her breath caught.
Sunghoon took a step closer. “So instead of asking if I can court you… let’s just date. And I’ll court you every single day.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment, the weight of his words settling in.
Then—
Minjun gasped dramatically. “That was so good!”
Jiwoo squealed, clapping her hands. “Say yes, Mommy!”
Y/N blinked, taking in Sunghoon’s slightly nervous but hopeful expression, the way Minjun and Jiwoo were practically vibrating with excitement.
Her lips curled into a smile.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Sunghoon straightened slightly. “Okay?”
She laughed, nodding. “Okay. Let’s date.”
A slow grin spread across Sunghoon’s face, relief and happiness flooding his features.
Minjun smirked, crossing his arms. “Told you she’d say yes.”
Jiwoo squealed again, wrapping her small arms around Y/N’s waist. “Yay! Does this mean you’re my mommy now?”
Y/N’s heart swelled at the little girl’s hopeful expression. She knelt down, gently tucking a strand of Jiwoo’s hair behind her ear. “Sweetheart… you already call me that.”
Jiwoo blinked, as if realizing it for the first time, then her face lit up with pure joy. “Oh! I do!” she giggled. “That means you’re already my mommy, right?”
Y/N chuckled softly, glancing up at Sunghoon, who was watching the interaction with something unreadable in his eyes.
She turned back to Jiwoo, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “If that’s what you want, then of course, sweetheart.”
Jiwoo let out an excited gasp and threw her arms around Y/N’s neck, squeezing tight. “Yay! I love you, Mommy!”
Y/N felt a lump form in her throat as she hugged the little girl back. “I love you too, baby.”
Sunghoon exhaled a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair as he watched them. “Well,” he murmured, “I guess that means I really have to make good on my promise now.”
Y/N raised a brow, still holding Jiwoo close. “And what promise is that?”
He smirked, stepping forward. “To court you every single day.”
And with the way he was looking at her now—like she was something precious, something he was willing to cherish—Y/N knew he meant every word.
A few months later, the four of them were at the park again—something that had become a weekend tradition. Minjun and Jiwoo were running ahead, their laughter ringing through the crisp afternoon air.
Sunghoon walked beside Y/N, their hands naturally intertwined, the warmth between them familiar and comforting.
Life had changed so much in just a short time. Sunghoon had kept his word—courting her every single day—with early morning coffee deliveries, spontaneous lunch dates, and quiet, stolen moments just for them. More importantly, he had embraced Minjun as his own, never once making the boy feel like anything less than family.
And Minjun had noticed.
Which was why today, when Minjun suddenly stopped running and turned back, waving excitedly, it didn’t surprise Y/N when he called out—
“Mom! Dad! Come push us on the swings!”
Sunghoon stilled beside her. Y/N felt his grip on her hand tighten slightly.
Minjun had started calling him Uncle Sunghoon, then just Sunghoon, and lately, Hoon. But this… this was the first time he had called him Dad.
Y/N’s breath caught. Slowly, she turned to Sunghoon, whose expression was unreadable—his eyes slightly wide, lips parted in surprise.
Then, as if something inside him clicked, his entire face softened.
“Guess that’s official then,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.
Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “You okay with that?”
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, eyes never leaving hers. “More than okay.”
She saw it then—the unspoken promise in his gaze. That he would love Minjun like his own. That this wasn’t just about her and him—it was about all four of them.
And she had never been more sure of anything in her life.
Minjun’s impatient voice rang out again. “Hurry up, lovebirds! The swings won’t push themselves!”
Y/N groaned, while Sunghoon threw his head back in laughter.
“Coming!” he called, tugging Y/N along.
And as they ran toward their children—hand in hand, hearts in sync—Y/N realized that this? This was home.
—
Months later, cardboard boxes were stacked high in Sunghoon’s penthouse.
Jiwoo was skipping through the hallways excitedly. “Oppa! Look, look! Now we get to live together forever!”
Minjun grinned, ruffling her hair. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited, Jiwoo-ah. You still can’t come into my room without knocking.”
Jiwoo pouted. “But what if I have a nightmare?”
Sunghoon, walking by with a box, smirked. “Then you can crawl into my bed, princess.”
Minjun made a face. “That’s not fair. I can’t just crawl into bed with you.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Sure, you can.”
Minjun blinked. “Wait… really?”
Sunghoon set the box down and crouched to Minjun’s level. “Of course. You’re my son now, Minjun. That means you can always come to me, okay?”
Minjun looked at him for a long moment before his face softened. “Okay… Dad.”
Sunghoon froze.
Jiwoo gasped. “You said it again!”
Y/N, standing by the doorway, pressed a hand to her chest, feeling tears prick her eyes.
Sunghoon’s lips curled into the softest smile as he pulled Minjun into a firm hug. “I love you, kid.”
Minjun grinned, hugging him back. “I love you too, Dad.”
Jiwoo squealed and tackled them both. “Group hug!”
Y/N laughed, walking over and wrapping her arms around all of them.
Sunghoon turned to press a kiss to her temple, whispering, “Welcome home, love.”
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The Park household should’ve been quiet at this hour—lights off, toys cleaned, kids tucked in bed.
But tonight?
Nope. Tonight was chaos disguised as love.
In the kitchen, bowls were everywhere, the faint smell of coffee and cocoa floated in the air, and flour dust sparkled on the counter like snow. You wore penguin pajamas—matching with the two little penguins beside you.
Jihoon, now five and full of big-sister confidence, sat on the counter with her mini apron on, swinging her legs and fighting sleep with pure excitement.
Jisung, your clingy one-year-old, wobbled around the kitchen in his fluffy penguin onesie, occasionally patting your legs like a little supervisor.
All three of you matched.
And next to the cake ingredients sat a fourth penguin pajama set—folded neatly with a ribbon.
Appa’s birthday present.
You clapped your hands quietly to get their attention.
The Park household should’ve been quiet at this hour—lights off, toys cleaned, kids tucked in bed.
But tonight?
Nope. Tonight was chaos disguised as love.
In the kitchen, bowls were everywhere, the faint smell of coffee and cocoa floated in the air, and flour dust sparkled on the counter like snow. You wore penguin pajamas—matching with the two little penguins beside you.
Jihoon, now five and full of big-sister confidence, sat on the counter with her mini apron on, swinging her legs and fighting sleep with pure excitement.
Jisung, your clingy one-year-old, wobbled around the kitchen in his fluffy penguin onesie, occasionally patting your legs like a little supervisor.
All three of you matched.
And next to the cake ingredients sat a fourth penguin pajama set—folded neatly with a ribbon.
Appa’s birthday present.
You clapped your hands quietly to get their attention.
HEESEUNG is gentle and cautious, not wanting to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.
on the wedding night, he is standing beside the bed with the pillow, barely knowing what to do. “would you be more comfortable if i took the couch?”
you have to reassure him that sharing a bed is okay, that he doesn’t need to stay at arms length from you— that he can be closer, slow, one step at a time.
and when he finally does, when your hands brush under the blanket, when he wraps his arms around you hesitantly the first time, first kiss in the kitchen, it’s like a breath of relief and certainty.
“i know you did not choose this, but i want to make this work— make us work,”
JONGSEONG protects and provides, his care oozes from every little thing he does— stocking up your favourite tea, always buying your favourite ice cream, letting you hog the blanket at night.
“if this gets uncomfortable at any point, you tell me,” there’s reassurance at every step, a promise that nothing will happen if you don’t want it.
at events, his hand is always on your back, glaring at everyone who dares check you out. he is quick to defend and support you at any chance. “you should be mindful of what you say about my wife,”
one time he almost kissed you and then apologised for days, afraid he pushed you away. but when you hold his hand and make the first move— pressing the softest kiss on his lips, he finally lets himself have you.
“it’s ridiculous, but i’m already obsessed with you,”
JAEYUN freaks out the morning after the wedding, and when the realisation sets in, he spends fifteen minutes admiring your beautiful face asleep next to him.
he tries his best to make you feel safe— always asking about your day, checking up on you, asking if you would like to go out, if he should run you a bath— it’s adorable.
“you don’t think it’s annoying, do you?” he asks once, red cheeks and a silly smile on his face. and when you thank him in the sweetest voice, he melts like ice in your hand.
everything he does starts with permission. ‘can i— may i?’ even when he wanted to hold your hand while watching a movie, he asks, and then grins like a highschool boy on a date with his crush.
“i don’t want to force anything. i want you to choose me,”
SUNGHOON does not know how to be a husband, frankly. it all happened too quickly, and now there’s a woman he barely knows tied to him for a lifetime.
yet, he tries, slow and steady. his care is focused and gentle— thoughtful gifts, dinner dates, flowers...and apologies.
“i’m sorry if i’m doing this wrong, i don’t know—” he is panicking again, and when you cup his face ever so carefully to shut him up, his mind explodes.
he lives for your smiles and little praises, how you always compliment him for even the tiniest thing. he tries not to show it, but the shy yet proud grin stays evident on his lips.
he googles how to be romantic— you found out one night and he was drowning in embarrassment, ears red at how you looked at him so fondly.
“i just want to be the best for you...always,”
SUNOO tries to involve you in his lifestyle, constantly asking for opinions, what you like, if he should wear blue or brown— he wants you to know that you are important.
he frowns ever so slightly whenever you come back from work looking drained, immediately offering to make some tea or anything that you like.
“just sit back and relax, i got this,” he spoils you from day one, but gets flustered when you try to return the favour.
one time, you kissed his cheek when he brought you lilies and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since. he wants to know how it would feel to kiss you— and just the mere thought gets him even more flustered.
he likes how despite sleeping on your own sides, you always shift over to him in your sleep, and he can’t help but kiss you goodnight on the forehead before fixing your blanket.
“maybe, this isn’t such a bad fate,”
JUNGWON approaches it like a partnership initially— setting down rules and boundaries, getting familiar with what you find comfortable and safe.
he is a reliable husband— tries to be, always ready for some grocery run with you, cooking together, cleaning together, even helping you with your work if you need.
“please tell me if it ever gets too much,” he doesn’t want to overwhelm you with anything. you lead, it’s always your decision, you call the shots.
once, you fell asleep on the couch and he couldn’t decide whether he should carry you to the bedroom— what if you wake up and think he’s being weird?
instead, he covered you with a blanket and stayed next to you, on the floor, the entire night, whispering into the silence.
“i’m glad it’s you,”
RIKI has been crazy about you since the engagement, to be honest. he tries to act cool, but is crazy about the fact that you’re about to become his wife.
he jokes about being ‘stuck with him forever’ after the wedding and feels his stomach do flips when you tease back that he is stuck with you too. he really likes being stuck with you actually.
“gosh, you’re so stupid,” he shakes his head with a fond smile and dreamy eyes whenever you do something wrong— and when you pout, he is gone, floored.
when you slowly start to initiate physical touches, it was like he could barely breathe. the subtle touches, lingering eyes, and his shy smiles— you laugh at his red cheeks and he admires you endlessly like you put the stars in the sky.
“i would choose to get stuck with you in every life,”
from, malena new layout! this one is cute >< i like it more than the previous one so i might stick to this
You were folding laundry on the couch, Jisung playing with stacking cups beside you, when Jihoon plopped down dramatically next to you—cheeks slightly pink, eyes a little too bright.
“Mommy…” she said, drawing out the word.
You hummed. “Yes, baby?”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “There’s a boy in daycare.” You froze.
Not visibly But internally?
Oh.
“Oh?” you said carefully, biting back a smile. Jisung looked up at the tone shift like something important was happening. “Boy?” he echoed randomly.
Jihoon nodded seriously. “His name is Minjae. He shared his snacks with me.”
You pressed your lips together.
“That’s very sweet of him.” “And…” she hesitated, playing with her fingers, “…he said my hair is pretty.”
You definitely smiled now.
From the kitchen, there was the faint clatter of something dropping. You didn’t look. But you knew.
Sunghoon was listening.
Jihoon leaned even closer.
“Mommy…” “Yes?” “How did you know you liked Appa?”
Silence.
From the kitchen— another clank.
You finally glanced over your shoulder. Sunghoon stood there, frozen mid-motion, holding a glass he definitely wasn’t washing anymore.
Eyes wide. Expression unreadable. But his ears?
Red. Very red.
You bit back a laugh and turned back to Jihoon. “Well…” you started softly, “I felt happy when I was with him.” Jihoon blinked. “Happy?”
“Mhm. And I liked talking to him. I wanted to spend more time with him.” Jihoon thought deeply. “I like talking to Minjae too…” From the kitchen:
“…Mm.”
That was not a normal mm.
That was a disapproving father noise.
Sunghoon walked into the living room like he *just happened* to be passing by. “Oh,” he said casually. “What are you talking about?”
Jihoon turned instantly. “Appa! There’s a boy in my daycare!” You watched his soul leave his body.
“…I see.” Jihoon smiled brightly. “He’s nice! He shares snacks!”
Sunghoon nodded slowly. “That’s… basic decency.”
You choked on your laughter. Jihoon frowned. “And he said my hair is pretty!” Sunghoon sat down beside her immediately. Too quickly.
“Jihoon,” he said gently but seriously, “you are pretty. Everyone knows that.”
She beamed. “I know!”
You snorted. But Sunghoon wasn’t done.
“And,” he continued, voice calm but very intentional, “you don’t have to like someone just because they say nice things. Okay?”
Jihoon blinked. “…But Mommy likes you.”
You turned away, shoulders shaking.
Sunghoon sputtered. “That’s—this is different—your mom and I—”
He looked at you helplessly.
You smiled sweetly.
“Go on, Appa. Explain.”
He glared at you lightly.
Traitor.
Sunghoon turned back to Jihoon, softening immediately. “What else does this… Minjae do?”
Jihoon counted on her fingers. “He shares snacks… he plays with me… he gave me his crayon…”
Sunghoon nodded. “…Okay.”
A pause. Then— “Does he wash his hands properly?”
You burst out laughing.
“Sunghoon!”
Jihoon looked confused. “I think so?”
Sunghoon leaned back, crossing his arms.
“Hm.” He was pouting. Actually pouting.
Jihoon crawled onto his lap suddenly, cupping his face with her tiny hands. “Appa,” she said seriously, “you’re still my favorite.”
He melted. Completely. “…I am?”
She nodded. “The most.”
Jisung waddled over and climbed onto him too.
“Appaaaa.” Sunghoon wrapped his arms around both of them, pulling them close.
“Good,” he mumbled softly. “That’s how it should be.” You leaned against him, smiling.
“Jealous?” you teased. He glanced at you, still holding the kids tightly.
“…A little.” You laughed, kissing his cheek.
“Don’t worry. You’ll always be her first love.”
He looked down at Jihoon, brushing her hair back gently. “…Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”
But still— Later that night, you caught him muttering under his breath while folding Jihoon’s clothes:
“…Minjae…”
And you knew. Appa was not done being huffy anytime soon
-
The house was still quiet when you woke up.
Soft morning light slipped through the curtains, warm and gentle, the kind that made everything feel slower.
You didn’t even have to open your eyes fully to know Sunghoon was already awake.
You felt it—
his hand brushing your hair away from your face,
his fingers tracing soft, absent patterns on your arm,
his presence close, warm, familiar.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
Your lips curved.
“Good morning…”
You stretched slightly, and he immediately moved—adjusting the blanket, tucking it around you like you were something fragile.
“You should stay in bed a little longer,” he said quietly.
You cracked one eye open, amused.
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” he replied, already reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. “Drink first.”
You laughed softly but obeyed, taking the glass from him.
He watched you drink like it was the most important task in the world.
And then—
“…So.”
Ah.
There it was.
You hid your smile.
“Yes?”
He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed—but his hand still rested on your thigh, thumb gently rubbing circles.
“That Minjae.”
You bit your lip.
“Mhm?”
Sunghoon exhaled slowly.
“I’m just saying… I don’t trust him.”
You turned fully to him now, propping your head on your hand.
“He’s five.”
“Exactly,” Sunghoon said immediately. “Too early.”
You laughed.
“For what? Sharing snacks?”
“For… everything,” he muttered.
But even as he spoke, he was adjusting your pillow, smoothing your hair again, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders.
“You’re unbelievable,” you teased.
“I’m being reasonable,” he insisted.
“You’re being jealous.”
“I’m being a father.”
You raised a brow.
“A jealous father.”
He clicked his tongue softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.
“…You liked me first, you know.”
You blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You liked me first,” he repeated, a hint of a smirk now.
You laughed.
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
He shrugged, but his voice softened.
“I just… don’t want her growing up too fast.”
There it was.
You reached up, cupping his cheek.
“She’s not. She just thinks someone is nice.”
He leaned into your touch without thinking.
“…Still.”
You smiled.
“Come on, Appa. Let’s go see your ‘competition’ later.”
He groaned.
“I don’t have competition.”
“You literally brought it up first thing in the morning.”
rie’s note: haii this fic has been sitting on my drafts for a while and i decided to share it with yo heheh~ so expect errors! ily mwa
synopsis: Y/N and Park Sunghoon enter a marriage bound by rules—but behind his composed exterior, he isn’t as distant as he seems.Through quiet mornings, shared glances, and subtle, unexpected gestures, a connection slowly begins to take shape.
For a woman married for ten months, Y/N sure spent a lot of time wondering if her husband even liked her.
Not that she blamed him. It wasn’t like they fell in love or anything so poetic. Their marriage had been a strategic merger—two powerful families shaking hands and tying knots in the form of two unsuspecting twenty-somethings. Park Sunghoon, her husband in legal terms and roommate in technicality, made no secret that he only played the doting spouse when their parents were around.
But when the doors closed and the charade ended, he always said the same thing whenever she dared call him by anything but his name.
“Sweetheart, dinner’s ready,” she chirped from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
A beat of silence. Then came his bored reply from the living room, eyes still on his laptop.
“It’s Sunghoon for you.”
She rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a migraine.
Their house was beautiful, sleek, minimal—like Sunghoon. But she filled the rooms with warmth anyway: vases of fresh flowers, post-its on the fridge, fairy lights above the balcony. He never said anything about them, but once, she caught him replacing a dead sunflower with a new one.
“Hey, are you coming home for dinner later?” she texted as she stirred a pot of stew that had taken her three tries to get just right.
She added a second message: I made your favorite. Well, I practiced. You better show up and eat every bite.
At first, his reply was what she expected.
No, I have meetings.
She pouted and turned the stove off.
Okay, more for me and my lonely soul then.
Bring me home some dessert, I’ll pretend it’s from you.
She left it there, phone discarded on the kitchen counter as she set the table out of habit. She didn’t expect him to actually—
The front door slammed open twenty-five minutes later.
Y/N peeked from the kitchen. “What the—”
Sunghoon looked tired, his tie askew, his coat slung over one arm. “Smells good,” he said simply, dropping his keys on the bowl by the door.
“You said you had meetings?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I moved some things. Eat with me. I’m starving.”
She blinked. “…You’re serious?”
He paused in front of the table. “I wouldn’t come all this way just to look at your stew.”
-
Sunghoon never said much, but he had his own language. She was beginning to learn it—through the things he didn’t say, the things he did instead.
Like the way he always replied within ten minutes to her silly lunchtime updates.
Don’t forget to eat, workaholic.
And hydrate. Or I’ll cry.
His reply came back seconds later.
Having lunch now.
With who? A girl? Should I prepare the divorce papers already?
Jungwon. He’s not your type.
She chuckled.
Damn. Foiled again.
She sent him a picture of her lunch—a messy sandwich with too much lettuce. His reply?
Lettuce ratio is off. 6/10.
“Hey, I might not be home for dinner tonight,” Y/N said, swirling her spoon through her cereal while seated at the kitchen island. “Heeseung and I are catching up. He’s been begging me for weeks. You remember him, right?”
Sunghoon, who was scrolling through his tablet across from her, barely looked up. “I remember.”
“He said he’ll take me to that fusion place near the river. You know, the one with the cocktails that come in teapots?”
Sunghoon hummed. It wasn’t enthusiastic. It wasn’t even interested. It was neutral. Neutral in that very Sunghoon way that always made her squint a little and wonder what was going on behind that perfect blank face of his.
“You don’t mind, right?” she asked, nudging his foot under the island.
“It’s not like you need my permission,” he replied smoothly, sipping his coffee. “We’re just married on paper, after all.”
“Right. Just on paper.” She chuckled, but her eyes lingered on him for a second longer.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything after that. Didn’t protest. Didn’t ask her not to go. She figured it was settled.
-
The day passed like any other.
She texted him at lunch, attaching a picture of her food and teasing him about his rabbit-like portions.
If you’re gonna eat like a bird, at least eat something cute.
Yours looks like it was stepped on.
She grinned at his reply. Classic.
Later, she started getting ready, slipping on her favorite dress—nothing too fancy, just something she knew looked nice in low lighting.
At exactly 6:10 p.m., just as she was applying mascara, her phone buzzed.
[Sunghoon | 6:10 PM]
Are you home?
She blinked at the message, confused.
Not for long. Remember? Dinner with Heeseung.
A pause.
[Sunghoon | 6:11 PM]
Don’t go.
Her heart skipped. Her hand froze mid-mascara swipe.
Excuse me?
No reply. Instead, the front door unlocked moments later. She turned around to find Sunghoon stepping into the apartment, already loosening his tie, face unreadable as always.
“Didn’t you say you were working late today?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“I moved things,” he said simply, setting his briefcase down.
“To eat?”
He nodded.
She raised a brow. “You want me to cancel on Heeseung?”
“I want my wife to eat dinner with me,” he said, not looking at her as he shrugged off his coat. “I’m having a bad day.”
That gave her pause. “Sunghoon…”
He didn’t elaborate.
Didn’t explain why.
Didn’t even glance in her direction.
But then he added, as casually as if he were talking about the weather, “You always eat with me when I’m having a bad day.”
Her heart thumped hard.
That wasn’t true. She didn’t even know when his bad days were. He never told her.
But apparently, he noticed when she was there for them.
“…Did something happen?” she asked softly, stepping toward him.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
She hesitated, then grabbed her phone and typed out a quick message to Heeseung.
Rain check? Sunghoon came home early. Emergency husband summoning.
Then she turned to him, arms crossing as she leaned against the table. “You’re lucky I like you, Baby.”
He finally met her eyes, a trace of amusement flickering in his.
“It’s still Sunghoon for you,” he deadpanned.
“Sure,” she said with a grin. “Sure it is.”
-
He left early one morning, stiff as usual, brushing past her with a muttered, “See you.”
She stared at the door after it clicked shut, still in her pajamas, coffee in hand.
So she texted him.
Excuse me, Mr. Husband. You forgot something.
What now.
You forgot to kiss me goodbye. How rude.
She added a dramatic selfie, lower lip jutted out, hair messy.
She didn’t expect anything.
So when the door opened again four minutes later, her jaw dropped.
Sunghoon walked in like a man on a mission, coat still on, face unreadable. He crossed the living room and stood in front of her.
Then—without a word—he cupped her jaw, leaned in, and kissed her.
Soft. Firm. Real.
When he pulled back, she blinked at him, dazed.
“…Sunghoon?”
“That was our first kiss,” he murmured. “Took you long enough to ask for it.”
The moment hung between them like steam from her untouched coffee.
Y/N swallowed. “So… you kissed me.”
“I did.”
“You walked back into the house to kiss me.”
“I did,” he repeated, this time softer.
She blinked. “…You’re insane.”
Sunghoon finally allowed a faint smile, like it physically hurt to let it curl onto his lips. “You asked.”
“I was joking.”
“You still asked.”
She couldn’t find a comeback fast enough. Her cheeks were warm—unreasonably warm—and her knees slightly unsteady, like they knew something her brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
He turned to leave again, just as quickly.
“Wait.”
He paused.
“You haven’t had breakfast,” she said. “Sit. I made eggs.”
“You’re wearing pajamas with dancing carrots on them.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
They ate in silence. Or, well, she ate while sneaking glances. Sunghoon sipped his coffee like nothing monumental had just occurred, like he hadn’t just turned back mid-commute to kiss his paper wife breathless.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, chin in her hand.
“That you forgot to toast the bread.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You kissed back.”
“Shut up.”
-
Three days later, chaos had a name.
And that name was Soobin, her cousin’s six-year-old.
Sunghoon stared at the child sitting cross-legged on their cream-colored couch with a crusty lollipop stuck to his palm and jam smeared under his nose.
“You’re kidding,” he said flatly. “You agreed to babysit him?”
Y/N shrugged, already chasing Soobin with baby wipes. “You weren’t supposed to be home until late, Mr. I-have-meetings.”
“I canceled one.”
“Why?”
Sunghoon didn’t answer.
Instead, he sat on the armchair with a long sigh, watching her scoop the kid up like she’d done it a hundred times. Soobin giggled and kicked, shouting something about pirates. Y/N snorted and tickled him, totally in her element—bright, soft, sunshine incarnate.
And something tight twisted in Sunghoon’s chest.
He had no idea what it was.
Maybe the part where she wasn’t his, not really. Not yet.
Soobin fell asleep in the guest room after hours of hyperactivity, a movie, and five bedtime stories.
Y/N collapsed on the couch, hair a mess, flour on her cheek.
Sunghoon, now in sweats, stood in the doorway with two mugs of hot chocolate. “You’re good with kids.”
She grinned. “Yeah? I’ll add that to my resume.”
A pause.
His face dropped just slightly. “Don’t.”
She blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t work.”
The air shifted.
“…Sunghoon?”
“You’re annoying,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Why are you applying for jobs when I can provide for both of us?”
She blinked, caught between confusion and amusement. “You saw my resume?”
“It was on your nightstand. You left it open like a trap.”
She scoffed. “You’ve been nagging about my spending lately. Thought I’d spare you the pain.”
He exhaled through his nose. “I’ll lie low on the nagging. Just stay here. Don’t work.”
She sat up, narrowing her eyes. “It’s embarrassing, relying on you like I’m a princess.”
“You are a princess,” he said, quiet. “My princess. So stay put and look pretty for me, hm?”
Her breath caught.
Sunghoon never flirted.
Not directly.
But this?
This was the equivalent of a dramatic serenade.
“Say that again,” she whispered, stunned.
“No.”
-
They were folding laundry together—domestic, mundane, routine.
She held up one of his button-downs and smiled to herself.
“You know,” she said lightly, “sometimes I think I love you.”
Sunghoon didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause.
Just reached for a towel and said, “Your softener’s too strong.”
She laughed. “You’re allergic to feelings, aren’t you?”
“I’m allergic to your nonsense.”
But when she turned, she caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye—soft, unreadable.
Like maybe he heard her.
Maybe he believed her.
Maybe it mattered.
-
Rain poured hard that night. Soobin had gone home, and her room’s ceiling had sprung a leak. Sunghoon found her standing in the hallway, pillow in hand, drenched and scowling.
“You look like a wet mop.”
“Your guest room smells like dusty textbooks.”
He stared.
She stared back.
Ten minutes later, they lay stiffly side by side on his bed, blanket drawn to their chins like a cartoon couple.
“This is ridiculous,” she mumbled, back to him.
“You’re the one who came in here.”
“Because you’re the husband. You’re legally obligated to protect me from mold and mildew.”
“Sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“…You smell nice.”
He groaned.
But ten minutes later, when she fell asleep and curled toward him without thinking, he didn’t move away.
She woke up warm.
Which was strange, because she never slept warm. Always threw off the blanket halfway through the night. Always ended up cold again by sunrise.
But today… warm.
Solid.
Secure.
Her eyes cracked open, and the first thing she saw was the curve of Sunghoon’s jaw.
He was still asleep.
On his side. Facing her. Arm loosely slung around her waist like it belonged there. Like it always had.
She didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.
His breathing was steady, his lips slightly parted, his forehead just barely touching hers.
And she… she was entirely still, afraid that if she moved, he’d wake and pull away and ruin the one soft, stolen thing they had.
So she just whispered, mostly to herself, “Sunghoon…”
He didn’t wake.
But his arm tightened.
Just a little.
Just enough to make her heart thud once, twice, too loud for her own chest.
-
He woke an hour later, blinked slowly, and seemed to realize their position all at once.
“You drooled,” he muttered hoarsely. “I did not.”
He didn’t argue, just pushed the blanket off and sat up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Your room’s still leaking.” She blinked, caught off-guard. “You remembered?”
“‘Course I did,” he said, already heading for the hallway. “I’ll fix it.”
“Wait—”
“Go make coffee.”
“Sunghoon, you can’t just—”
“Woman,” he warned without turning, “if you fall off a chair trying to duct tape the ceiling by yourself again, I’ll personally file a restraining order… against your stupidity.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. And then mumbled under her breath as she padded toward the kitchen, “…Yes, my loving husband.”
-
Half an hour later, she found him in her room, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp, standing on a ladder as he patched up the leak like he did it every weekend.
“You’re surprisingly handy,” she said, biting back a smile.
“I have depth.”
“Who knew?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dragging over her slowly. “You wore that to say thank you?”
She blinked, then looked down at her oversized tee and sleep shorts. “This is my ‘I’m not climbing a ladder again’ outfit.” He smirked. “Try again. Maybe something with lace next time.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She tossed a pillow at him.
He caught it one-handed, still perched on the ladder like some stupidly hot handyman from a drama. “Is this our thing now? You act helpless, and I come fix your life?”
She shrugged. “You are a reliable husband. I might start leaking things on purpose.”
“I’m deducting that from your allowance.”
“You don’t give me an allowance.”
“Exactly.”
-
It started with a doorbell.
Well, more specifically, it started with Heeseung.
Heeseung, her old classmate, recently back in town, and far too friendly for Sunghoon’s liking.
He was at their door holding two cups of iced coffee and a bag of takeout. “You said you’d been craving this place, remember?”
She blinked, a little startled, but smiled. “Oh—you didn’t have to—”
“Come on. You basically drooled describing their dumplings. Let me treat you.”
From behind her, a voice like gravel dragged over stone cut through the air.
“She’s already eaten.”
Heeseung stiffened. So did she.
She turned around, eyes wide. “Sunghoon?”
He leaned against the doorframe, hair still slightly damp from a shower, white T-shirt clinging to his chest, arms crossed, gaze calm—too calm.
“She had lunch with me,” Sunghoon added evenly, like it was a daily tradition instead of a rare win in his favor. “Right, wife?”
Her brain sputtered. “Um. Yeah. I made him pasta.”
“Homemade. Creamy.” He tilted his head at Heeseung. “Not that fast food junk you brought.”
She gawked at him. Sunghoon—
Heeseung blinked, then laughed awkwardly. “Ah… right, of course. You two. Married.” His eyes darted to hers, teasing. “Guess I’ll have to find another lunch date.”
“Guess you will,” Sunghoon said before she could answer.
He shut the door gently but firmly after Heeseung turned away, and then turned to her with a look that said everything and nothing.
She crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”
“What?” He looked annoyingly innocent. “Didn’t like your guest?”
“You didn’t even let me answer!”
“You were going to say yes.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t feel like sharing.”
She stared at him.
Hard.
And then, slowly, a smile curled on her lips. “Is this jealousy I’m hearing, Mr. Logical?”
He didn’t flinch. “I just don’t like other men feeding my wife.”
“Feeding?”
“Bringing you food. Talking to you like he knows what you like.” He stepped closer, voice lower. “That’s my job.”
Her breath caught.
“You don’t even kiss me goodbye,” she whispered.
“I came back and did, didn’t I?”
She bit her lip. “You sure Heeseung didn’t wake something up in you?”
He leaned in, nose almost brushing hers. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It woke up a real urge to remind you whose ring you’re wearing.”
“Oh?”
He looked down at her, gaze flicking to her mouth. “Should I?”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Sunghoon.”
His mouth brushed the corner of hers, barely a touch, just enough to make her whole body tilt toward him.
“I’m not sharing you,” he said softly.
She found him on the balcony, leaning against the railing, sipping a drink, looking like he belonged in a moody movie.
She stepped up beside him, shoulder bumping his.
“Still brooding?” “Just making sure you’re not texting your new suitor.”
She laughed. “You’re the only suitor I’m legally bound to.”
He glanced at her. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
He hesitated. “You’ve been mine since before the paperwork.”
She blinked. “That’s not very romantic, Hoon.”
“It is,” he said, voice low. “If you knew how often I thought about you before we got married.”
“…Wait, what?”
But he didn’t answer. Just bumped her glass with his and turned away, that damn unreadable smile on his face again.
-
She knew something was off the moment she woke up.
Her skin felt too hot. Her head too heavy. Her limbs? Useless. Like she’d been run over by a truck, reversed on, and then left out in the rain.
Which was, funnily enough, exactly what happened last night when she got caught in a downpour on the way home because she insisted on buying a cake to surprise Sunghoon.
Idiot. She should’ve just let the man eat his boring office fruit platter.
Now, here she was, cocooned in blankets and positively melting, while the sunlight mocked her through the windows.
Her phone buzzed.
[10:23AM] HOON:
Did you eat?
She squinted at the screen and typed with slow fingers.
[10:24AM] You:
does soup air count
Three dots.
Then—
[10:25AM] HOON:
I’m coming home.
[10:25AM] You:
nooo
u said big meetings today
dont come i’m fine i’m just a lil cooked
[10:25AM] HOON:
Woman. You can barely text.
You’re obviously dying.
I’m leaving in five.
Thirty minutes later, the front door swung open with the drama of a K-drama husband mid-climax.
“Y/N?” Sunghoon called, setting down a plastic bag and tossing his coat on the chair.
“Bedroom,” she croaked weakly from the covers.
He appeared at the door a moment later, eyebrows knitting the second he saw her.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” she rasped. “Just what every sick wife wants to hear.”
He crouched down beside the bed and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. His jaw clenched.
“You’re burning up.”
“Hot girl era.”
“Delusional,” he muttered, already pulling out a thermometer from the bag. “Sit up.”
She grumbled but obeyed, swaying slightly. He caught her shoulder without a word and held her steady as he tucked the thermometer under her tongue.
She blinked at him. “Why do you have a thermometer in your work bag?”
“I stopped at a pharmacy, genius.”
She smiled, eyes half-lidded. “You’re such a good husband. My personal caretaker.”
“You’re so annoying,” he muttered. But he stayed kneeling there beside the bed, his hand still on her shoulder. When the thermometer beeped, he checked it, then exhaled sharply.
“You’re not dying,” he said. “Yet.”
“Oh good,” she whispered. “I wanted to be dramatic a little longer.” He rolled his eyes and stood. “Rest. I’ll make you something.”
Her brows lifted. “You can cook?”
“I can heat soup. Don’t push it.”
-
Twenty minutes later, she was propped up in bed with a tray in front of her — porridge, water, and a sliced apple arranged with uncharacteristic precision.
She blinked down at it.
“Sunghoon…”
“What.”
“You cut the apple like a flower.”
He didn’t look up from where he was placing medicine next to her cup. “I followed the internet.”
“You watched a tutorial?!”
He turned, deadpan. “Eat, or I’ll shove it down your throat.” She beamed, heart too warm for someone with a fever. “You love me.”
He didn’t respond.
But later, when he sat at the foot of the bed rubbing her calves through the blanket — muttering about poor blood circulation and “don’t make it weird” — she let herself believe it a little.
-
That Night
She had drifted off at some point mid-evening, and when she stirred awake again, the room was dim and quiet — the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm shadow across her comforter.
Sunghoon was still there. In the chair beside the bed. Asleep. Neck bent at an awful angle, mouth slightly open. And in his lap — a book she’d mentioned wanting to read.
She didn’t even know he listened when she talked about those things.
Her chest ached for reasons beyond the fever.
She reached out, brushing her fingertips over his hand, and whispered, “Hey.”
He stirred, eyelids fluttering open. “You okay?”
She smiled sleepily. “You stayed.”
He frowned like it was the dumbest thing she could’ve said. “Obviously.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. “You’re kind of…my favorite person, you know.”
He shifted forward, brushing her hair back off her forehead.
“Sleep,” he said, low and soft. “…You’ll still be here?”
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes.
And heard him whisper, barely audible, just as she was slipping away—
“I’d rather be here than anywhere else.”
-
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the humidifier he’d set up beside her bed, and the rustle of the blanket as she turned over, bleary-eyed and pouty.
“Sunghoon…” she whined.
He looked up from his seat, brows lifted. “What now?”
She sniffled pitifully. “I want a kiss.”
A beat of silence.
Then: “You have a fever of 38.6°C. Absolutely not.”
She pouted deeper. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being reasonable,” he deadpanned, setting down his book again. “Do you want both of us sick?”
“I want affection,” she muttered, curling deeper into the blanket. “My immune system is suffering, and so is my heart.”
He exhaled through his nose, dragged a hand over his face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m dying and all I want is one kiss from my cold, emotionally unavailable husband—”
He stood.
She paused mid-sentence, wide-eyed, as he leaned over her slowly, bracing one hand beside her pillow. His face hovered inches above hers, expression unreadable.
“Still want it?” he asked, voice low. She nodded, lips slightly parted.
“…Okay,” he said, brushing her hair back gently before pressing the lightest, briefest kiss to her forehead.
Her face scrunched.
“That wasn’t a real kiss.”
“That’s the only one you’re getting, unless you want me coughing next to you in two days,” he muttered.
“But—”
“Sleep,” he said, already sitting back down and picking up his book.
She grumbled into the pillow for a minute. But ten minutes later, right before she drifted off again, she felt something warm press against the edge of her jaw — a quick, stolen kiss.
And his voice, barely audible:
“You’re lucky I like you.”
Three days later, she was no longer dying. Not technically.
The fever was gone. The cough had turned from death rattle to soft wheeze. She had regained control of her limbs and, unfortunately for Sunghoon, her mouth.
She stretched dramatically in the kitchen doorway, still in her oversized pajama shirt, hair a little messy, but cheeks no longer flushed with fever. “Guess who’s back from the brink of death?”
Sunghoon, halfway through pouring coffee, didn’t even look up. “You’re supposed to rest for two more days.”
“I rested for three,” she whined, padding toward him. “And you barely let me move. I’ve had enough sleep to last a lifetime.”
“Still pale.”
“Still dramatic,” she countered, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and pressing her cheek to his back. “You can’t stop me from loving you now. I’m alive and dangerous.”
He went very still.
“…You’re clingier when you’re sick,” he muttered.
“I’m clingier now because I remember how nice you were when I was sick,” she replied smugly, swaying side to side as she hugged him tighter. “You fed me apple slices, Park Sunghoon. You cut them like a flower. That’s love.”
“It was survival,” he said. “You were pathetic.”
She gasped. “I was endearing! Helpless. Cute. A damsel.”
“You drooled on your pillow.”
“Yet you stayed. Slept in that chair like my own personal nurse. Don’t act unaffected.” He turned around, prying her arms off him — but not fully letting go.
Instead, he held her wrists gently, brows furrowed like she was some science experiment he couldn’t quite figure out. “You’re warm.”
“Lingering heat of passion.”
“Leftover fever.”
She grinned. “Maybe. You should kiss me again to check.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’ll infect me.”
“I’m not sick anymore,” she said sweetly, leaning in. “Doctor cleared me.”
“You are the doctor. You gave yourself a thumbs up in the mirror.” She leaned even closer, her lips inches from his. “Then what’s stopping you?”
A long pause. His eyes flicked to her mouth, then back up.
“…You’re insufferable.”
But then he tilted his head and kissed her anyway — brief, sure, but unmistakably real.
When he pulled back, she was smiling like she’d won the lottery.
“Told you I was dangerous.”
He rolled his eyes. “Finish your soup.”
“You didn’t make soup.”
“I will if you stop talking for five minutes.”
She beamed and followed him around the kitchen like a duckling while he sighed deeply, like a man under siege — but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
-
It started with pancakes.
She had insisted she was “well enough to contribute to society again,” which apparently meant trying to make brunch while blasting a playlist called “Wife Era Energy” through the apartment speakers.
Sunghoon had been content sipping his coffee and scrolling through emails at the dining table—until he heard the smoke alarm beep once.
He looked up. “What are you burning?”
“Nothing!” she shouted too quickly from the kitchen.
He stood slowly. “Don’t lie. That’s the pre-scream of the smoke alarm.”
“I’m doing fine!” she insisted, flipping something aggressively in the pan. “It just got a little toasty on one side.”
When he walked over, she was waving a spatula at a barely-rescued pancake. It was shaped like a blobfish.
He blinked. “What is that.”
“A heart.”
He stared at it. “No, it isn’t.”
“It was until I flipped it and it broke. Like your heart, when I inevitably leave you for a Michelin star chef who respects my pancake artistry.” “I’m not letting you near chefs,” he said dryly. “You fall in love too easily.”
“You wish,” she teased, reaching over to boop his nose with flour-dusted fingers. “You jealous, Mr. Husband?”
He dodged late, leaving a faint white smudge on his nose. “Stop flirting while cooking. It’s dangerous.”
“You’re dangerous,” she replied with a wink, spinning to pour more batter into the pan.
He reached around her a second later, casually adjusting the heat on the stove.
“Too high,” he muttered. “You’ll burn the next one, too.”
She turned her head slightly. “Oh? And you’re an expert now?”
“I’m a man who doesn’t want to eat carbon.”
“Touché.”
They moved awkwardly around each other after that — him “supervising,” her swatting him away whenever he hovered too close.
But somehow, they ended up at the sink together. She was washing the bowl; he was rinsing strawberries. Their elbows bumped. Twice.
“Move,” he said.
“You move.”
“I’m doing you a favor.”
“I made you a pancake that looks like emotional baggage. That’s real love.”
He looked at her sideways. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yet here you are, still next to me.”
“…You’re messy,” he added, flicking a tiny drop of water onto her cheek.
She gasped. “Sunghoon!”
“That’s for booping me earlier.”
“You want war?”
“I want quiet.”
She reached over and flicked water back. He retaliated. The strawberry bowl wobbled dangerously. Somehow, her floury hands got on his black shirt.
“You’ve signed a death wish,” he muttered darkly, grabbing a dish towel and tossing it over her head.
She shrieked, yanking it off, laughing breathlessly.
By the time the pancakes were plated — heart-ish blobs and all — the kitchen looked like a flour bomb had gone off. Sunghoon sat down, deadpan, as she placed the plate in front of him with both hands and a dramatic bow.
“Your brunch, kind sir.”
He looked up at her with the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re exhausting.”
She leaned in with a cheeky grin. “You love it.”
He didn’t deny it.
-
It happened quietly.
She had been sitting on the couch, wrapping herself in a blanket like it was armor against the cold air creeping in through the open window. Sunghoon was at the dining table, going through paperwork — his usual stance, focused, detached. He wasn’t ignoring her. No, that would’ve been easier. He just didn’t know how to make it known how often his thoughts shifted from the files to her in the most unexpected moments.
She had been staring at him for what felt like forever, as if this moment was building up to something that didn’t need to be said. But there it was, sitting unspoken in the space between them.
“Sunghoon,” she said, voice softer than usual.
He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”
“I love you.”
He froze, pen in hand, posture stiffening as the words echoed in the air between them. His fingers tightened around the pen for a split second before he set it down, his gaze flicking over to her.
She was staring at him with that quiet sincerity, the kind she only reserved for when she meant it. It wasn’t a playful confession. She wasn’t expecting anything from him. She just needed to say it.
“I love you,” she repeated, this time a little more gently, eyes unwavering.
There was a beat of silence.
And then, his lips curved into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but held warmth in its own way — the kind that was hidden beneath layers of restraint. He leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest, and gave her a look that was impossible to decipher.
“I care for you,” he said, voice low but steady. He wasn’t looking at her fully, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. But there was a soft edge to the way he spoke.
She blinked. “That’s it?” He met her eyes now, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “I can’t say it like you do.”
Her heart stilled for a moment as the words sunk in. He didn’t say it back. But… he cared. He was always showing it in his own way. The small things. The way he made sure she was fed, the way he checked if she was warm enough, the way his hand lingered a little too long whenever he touched her — things that didn’t need to be said.
“I know,” she whispered, a soft smile curving onto her lips. “I know, Sunghoon.”
He didn’t offer a word in return, but he stood up, closing the gap between them. He didn’t kiss her. Not yet.
Instead, he cupped her face with the palm of his hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek gently. His gaze softened just enough for her to catch the hint of something real, something more than just the surface.
“You know, I don’t need to say it to show it,” he murmured, voice low and quiet. “But I’ll show you in every other way I can.”
She didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say. She leaned into his hand, letting his touch speak for itself.
It became a quiet thing between them.
She would say I love you like it was breathing — soft, natural, often when he least expected it.
Like when she handed him a coffee cup in the morning, still half-asleep herself, and mumbled, “Love you,” into the rim of her mug.
Or when he helped her zip up her jacket before she ran out to the grocery store, and she peeked up at him with a casual, “Thanks. I love you.”
Each time, Sunghoon’s answer changed.
-
The first time she said it in public, it was offhanded, thrown over her shoulder as she jogged to the car ahead of him.
“Don’t forget your keys! Love you!”
Sunghoon, walking a few steps behind, froze in place. The valet turned to look at him, amused. He blinked once, adjusted his collar, and muttered under his breath, “I care for her. Deeply.”
“You can just say it,” she teased once they were alone in the car. “It’s not a curse.”
“I don’t say things I can’t take back,” he replied without looking at her.
“You make it sound like loving me is a life sentence.”
He gave her a glance. “More like a lifetime contract.”
She grinned. “Aww. That’s so you.”
-
Another night, they were doing dishes together — her drying, him washing. She bumped her hip against his to get his attention, then leaned in just a bit too close.
“Love you.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“You like it.”
He sighed, lips twitching. “Unfortunately.”
“You should say it sometime,” she said, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Just once. For scientific purposes.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set the dish down, turned to face her, and with hands still dripping, reached up to tuck a damp curl behind her ear.
“I care for you,” he said, serious this time. “In ways I didn’t plan for.”
That shut her up more effectively than a kiss might have.
-
One late evening, curled up together on the couch with her head in his lap, she looked up with a sleepy smile and whispered, “I love you.”
He looked down at her, his fingers gently combing through her hair.
“I know,” he murmured.
Her brows furrowed. “You sound like Han Solo.”
“Who?”
“Uncultured.”
But she was smiling as she said it, because his hand never stopped moving — gentle and constant.
-
Then there were the in-between moments.
Like when she burnt her hand trying to grab a hot tray, and he all but shoved her into a chair to bandage it.
“You’re reckless,” he scolded, voice clipped.
“You’re worried,” she countered, lips quirked.
“I care for you,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.
“Then kiss it better.”
He did.
And sometimes, the words came out of nowhere.
Like when he poured her a glass of water without being asked, or when she caught him folding her laundry because “you mix the socks up every time.”
“I love you,” she’d say softly.
Sunghoon, as always, wouldn’t say it back.
But he would look at her like the world began and ended in the space she took up.
And sometimes, when she was already asleep, he would whisper it against her shoulder as he pulled the blanket over them both.
-
It happened slowly.
Not with a fight. Not even with a sigh. Just… silence.
For the first time in weeks, she didn’t say I love you when he handed her coffee.
She just nodded, murmured a distracted “Thanks,” and went back to whatever she was doing.
At first, Sunghoon didn’t notice. Not really. He was too caught up in the tangle of deadlines and phone calls, and she was still there — still smiling, still joking, still cooking and humming and curling up on the couch like usual.
But the words were missing.
No “I love you” when he zipped up her coat.
No “I love you” when she left for errands.
Not even a cheeky one when she caught him watching her during dinner.
It took him three days to realize it. And another two to feel the weight of it.
Because once he noticed, it was everywhere.
Like the night she made his favorite kimchi stew, spicy and rich the way he liked it, and set the bowl in front of him without a word. She smiled at him when he looked up — the same smile she always gave. But it didn’t reach her eyes.
And when he muttered a quiet “Thanks,” she only nodded. No teasing reply. No flirty banter.
Just silence.
-
She was getting tired.
Tired of always being the one to reach out first.
Tired of baring her heart in soft laughter and lingering glances only to be met with his closed-off silences and half-answers.
Tired of carrying all the feelings like a secret between her ribs.
He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t cold. He cared — she knew he did.
But some days, she wanted to stop having to translate his version of affection. Some days, she wanted him to meet her halfway without being pushed.
So she dialed it back.
No more casual I love yous.
No more waiting for a reply that never came.
-
Sunghoon realized it fully one night while brushing his teeth. She walked past him in the mirror, mumbling, “Good night,” before disappearing into the bedroom.
Just good night.
Not Love you. Sleep well. Don’t stay up too late again.
Just… good night.
He spat the toothpaste into the sink and stared at his reflection, the silence in the apartment pressing in like a fog.
It wasn’t like her.
Not his sunshine girl who wore her heart like earrings, loud and proud and pretty.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t sad.
She was just quiet.
And somehow, that scared him more than any confrontation would have.
-
That night, he climbed into bed beside her, careful not to wake her. She was turned away, curled into herself, her breathing slow and steady. Her back faced him — something she never used to do.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, his hand twitching with the urge to reach out.
He didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Because the silence between them was louder than ever.
The silence didn’t end the next day.
Or the day after that.
She still smiled, still asked if he’d be home for dinner, still offered him half of her strawberry milk when she brought one home from the store.
But there were no more I love yous.
Not in the mornings when he slipped on his coat.
Not in the texts she sent asking if he was eating well.
Not in the soft looks she used to give him from across the dinner table, the ones that used to make his stomach twist in ways he didn’t understand.
The words were gone.
And now that he’d noticed, it was like living without background music. The silence rang in his ears.
-
He tested it a few times.
Walked past her in the kitchen one morning, brushing his fingers against her lower back — something he didn’t do often — just to see if she’d respond with her usual flirty, “If you’re gonna touch me like that, at least say good morning properly.”
But all she said was, “Want eggs or just toast?”
Neutral. Not cold. Not distant. Just… tired.
He hated it.
It got worse at night.
They still shared a bed — ever since the leak in her room weeks ago, she never moved back. But she’d started curling up at the edge now, wrapped tight in her blanket like a cocoon.
She used to press her feet to his legs and grin when he flinched.
Used to steal his pillow and pretend it was hers.
Used to whisper love you when the lights were off, like it was just a fact of life.
But lately?
Nothing.
Just her soft breathing, turned away from him. Like she didn’t have the energy to try anymore.
-
A week into the silence, Sunghoon opened their group text with his mom and hers. He scrolled back weeks, looking at her bubbly replies and endless hearts and the little selfies she used to send when he stayed late at the office.
He hadn’t realized how often she’d reached for him.
How many times she tried.
How little he gave her in return.
The guilt was slow, but steady. Like water wearing down a stone.
-
On the ninth day, she made pancakes. His favorite, golden on the outside and fluffy in the middle, with just the right amount of syrup.
He stared at the plate.
“…Why?”
She blinked at him. “You don’t like pancakes anymore?”
“No, I—” he stopped, throat tight. “You haven’t cooked like this in a while.”
She just shrugged, flipping another one for herself. “Had extra time.”
No teasing. No smug little Because I love you, dummy. No request for a kiss as payment.
Just pancakes.
He hated how quiet her eyes looked.
-
By day ten, he started talking more, just to fill the silence.
“How was your day?”
“Did that delivery ever arrive?”
“I saw that place you wanted to visit reopened.”
She answered. Always.
But her eyes didn’t linger on his.
And she never asked about his day back.
-
By day eleven, she fell asleep on the couch.
And for a moment, Sunghoon just stood there, watching her breathe.
She always looked smaller when she slept — like the world didn’t sit on her shoulders when her eyes were closed.
Without thinking, he crouched down in front of her and gently pushed her hair out of her face.
She stirred a little. Eyes fluttered. But she didn’t wake.
He hovered there for a long moment, biting the inside of his cheek.
Then, quietly — so soft it barely reached the room — he said,
“I care for you.” She didn’t hear it. Of course she didn’t.
He was always too late. Sunghoon was used to figuring things out quickly.
Contracts. Mergers. Timelines. He’d spent his life solving problems with quiet efficiency and minimal fuss.
But somehow — when it came to her — he had been painfully, devastatingly slow. Because it wasn’t until she stopped trying that he realized how much she had been holding them together.
And how badly he’d taken it all for granted.
-
It started with breakfast.
He was not a morning person. Not even close.
But one Tuesday, he got up earlier than he needed to, quietly padded into the kitchen, and scrambled eggs the way she liked — soft, creamy, slightly cheesy.
When she walked in, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, she froze at the sight of him at the stove.
He didn’t look at her.
Just slid a plate across the counter.
“I added chives,” he muttered. “You like chives.”
She stared at the food. Then at him.
“…You okay?” “I’m fine.”
She blinked, hesitated, then gave a small, cautious smile. “Thanks.”
He didn’t expect the way his chest warmed just from hearing that.
-
Next came the flowers.
Not grand bouquets. Not showy centerpieces.
Just little bundles from the market she liked — baby’s breath and peonies, sometimes daisies. Whatever looked the most like her.
He never said much when he gave them. Just left them on the dining table or kitchen counter with the receipts already thrown out.
But she noticed. Every time.
She’d pause, fingers brushing the petals, eyes going soft for just a second before schooling her face again.
-
And then he started kissing her more.
At first it was awkward — short, stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to be casual about it.
But over time, it became habit.
A kiss on the temple before she sat down to read.
One at the crown of her head when she yawned too loudly.
A soft one at the corner of her lips when she passed him the remote.
She never asked anymore.
But she never pulled away either.
-
The hardest part, though — the one he’d danced around for far too long — was the words.
He could build a company. Run numbers in his head like equations. Predict a market shift months in advance.
But this?
This was terrifying. Because he could lose deals and bounce back.
But if he said it, and it wasn’t enough?
If she looked at him and smiled politely, like it was too late? He didn’t know what he’d do with that.
Still. She deserved it.
And maybe — just maybe — he needed it too.
It happened on a Sunday.
They were cleaning up after dinner, her humming some tune he couldn’t name, the sleeves of her sweatshirt bunched around her elbows as she rinsed plates.
He dried in silence. Watching.
Noticing. She didn’t glance his way. Didn’t ask how the stew turned out. Didn’t lean into him like she used to.
And he couldn’t take it anymore.
“…I love you.”
She paused.
The plate in her hand stilled under the running water. Her head tilted just slightly, eyes still down.
Then — a beat later — she hummed.
Low. Neutral. Nonchalant. Just like he used to do.
And it wrecked him.
Because he finally understood what it felt like to say something real and get nothing in return. But he didn’t regret it. Not one bit.
Because for the first time, he was reaching.
Finally.
He told her he loved her.
And she hummed. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t smile. Just turned off the faucet, dried the plate, and walked past him like he hadn’t just said the most vulnerable thing of his adult life.
Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, towel clenched in his hand, heart pounding. So that’s what it felt like.
He didn’t chase after her.
He just cleaned the rest of the dishes and accepted it — not because he was giving up, but because he wasn’t. This wasn’t a race to win. It was a mess he made, and he was going to sit in it.
And fix it.
Even if it took forever.
-
The next few days, he didn’t back off.
If anything, he doubled down — not with desperation, but with patience.nHe kissed her forehead when he left for work. Sent photos of his lunch like usual, except now with dumb captions.
Does this chicken look dry or is it just my soul without you? She replied with a deadpan emoji, but it made him grin.
He brought her chocolate milk on the way home, the exact brand she liked.
He left notes around the house. Nothing dramatic. Just little Post-its on her mirror:
You looked really pretty last night. Don’t forget your umbrella.
I love you, by the way. Still.
Each one disappeared without a word. He had no idea if she kept them. But he kept writing.
-
And then she got petty.
Playfully so. He came home one night to find she’d left a single sticky note on his pillow.
“You forgot to kiss me again. Tragic.”
His jaw actually dropped.
Not at the note, but at the doodle of a tiny broken heart beside it. He marched into the kitchen, where she was munching on strawberries, and kissed her — firm and full on the lips — until she squeaked.
Then she shoved a berry in his mouth before walking away with a smug, “Took you long enough.”
He laughed. Actually laughed.
God, he missed her like this.
-
Things eased.
Softened.
She started saying goodnight again. Started stealing bites of his food like old times. Started kicking his feet under the table.
And then one night — finally — she kissed him first. They were brushing their teeth. Just standing there, side by side, spitting and rinsing like two semi-functioning adults. And she suddenly leaned up, wiped a bit of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth with her thumb, and kissed him.
A soft, warm press. Her lips tasted like mint and relief.She didn’t say anything after. Just walked back to bed, braid swinging behind her.
He stood in the bathroom like an idiot for a full minute.
The next morning, she didn’t say “I love you.”
But she packed his lunch. With a tiny heart drawn in sharpie on the container.
And when he kissed her goodbye — longer than usual, slower — she sighed against his mouth like she meant it.
“You’re not going to make me say it back first, are you?” she mumbled. Sunghoon smirked. “Nah. You already did.”
“When?”
“The moment you kissed me with toothpaste breath.” She groaned and tried to shove him out the door. He went, laughing.
And for the first time in a long time, they both felt like they were home.
-
It started with a tweet.
She didn’t even know he had seen it — a late-night repost of a fluffy white puppy chewing on a sock, captioned “I’m not a mom yet but I’d kill for this little guy.”
She thought nothing of it. Just something cute during a bout of insomnia.
But Sunghoon saw it. And Sunghoon — logical, calculated, definitely not a dog person Sunghoon — did not scroll past.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then quietly messaged someone. And two days later, on a random Friday, he came home with something moving in a blanket.
She was sprawled on the couch in sweats, rewatching her comfort drama with a blanket over her legs and a half-eaten snack bowl on the floor.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hmm?” she blinked, eyes still on the screen. “You’re home early.”
“No meetings this afternoon.”
“Oh. Nice.”
He walked over, expression unreadable. “Got you something.” That caught her attention.
Her head turned slowly. “What kind of something?”
He didn’t say anything. Just set the bundle down on the couch beside her.
She peered over the edge. And gasped.
It was tiny. Fluffy. Blindingly white. With the roundest black eyes and floppy ears and a pink tongue that immediately tried to lick her fingers.
“A… a puppy?” Her voice cracked. “Is this a joke?”
He looked a little sheepish. “You tweeted about wanting one.” Her eyes snapped up. “You saw that?”
“I see everything you post.”
She blinked. Heart thudding.
Then back to the dog. Then to him.
“Wait—is this ours?”
“…Yours. But yeah.”
She let out an undignified squeal and scooped the pup into her arms, practically crying as it wriggled and yipped and climbed all over her chest.
“Oh my God, you are so cute,” she cooed, completely ignoring her husband now. “Look at your little paws. I’m naming you—wait. No. Let me think.”
Sunghoon just stood there, watching her melt.
And for once… he didn’t mind the chaos.
Didn’t mind the little paw prints already on the couch.
Didn’t mind the way her laugh cracked too loud or how she immediately started talking in a baby voice.
Because it was hers. And he had made it happen.
She looked up at him, eyes glossy. “You really got me a puppy?” He shrugged, like it was nothing.
“You said you’d kill for one,” he said flatly. “Figured this was safer.”
She stared at him.
And then—without warning—launched herself forward and kissed him. Fierce and unfiltered and full of everything she hadn’t said in days.
The puppy yipped between them in protest, but she didn’t care. Neither did he.
When she pulled back, breathless, she whispered, “I love you.”
And this time, he didn’t hesitate.
“I love you more.”
-
“You’re spoiling him.”
“You bought him.”
Sunghoon stood in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed as he stared at his wife and the small white puppy now fast asleep in a ridiculously tiny cable-knit sweater.
It was baby blue.
With a hood.
“You let him sleep on the bed,” he said, accusatory.
“He has tiny legs!” she said, scandalized. “He gets cold! What kind of monster would make him sleep alone?”
Sunghoon blinked. “He has a bed. A memory foam one. That cost more than my office chair.”
She gasped dramatically. “How dare you say that in front of him?” He stared down at the puppy. It snored softly. Dreaming, probably, of chewing through another pair of his socks.
“Great. He’s spoiled and entitled,” Sunghoon muttered.
But he still crouched down and covered the dog gently with the edge of the throw blanket before walking off.
It didn’t take long.
He cracked faster than she did.
One morning, she woke up to find Sunghoon curled around the puppy, his usually perfect hair an utter mess, one arm under the dog’s round body, the other draped protectively over it.
She snapped a photo.
He didn’t even flinch.
“Don’t show anyone,” he muttered.
“You look like a proud single mother in a 90s drama.”
“Woman—”
“My princess,” she corrected sweetly, poking his cheek. “Get used to the third wheel. He’s sleeping in the middle now.”
He grumbled.And kissed her temple anyway.
They split the duties. Sort of.
She handled the outfits. The vet appointments. The excessive toy collection.
He handled the training — which meant he paced the hallway at 1AM with a leash and muttered “go potty” under his breath while the dog just rolled in the grass.
“You’re soft now,” she teased one night as she caught him lying on the floor teaching the dog to sit.
He glanced up, a treat in his hand. “No, I’m not.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He tried again. “I’m just committed to excellence.”
“You call him ‘son’.”
Sunghoon looked at the puppy.
The puppy barked once.
He caved.
“…He’s my son.”
Their conversations shifted.
“Did he eat today?”
“He pooped twice. Solid. Good color.”
“Where’s his giraffe toy? He only sleeps with the giraffe—NO, NOT THAT ONE, THE ONE WITH THE WONKY EYE.”
She caught him one evening scrolling through his phone and smiling.
“Looking at pics of me?”
“No.”
“Other girls?”
“…No.”
“Wait—are you looking at him?”
He turned the screen.
The puppy. Wearing a bib. Sitting in a tiny high chair.
“I love him,” Sunghoon admitted, eyes soft.
She climbed into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. “I know. You’re a good dad.”
He kissed her nose. “Still not letting him lick my face.”
Five minutes later, the dog was licking his face.
-
One night, they were curled on the couch — her legs thrown over his, puppy stretched across both their laps. The TV played something forgettable in the background.
“You’ve changed,” she said suddenly, gaze soft.
He tilted his head. “For the worse?”
“For the better.”
He didn’t respond right away.
But then he leaned in and kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Soft, slow presses like punctuation marks between thoughts.
“I just needed time,” he murmured.
“And a dog,” she said into his neck, grinning.
He huffed a laugh. “And a wife who never gave up.”
She smiled.
The puppy snored.
And for the first time in a long time, Sunghoon felt like he had everything he didn’t even know he wanted — all piled on one couch in soft blankets and too much love.
-
It was supposed to be a normal day.
She wasn’t snooping.
She was just being helpful, cleaning out Sunghoon’s office while he was in meetings all morning. He worked too hard, let the clutter build — old folders, dust, half-drunk coffee cups. She was humming while she dusted the bookshelf, hair tied up, a warm cup of tea waiting on the desk for him.
Then she found it.
Tucked under a stack of signed contracts, in the back of the drawer he usually kept locked.
A folded document with bold letters.
Mutual Agreement for Marriage Termination.
At first, she just… stared.
She re-read the words.
Twice. Thrice.
Marriage. Termination.
Her hands started to shake.
She didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
Just folded it back as neatly as it was and placed it on the center of his desk like it had been waiting for a confrontation. And then she sat on the couch. Quiet. Still. Puppy in her lap, sensing the shift in her mood, nuzzling her thigh.
She didn’t even pet him back. When Sunghoon came home an hour later, the air felt wrong instantly.
“Babe?” he called, loosening his tie. “You—”
His eyes fell on the paper. Then on her. And everything stopped.
She lifted her gaze, voice barely above a whisper. “What is this?”
He opened his mouth.Closed it.
Ran a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. “I was cleaning,” she said, trying to stay even. “I didn’t mean to find it. But now I have. So—what is this?”
He exhaled sharply. “It’s not what you think.”
“It says termination, Sunghoon.” “I know what it says.” His voice broke a little. “It’s just old. From before.”
She swallowed. “From before what?” He looked like he wanted to bolt. But instead, he walked forward, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. “Are you okay,” he said softly, “with just being married on paper?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her, elbows on his knees. “That was the plan, right? From the beginning. Just pretend. Sign the papers. Merge the families. Move on eventually.” Her lip trembled, but she bit it hard. “Things changed.” “Yeah,” he said. Quiet. “They did.”
Then his hand reached out and took hers.
“I fell in love with you.”
She blinked. “I didn’t mean to,” he went on. “Didn’t plan to. But every day, you… you made it harder not to.” She shook her head, overwhelmed. “Then what is that document—?”
“I was going to propose,” he said, tone suddenly desperate. “I have this whole plan—something stupid and elaborate. With the dog and your favorite flowers and I even bought a fucking ring that’s been sitting in my desk at work because I wanted it to be perfect.”
Her breath hitched.
“I forgot I had that draft,” he muttered. “I meant to shred it weeks ago. But work got in the way and then you started smiling at me like I was your whole world and I thought—‘she doesn’t even know yet, but soon.’”
She stared at him.
Eyes wide. Disbelieving.
“I was going to ask you to really marry me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “To stay with me. Forever. Not just in documents. Not just because our families said so.”
He reached up, fingers brushing her cheek.
“Fuck,” he said again, softer this time. “Baby, please pretend you didn’t see that.”
Silence. Long. Heavy. Then—
“I wasn’t going to leave,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I thought we were finally okay.”
“We are.” He cupped her face now, both hands, like she was something fragile he had broken. “We’re better than okay. I just—I wanted to do this right.”
Her voice trembled. “And now?”
“Now?” he kissed her forehead. “Now I have to earn your yes before I lose you again.” She let out a weak laugh, watery and shaking.
“You could’ve just used the puppy again.”
He smiled — small, guilty. “I still might.”
She nudged his chest lightly, the tiniest hint of playfulness peeking through the ache in her chest. “Also, you’re swearing a lot. For someone who always tells me off for saying ‘shit’ when I stub my toe.”
Sunghoon groaned softly, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah, well. You found the one thing that made me forget my own rules.” She smirked, eyes still glassy. “Tsk. You’re such a hypocrite, husband. What would our parents say?”
“They’d say,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, “I’m in love with my wife, and I’m scared shitless I just ruined everything.” She gasped. “Again? There you go! That’s two!”
He gave her a flat look, but she caught the corner of his lips twitching. “Swearing Sunghoon,” she teased gently, poking his chest. “You’ve really lost it.”
“I’ve always been the sane one,” he muttered, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “And then you walked into my life calling me dumb pet names and putting flowers in the bathroom.”
“You liked the flowers,” she whispered, eyes soft.
“I loved the flowers,” he said. “I love everything you do.” And this time, she didn’t tease him back. This time, she let it settle. Let the words reach where they always failed to before.
“I hate that you were scared to tell me,” she admitted.
“I hate that I waited this long,” he replied. “I should’ve said it the day I kissed you goodbye and drove back just to do it right.”
“Still the best kiss,” she muttered.
“Oh?” He leaned in, nose brushing hers. “Want a better one?”
“…Maybe,” she whispered, letting her eyes fall shut.
And this time, when he kissed her — it wasn’t out of obligation, or affection hidden beneath sarcasm. It wasn’t a favor, or a joke.
It was a promise.
The document was never mentioned again — not out loud. But something changed after that night.
He brought her coffee in bed the next morning, unprompted. Kissed her temple before heading out, eyes softer than usual. And she didn’t flinch when he swore under his breath at a work email during breakfast — though she did raise an eyebrow and mutter, “That’s three for the week, sailor.”
Sunghoon grumbled something about her corrupting him, but he smiled. Smiled — and didn’t try to hide it. He came home earlier. Ate her food with less nagging. Bought her favorite snacks without asking. And three days after the confrontation, when she came back from grocery shopping, there was a tiny box of her favorite pastries on the kitchen counter with a sticky note that read:
Eat before you forget again. I love you.
– The husband who never swears. Ever.
She rolled her eyes. Blushed a little.
The silence that had once been heavy was now… light. Full of things unsaid but felt. Words passed through glances, half-smiles, shared spoonfuls of soup.
Still — he hadn’t proposed yet.
It happened on a Sunday morning.
Rainy. Cozy. The puppy snoring in her lap while she flipped through a magazine, messy bun and oversized hoodie, glasses sliding down her nose.
“Hey,” he said from the kitchen, casually. “Hmm?”
“You free today?” She gave him a look. “I’m your wife. What, you think I’ve got a date with someone else?” He looked suspiciously thoughtful. “That friend of yours from college keeps texting you.”
“Sunghoon.”
“Kidding,” he said quickly, already grabbing her hand. “Mostly.” She snorted but followed when he tugged her toward the hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m in pajamas.”
“You’re always in pajamas.”
“And you’re always in a mood when you plan something.”
“Woman,” he warned playfully, “get your shoes.” She gasped. “The tone! That’s the Serious Husband tone!” But he didn’t respond. He just smiled.
He took her to the dog park first. Let her laugh and coo and race the puppy through wet grass. He stayed beside her the whole time, holding her hand whenever he wasn’t holding the leash, helping her wipe muddy paw prints off her jeans.
Then they stopped by the café she loved — the one with the cozy booths and the cinnamon rolls the size of her face. He let her order two.
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Sunghoon?” He shrugged. “I’m just in a good mood.”
“Okay, now I’m scared.” Still, he didn’t say anything strange. Didn’t act particularly suspicious.Until they got home. Until she saw the living room. Candles. A dozen. Her favorite flowers — white ranunculus — all over the coffee table. The puppy had a bowtie.
She froze. Sunghoon gently took her tote bag and set it aside.
“What is all this?” she asked, cautiously. “A cult ritual? Are you about to sacrifice me?” He huffed a laugh. “Close.”
Then he dropped to one knee. Her heart stopped.
“You found the document before I could do this,” he began, voice rough with nerves. “And I could’ve waited longer. I had a whole rooftop dinner plan. Fireworks. Probably a string quartet. But I realized I don’t care about making it perfect.”
She stared. Tears welled, slow and hot.
“I care about making it real.” He opened a small velvet box. The ring was simple. Classic. Just like him.
“I married you on paper,” he said, “but I want to marry you for real. To wake up beside you knowing you chose me, not our families. I want a million quiet mornings with you and loud nights where we argue about whose turn it is to take the dog out.”
She let out a teary laugh.
“I want the chaos. The sweetness. Your ‘I love yous’ and your swearing and your dumb jokes.”
He looked up, eyes soft.
“So… marry me, Y/N. For real this time.” She blinked hard. Heart pounding. And then — her voice cracked, but clear:
“Yes.”
He stood immediately. Crushed her into his chest. Kissed her — slow, sweet, and tasting faintly of cinnamon. And when they broke apart, cheeks flushed, he whispered, “I really fucking love you.”
She gasped through her tears. “Four!”He kissed her again before she could finish scolding him. Married life, as it turned out, suited them.
Sunghoon still had his resting stoic face and soft grumbles. She still left flowers in weird places and stuck grocery lists on his monitors with glittery cat-shaped post-its. Their white puppy, now full-grown and dramatically clingy, had taken over their bed and most of their attention. But even that wasn’t enough to quiet the creeping, fluttery want that had started blooming in her chest.
It started small. A passing stroller at the park. A tiny shoe left behind on a café bench. A baby giggling on TV.
Then it grew.
A soft sigh when she held a friend’s newborn. A dreamy stare when she saw Sunghoon playing with their puppy, gentle and patient, even letting it bite his shoelace just to keep it entertained.
And then, one night, she whispered it into his chest. Post-dinner, post-shower, wrapped up in bed with his arm thrown over her waist.
“Do you ever think about having a baby?” His hand paused. Just slightly. Then resumed drawing lazy circles on her stomach. “…What kind of question is that?”
“A curious one.” He was quiet. Long enough that she almost changed the subject. Then—
“I do.”
She blinked.b“You do?” He turned slightly, eyes still half-lidded from sleep. “Yeah. Sometimes. I think I’d be decent at it.”
“‘Decent,’” she snorted. “You’d probably be one of those dramatic, overprotective dads.”
“…So?” She grinned. “So I’d love that.”
He kissed her cheek. “You already call me daddy sometimes when you’re drunk or in bed.”
“Park Sunghoon!” He laughed. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
She whacked his chest and turned around, red in the face.
Still — the conversation stayed
A few months later, something shifted.
She was a bit more tired. A bit more forgetful. Spent two mornings in a row hugging the toilet bowl and cursing the yogurt she’d had for breakfast. Sunghoon, who kept telling her to stop swearing like a sailor, looked suspicious the third time.
“You’re not sick,” he said one night, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not even feverish.”
“No,” she muttered, cheeks warm. “I just—maybe—it’s just stress?”
“Hmm.”
“…Stop staring like that.”
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know!”
“Let’s find out.”
Five minutes later, she was hiding behind the bathroom door with a stick on the counter and Sunghoon standing on the other side like a military commander waiting for mission results.
“Woman,” he warned. “Open the door.”
She did.
The test was positive.
Neither of them spoke for a full three seconds.
Then she whispered, eyes wide, “Sunghoon?”
“…You really are gonna start swearing again, aren’t you?”
She laughed. Sobbed. Launched herself into his arms.
He held her like she was made of light. Then kissed the side of her head, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.
“I care for you, remember?” he said. “Now I care for both of you.”
“Sunghoon,” she sniffled, “I love you.”
This time, there was no delay.
“I love you too,” he said, without hesitation, one hand already on her stomach. “So damn much.”
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byr. yn’s coworkers suck (except riki). yn lies to jay BOOOOO. jay gets mad at her HAHAH. mentions of puking, crying, pregnancy, an ankle sprain (my girl is going through it fr)
the next morning, yn was up before the alarm.
she moved through the mansion like muscle memory, hair wrapped in a towel, coffee in hand, her outfit laid out meticulously on the edge of the bed. the navy blue blazer was ironed crisp, the matching pencil skirt hugging her in all the right places. she looked powerful, the kind of woman people stood straighter for when she entered the room. her makeup was polished but light, her heels clean, her bag packed. she was ready in record time.
jay walked into the room, freshly dressed himself in a beige button-up and navy slacks, still doing up his cuffs. he paused in the doorway when he saw her checking herself in the mirror, straightening her lapel with just the slightest twitch in her jaw. she was calm on the outside—but he knew her. the tension in her shoulders, the way she bit the inside of her cheek. it wasn’t just nerves.
“you look like you run half the damn world,” he said, walking over and kissing her cheek.
“only half?” she quipped lightly, not quite meeting his eyes.
he raised an eyebrow. “half today, the rest by thursday.”
they left together not long after, driving through the early seattle traffic. the car ride was mostly quiet, save for the low volume of whatever playlist jay had on shuffle. her fingers fidgeted with her ring, twisting it around her finger absentmindedly.
jay pulled up in front of her hotel, parking for a moment instead of just dropping her off.
“you okay?”
she nodded, still looking out at the entrance. “yeah.”
“baby.”
she exhaled finally, looking at him. “i just... i know people talk, jay. i’ve always known. but now it’s different. now i walk in and i can feel it. they think i’m some rich man’s trophy wife playing manager to kill time.”
jay’s jaw ticked.
she continued, quieter now. “riki told me that he overheard someone on the team last week say i ‘really played the game well’ by bagging someone like you. someone else made a joke about me not needing the job anymore since i have a mansion to go home to.”
“yn—”
“and it’s not just what they say,” she cut in, eyes tired. “it’s how they say it. like i never earned my place. like the second i married you, everything i built suddenly became a joke.”
jay reached over, taking her hand in his, firm and grounding. “you know that’s all bullshit, right? you didn’t marry me for a house or a ring or a name.”
“i know that. you know that. but they don’t. and they don’t want to.”
his eyes softened. “you’ve worked your ass off for this job. for years. you were running half that hotel before we were even serious. you’re respected, yn. they just can’t handle the fact that someone can have both—a career and love.”
“i just... don’t want to be pitied. or looked down on.”
“you’re not,” he said gently. “and if anyone is? that’s on them. let them gossip. let them twist stories to make themselves feel better. you’re still going to walk in there today and own that place like you always have. you don’t need to explain a damn thing to anyone.”
her eyes met his again, this time steadier.
“and,” he added, grinning now, “i am incredibly baggable. they weren’t totally wrong.”
she snorted and hit his arm lightly.
“that’s my girl.” he leaned over, kissed her cheek again. “go remind them who they’re dealing with.”
she took a breath, squeezed his hand once, and got out of the car.
coming back to work after the whirlwind of a wedding that caused a ripple in the business world had always been a looming worry in the back of her mind—but reality hit harder than she expected.
her first day back started off composed, even warm in places. the upper management welcomed her with genuine smiles, some bringing her small gifts from trips or pastries as belated wedding congratulations. a few of them had met jay before, at formal functions and banquets, and had been nothing short of complimentary. they called them a power couple. gushed about how gracious jay had been. some even joked about how he was always the first one to reach for her plate like a good husband.
but what had felt like home before—her front desk, the admin rooms, the lounge where she used to grab coffee and talk policies—now had a strange sheen over it. she could feel the change in the air, like smoke curling behind her as she walked.
it started with stares. lingering, calculated. like people didn’t know whether to smile at her or assess her like a tabloid headline. then came the comments. quiet enough that they weren’t technically being said to her, but loud enough to be heard.
“isn’t she the one who married that jay park?”
“yeah. from the park holdings family. that’s the guy, right? god, he’s like... stupid hot.”
“makes you wonder how that happened. i mean, he could’ve had anyone.”
“a man that pretty deserves someone better.”
it was the tone. the way they said it like they were mourning jay's fate. as if he’d made some tragic decision by falling in love with her. as if she hadn’t worked tooth and nail for her title, for her career, for every damn ounce of respect she carried.
the bile rose before she could even register it.
she was halfway through the hallway, reports clutched in her hand, trying not to breathe too hard when the dizziness hit. her stomach churned violently—half nausea, half shame—and she barely made it to the restroom.
she stumbled into the empty bathroom, shoved open the nearest stall, dropped to her knees and threw up.
it felt like her insides were twisting, a cruel cocktail of morning sickness and raw emotion. acid burned her throat as tears stung the edges of her eyes—not from crying, but from the sheer force of it.
she didn’t want to cry. she didn’t want to let it get to her, but her head spun.
as she sat back against the cold stall wall, trying to catch her breath, she realised she had landed wrong. her right ankle throbbed, the joint aching sharply every time she shifted. she had twisted it awkwardly in her rush to drop down, the heel of her shoe still lying near the sink.
“perfect,” she muttered bitterly under her breath, voice hoarse.
when her stomach finally settled, she wiped her mouth with a tissue, flushed, and stumbled to her feet. her ankle was definitely swollen now, each step was a small scream but she pulled herself together, limped to the sink, and washed her face.
she looked at herself in the mirror for a long second.
she wasn’t going to let this job be taken from her—not by rumors. not by jealousy.
by the time the clock struck two in the afternoon, yn was practically dragging her foot. her ankle had swelled visibly by then, stiff and sore inside her low block heels that now felt more like medieval torture devices. she had tried to rest it under her desk, tried to convince herself it would pass—but it didn’t.
her stomach was in knots, her appetite nonexistent and every bite of the salad she’d picked at over lunch felt like cardboard. she’d managed to keep some of it down but it was the bare minimum and water helped only a little.
she gave herself exactly five more minutes staring at the screen before deciding she couldn’t risk pushing it further. this was not how she wanted her first trimester to go. she knew the stress wasn’t helping, and the longer she sat there, the more guilty she felt about the baby too.
her pride made her hesitate. she’d never left mid-day before, especially not for a reason like this. but for once, she had to listen to her body.
so she texted her senior a vague excuse about a personal appointment, and hobbled into a cab, heart thudding in sync with her aching ankle.
dr. kang had been jay’s family gynaecologist since his older cousin’s pregnancy, and she’d taken yn under her wing the moment jay had introduced her over a video call a few weeks back.
the clinic was quiet and sterile, sunlight filtering in through white blinds. yn was ushered in immediately.
dr. kang’s eyes widened the moment she saw her limp in.
“oh, sweetheart—what happened?” she asked, immediately guiding her to sit down, examining her ankle without even waiting for an answer.
yn winced as she explained, voice low, “i slipped this morning… kind of sprained it. but i didn’t fall or anything—well, i did. but it wasn’t hard. i puked. just morning sickness stuff.”
dr. kang gave her a sharp but kind look. “and i suppose you didn’t call jay?”
yn shook her head quickly, almost guiltily. “no, no, please don’t tell him. he’s already so… worried all the time. if he finds out i didn’t eat or i threw up or my ankle’s blown up, he’ll have my work laptop confiscated.”
dr. kang huffed, amused but clearly unimpressed. “as he should. what do you expect me to do with this ankle, love? you’re pregnant, not invincible.”
“i know,” she sighed, hands clutching her lap. “i just… i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. i’m not used to trying to slow down and today was just a lot.”
dr. kang nodded, checking her vitals, gently palpating her stomach before scribbling notes on her chart.
“you’ve lost some weight already. likely from the nausea and the stress. you need to eat, yn. even if it’s small portions or frequent snacks. this stage is delicate. we’re not going to panic, but you need to take this seriously.”
yn looked down. “i’m trying.”
dr. kang softened. “i know you are. but you can’t pour from an empty cup. and right now, that baby’s drawing everything from you. so if you don’t take care of yourself, it’s going to take a toll—fast.”
she handed her a list of pregnancy-safe anti nausea pills and a light supplement for energy and iron. then wrapped her ankle gently with a cold compress and an elastic bandage, instructing her to keep weight off it for the next two days.
“please. i am begging you,” yn whispered as she stood slowly, “don’t call jay. he’ll panic and show up at my work like a bodyguard.”
dr. kang chuckled, patting her shoulder. “your secret’s safe with me, for now. but if you come back here crawling, i’m texting him a 5 page document.”
yn smiled faintly and nodded.
still limping but a little more stable, she made her way back to the hotel. she didn’t want to go home, not yet. she wasn’t ready to sit on that big couch and see jay’s face when he walked in and lie to it. not when he’d look at her like she hung the damn moon and would give up his entire day just to tuck her in.
she returned to her office quietly, feet up on a cushioned stool beneath her desk like dr. kang instructed. she ate the warm porridge riki ordered for her from her favorite korean place and drank warm water slowly. she had meetings scheduled back-to-back but made them all virtual to avoid walking around.
and when jay texted her around five—
mr. husband
hi angel
wanna grab dinner together or should i pick something up?
you
hey seongie
long day actually
could you pick up dinner and i’ll see you at home?
i’ll be there by seven
mr. husband
will do <3
are you doing okay? you mentioned a long day
she just sighed at that, pulling some excuse about one of her coworkers fucking up and having a whole team set to fix it—which wasn’t exactly a lie, considering she had shit employees.
then she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her belly through her blazer gently. “sorry, baby,” she mumbled to herself. “mama’s working on it.”
the mansion was quiet when yn unlocked the door and stepped in, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. the faint aroma of hot food wafted through the airand she knew jay was already home, probably reheating the takeout he picked up for the both of them like he promised.
her heels clacked softly against the marble floor as she stepped inside, and even though she tried to walk normally, the dull throb in her swollen ankle made it nearly impossible. each step sent a flare of discomfort up her leg, but she forced her expression to stay neutral, even bright, as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.
jay was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled, still in his navy work slacks and slighty crumpled shirt. he hadn’t even changed. he turned around the second he heard her approach, face lighting up the way it always did when he saw her.
“hey,” he said, that soft grin spreading across his lips. “right on time. i got your favorite—”
and then he saw her. the limp and the way she leaned ever so slightly on the wall for balance. the wince that passed over her features so fast, she probably thought he wouldn’t catch it.
he dropped the spoon back into the pot with a soft clatter and strode over immediately, brows furrowed.
“honey,” he said sharply. “why are you limping? what happened?”
“i’m not limping,” she said quickly, with the fakest grin known to man. “i’m just—my heel’s weird today. probably bent or something.”
“take it off and let me see,” he said, already crouching down to check.
“no—jay, really—it’s nothing,” she started, trying to step back, but in her attempt to put weight on her other leg, she wobbled and nearly went down.
jay’s arms shot out instantly, steadying her around the waist as he let out a low, frustrated groan. “god, yn—what the hell?”
she tried to laugh it off again, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “okay, okay, i might have twisted it a little this morning. it’s not a big deal.”
“you can barely even stand, yn,” he snapped, standing to full height, still holding onto her as he guided her gently—but firmly—to one of the dining chairs. his voice wasn’t raised, but it was tight. controlled. “sit.”
“jay, it’s not—”
“sit.”
she did, slowly, carefully and he crouched down again, sliding her heels off with a gentleness that was completely at odds with how tense he was. when he peeled back the bandage and saw the swelling around her ankle, his jaw clenched.
“did you trip or fall or what?” he asked, quietly.
yn hesitated.
he looked up at her, eyes unreadable. “yn. did you fall?”
“maybe,” she whispered, voice higher than expected.
“when?”
she sighed. “this morning. at work. i threw up, just morning sickness and i slipped a little in the washroom. i hit the tile and twisted it.”
jay closed his eyes, like that information physically hurt to process. “you puked?” he repeated, voice flatter now. “and twisted your ankle?”
she nodded and his hands fell from her foot as he leaned back on his heels, running a hand through his hair.
“i went to dr. kang,” she added quickly. “she said the baby’s okay and she wrapped it up for me. prescribed me some pills. i just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it because today was already—”
“you went to the clinic and didn’t tell me?” he interrupted, voice sharp again, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “you were in pain, you were sick, and instead of calling me, you went alone and then what? limped your way back to work like nothing happened?”
“jay—”
“no, yn. what if you hit your stomach when you fell? what if you passed out? what if you needed something and you were alone and didn’t tell anyone?”
“i didn’t hit my stomach. she checked everything. she said the baby’s fine.”
“but you’re not,” he fired back, standing now, pacing slightly in frustration before stopping in front of her again. “you’re pale, you look exhausted and i saw you limping into the house like your damn leg was broken and you still tried to play it cool. how is that okay?”
“i just didn’t want you to worry,” she said softly.
“well too bad,” he snapped, and then instantly softened when her face dropped. he sighed, lowering his voice again. “that’s not how this works, baby. that’s not how we work.”
he knelt down again, this time both hands resting on her knees as he looked up at her, brows furrowed with that distinct mix of worry and anger and something close to fear.
“you don’t protect me by hiding things like this. you don’t carry everything alone just because you think i’m busy or because i might panic. i want to panic. i want to know. you’re not just my wife, yn—you’re carrying our kid. how the hell am i supposed to sit through work meetings and act normal if i don’t even know you’re in pain?”
she didn’t speak for a moment. her throat thickened, her chest tightened.
“i just didn’t want to feel weak,” she murmured finally. “and there’s already so much going around and people are talking shit. saying i’m with you for money, that i married up, that i’m not enough for you. it was getting to me and i didn’t want to… break. i didn’t want to fall apart again.”
jay’s eyes dimmed with hurt, then.
he reached up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face. “you’re not weak for getting sick, yn. and anyone who talks about you like that doesn’t even deserve to say your name. you hear me?”
she nodded, biting her lip.
“you’re everything,” he said, voice low now. “you’re mine. you’re the mother of our child. i don’t give a shit what some desk clerk whispers in the break room. i married you. no one else. and i’ll remind you of why every damn day if i have to.”
tears spilled before she could stop them. she looked down, but he was already leaning up, brushing them away with his thumbs, one hand cupping her cheek.
“baby,” he said gently, “you never have to prove yourself to me. not ever. you’ve already done more than enough.”
“i’m sorry,” she whispered, voice cracking.
he kissed her forehead. “i’m mad. but i’m mad because i love you so much it hurts to think of you in pain without me knowing.”
then, without another word, he scooped her up in his arms—heels, blazer, and all—ignoring her gasp and gentle protest.
“i’m running you a warm bath,” he declared. “you’re not walking anywhere. then i’m putting you in bed, rubbing your ankle and feeding you with my own hands if i have to.”
jay didn’t sit still after helping her into the bath. he watched her settle in first, making sure the water was warm enough, the bubbles high enough, and the lavender oil just enough to ease her. she looked up at him with tired eyes, grateful but quiet, and he ran his knuckles gently across her cheek.
"just soak, okay baby? i’ll plate dinner," he said softly, kissing the top of her head before heading downstairs.
but as soon as he got to the kitchen, his jaw tightened again. so as the takeout reheated, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t used in months.
"mr. park! long time! congratulations on the wedding," came the pleasant voice on the other side.
"thank you, mr. smith," jay greeted, his voice polite but sharp. "hope i’m not disturbing anything important."
"not at all. what can i do for you?"
jay exhaled. "it’s regarding yn."
there was a pause. "yes, of course. is she alright?"
“no, actually. she came home today limping, overwhelmed and completely burnt out from the bullshit she’s been dealing with since returning to work and today was just her first day back”
mr. smith grew serious immediately. "what’s going on?"
"your staff—lower-ranked ones mostly—have been talking shit to her and behind her back. calling her a gold digger, saying she married me for status, calling her undeserving. it’s gotten to a point where she had a physical reaction. puking. sprained her ankle. she’s overwhelmed."
"jesus christ," mr. smith muttered under his breath. "i had no idea."
"that’s why i’m calling you first before i do anything drastic," jay said calmly, but there was a steel edge to his tone. "i’m trusting you to handle this before i have to. i know you and i’ve worked with you. you know who i am. but more than that, you know who she is. she's been a dedicated asset to your hotel, always above professional, always competent. and if i hear that this continues, i’ll take it personally."
mr. smith cleared his throat. "absolutely, jay. i’ll deal with it immediately. i’ll set up meetings, identify the source, and make examples out of the ones responsible. please tell yn i’ll be reaching out to her personally. and i apologise—truly."
"good. i’m trusting you with this," jay said again, his voice curt now. "she’s not just anyone. she’s my wife and she deserves better than this."
once he ended the call, he stood in the middle of the kitchen for a second, jaw clenched, knuckles pale. he hated that she tried to hide this from him. hated that she still felt she had to push through it all even when it was clearly eating her alive.
he plated everything quietly, placing the warm food on a tray along with a glass of orange juice, a side of cut fruit and a muffin she'd mentioned craving last week. then he carried it all back up to the bathroom where the scent of lavender still lingered, warm and comforting.
"baby?" he called gently, knocking on the door before peeking in.
yn looked up from the bath, damp hair stuck to her cheeks, eyes a little glassy from the warmth and whatever emotions were still swimming inside her.
jay walked in and set the tray down carefully. “dinner. and don’t even think about arguing with me."
she blinked at him. "you didn’t have to—"
"i talked to mr. smith," he said.
her eyes widened.
"relax. i didn’t tell him about the pregnancy. just that the staff’s been talking shit. i told him to deal with it before i do. and he will."
she swallowed. “you didn’t have to do that, jay.”
“yes, i did,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “you can fight your own battles, i know that. but you shouldn’t have to fight them alone. not when i’m right here.”
a beat.
"you’ve always told me you wanted to work, and i’ve always supported that, yn. but it’s not worth it if it’s costing you your health, your peace. i won’t ever stop you from doing what you love, but i will protect you when it gets out of hand."
she nodded slowly, lips parting slightly.
“i hate that they made you feel like you weren’t worthy,” he added, voice tighter. “you’re the best goddamn woman i know. you're not just worthy of me—you’re the reason i’m better at all.”
a tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it, and he caught it with his thumb, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
“eat first. then i’ll help you out, wrap your ankle, and you’re not going back to work until you’re ready.”
"i have meetings—"
"i'll move them for you," he said flatly. "let me take care of you, yn."
rie’s note: haii this fic has been sitting on my drafts for a while and i decided to share it with yo heheh~ so expect errors! ily mwa
synopsis: Y/N and Park Sunghoon enter a marriage bound by rules—but behind his composed exterior, he isn’t as distant as he seems.Through quiet mornings, shared glances, and subtle, unexpected gestures, a connection slowly begins to take shape.
For a woman married for ten months, Y/N sure spent a lot of time wondering if her husband even liked her.
Not that she blamed him. It wasn’t like they fell in love or anything so poetic. Their marriage had been a strategic merger—two powerful families shaking hands and tying knots in the form of two unsuspecting twenty-somethings. Park Sunghoon, her husband in legal terms and roommate in technicality, made no secret that he only played the doting spouse when their parents were around.
But when the doors closed and the charade ended, he always said the same thing whenever she dared call him by anything but his name.
“Sweetheart, dinner’s ready,” she chirped from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
A beat of silence. Then came his bored reply from the living room, eyes still on his laptop.
“It’s Sunghoon for you.”
She rolled her eyes so hard it almost gave her a migraine.
Their house was beautiful, sleek, minimal—like Sunghoon. But she filled the rooms with warmth anyway: vases of fresh flowers, post-its on the fridge, fairy lights above the balcony. He never said anything about them, but once, she caught him replacing a dead sunflower with a new one.
“Hey, are you coming home for dinner later?” she texted as she stirred a pot of stew that had taken her three tries to get just right.
She added a second message: I made your favorite. Well, I practiced. You better show up and eat every bite.
At first, his reply was what she expected.
No, I have meetings.
She pouted and turned the stove off.
Okay, more for me and my lonely soul then.
Bring me home some dessert, I’ll pretend it’s from you.
She left it there, phone discarded on the kitchen counter as she set the table out of habit. She didn’t expect him to actually—
The front door slammed open twenty-five minutes later.
Y/N peeked from the kitchen. “What the—”
Sunghoon looked tired, his tie askew, his coat slung over one arm. “Smells good,” he said simply, dropping his keys on the bowl by the door.
“You said you had meetings?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I moved some things. Eat with me. I’m starving.”
She blinked. “…You’re serious?”
He paused in front of the table. “I wouldn’t come all this way just to look at your stew.”
-
Sunghoon never said much, but he had his own language. She was beginning to learn it—through the things he didn’t say, the things he did instead.
Like the way he always replied within ten minutes to her silly lunchtime updates.
Don’t forget to eat, workaholic.
And hydrate. Or I’ll cry.
His reply came back seconds later.
Having lunch now.
With who? A girl? Should I prepare the divorce papers already?
Jungwon. He’s not your type.
She chuckled.
Damn. Foiled again.
She sent him a picture of her lunch—a messy sandwich with too much lettuce. His reply?
Lettuce ratio is off. 6/10.
“Hey, I might not be home for dinner tonight,” Y/N said, swirling her spoon through her cereal while seated at the kitchen island. “Heeseung and I are catching up. He’s been begging me for weeks. You remember him, right?”
Sunghoon, who was scrolling through his tablet across from her, barely looked up. “I remember.”
“He said he’ll take me to that fusion place near the river. You know, the one with the cocktails that come in teapots?”
Sunghoon hummed. It wasn’t enthusiastic. It wasn’t even interested. It was neutral. Neutral in that very Sunghoon way that always made her squint a little and wonder what was going on behind that perfect blank face of his.
“You don’t mind, right?” she asked, nudging his foot under the island.
“It’s not like you need my permission,” he replied smoothly, sipping his coffee. “We’re just married on paper, after all.”
“Right. Just on paper.” She chuckled, but her eyes lingered on him for a second longer.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything after that. Didn’t protest. Didn’t ask her not to go. She figured it was settled.
-
The day passed like any other.
She texted him at lunch, attaching a picture of her food and teasing him about his rabbit-like portions.
If you’re gonna eat like a bird, at least eat something cute.
Yours looks like it was stepped on.
She grinned at his reply. Classic.
Later, she started getting ready, slipping on her favorite dress—nothing too fancy, just something she knew looked nice in low lighting.
At exactly 6:10 p.m., just as she was applying mascara, her phone buzzed.
[Sunghoon | 6:10 PM]
Are you home?
She blinked at the message, confused.
Not for long. Remember? Dinner with Heeseung.
A pause.
[Sunghoon | 6:11 PM]
Don’t go.
Her heart skipped. Her hand froze mid-mascara swipe.
Excuse me?
No reply. Instead, the front door unlocked moments later. She turned around to find Sunghoon stepping into the apartment, already loosening his tie, face unreadable as always.
“Didn’t you say you were working late today?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“I moved things,” he said simply, setting his briefcase down.
“To eat?”
He nodded.
She raised a brow. “You want me to cancel on Heeseung?”
“I want my wife to eat dinner with me,” he said, not looking at her as he shrugged off his coat. “I’m having a bad day.”
That gave her pause. “Sunghoon…”
He didn’t elaborate.
Didn’t explain why.
Didn’t even glance in her direction.
But then he added, as casually as if he were talking about the weather, “You always eat with me when I’m having a bad day.”
Her heart thumped hard.
That wasn’t true. She didn’t even know when his bad days were. He never told her.
But apparently, he noticed when she was there for them.
“…Did something happen?” she asked softly, stepping toward him.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
She hesitated, then grabbed her phone and typed out a quick message to Heeseung.
Rain check? Sunghoon came home early. Emergency husband summoning.
Then she turned to him, arms crossing as she leaned against the table. “You’re lucky I like you, Baby.”
He finally met her eyes, a trace of amusement flickering in his.
“It’s still Sunghoon for you,” he deadpanned.
“Sure,” she said with a grin. “Sure it is.”
-
He left early one morning, stiff as usual, brushing past her with a muttered, “See you.”
She stared at the door after it clicked shut, still in her pajamas, coffee in hand.
So she texted him.
Excuse me, Mr. Husband. You forgot something.
What now.
You forgot to kiss me goodbye. How rude.
She added a dramatic selfie, lower lip jutted out, hair messy.
She didn’t expect anything.
So when the door opened again four minutes later, her jaw dropped.
Sunghoon walked in like a man on a mission, coat still on, face unreadable. He crossed the living room and stood in front of her.
Then—without a word—he cupped her jaw, leaned in, and kissed her.
Soft. Firm. Real.
When he pulled back, she blinked at him, dazed.
“…Sunghoon?”
“That was our first kiss,” he murmured. “Took you long enough to ask for it.”
The moment hung between them like steam from her untouched coffee.
Y/N swallowed. “So… you kissed me.”
“I did.”
“You walked back into the house to kiss me.”
“I did,” he repeated, this time softer.
She blinked. “…You’re insane.”
Sunghoon finally allowed a faint smile, like it physically hurt to let it curl onto his lips. “You asked.”
“I was joking.”
“You still asked.”
She couldn’t find a comeback fast enough. Her cheeks were warm—unreasonably warm—and her knees slightly unsteady, like they knew something her brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
He turned to leave again, just as quickly.
“Wait.”
He paused.
“You haven’t had breakfast,” she said. “Sit. I made eggs.”
“You’re wearing pajamas with dancing carrots on them.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
They ate in silence. Or, well, she ate while sneaking glances. Sunghoon sipped his coffee like nothing monumental had just occurred, like he hadn’t just turned back mid-commute to kiss his paper wife breathless.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, chin in her hand.
“That you forgot to toast the bread.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You kissed back.”
“Shut up.”
-
Three days later, chaos had a name.
And that name was Soobin, her cousin’s six-year-old.
Sunghoon stared at the child sitting cross-legged on their cream-colored couch with a crusty lollipop stuck to his palm and jam smeared under his nose.
“You’re kidding,” he said flatly. “You agreed to babysit him?”
Y/N shrugged, already chasing Soobin with baby wipes. “You weren’t supposed to be home until late, Mr. I-have-meetings.”
“I canceled one.”
“Why?”
Sunghoon didn’t answer.
Instead, he sat on the armchair with a long sigh, watching her scoop the kid up like she’d done it a hundred times. Soobin giggled and kicked, shouting something about pirates. Y/N snorted and tickled him, totally in her element—bright, soft, sunshine incarnate.
And something tight twisted in Sunghoon’s chest.
He had no idea what it was.
Maybe the part where she wasn’t his, not really. Not yet.
Soobin fell asleep in the guest room after hours of hyperactivity, a movie, and five bedtime stories.
Y/N collapsed on the couch, hair a mess, flour on her cheek.
Sunghoon, now in sweats, stood in the doorway with two mugs of hot chocolate. “You’re good with kids.”
She grinned. “Yeah? I’ll add that to my resume.”
A pause.
His face dropped just slightly. “Don’t.”
She blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t work.”
The air shifted.
“…Sunghoon?”
“You’re annoying,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Why are you applying for jobs when I can provide for both of us?”
She blinked, caught between confusion and amusement. “You saw my resume?”
“It was on your nightstand. You left it open like a trap.”
She scoffed. “You’ve been nagging about my spending lately. Thought I’d spare you the pain.”
He exhaled through his nose. “I’ll lie low on the nagging. Just stay here. Don’t work.”
She sat up, narrowing her eyes. “It’s embarrassing, relying on you like I’m a princess.”
“You are a princess,” he said, quiet. “My princess. So stay put and look pretty for me, hm?”
Her breath caught.
Sunghoon never flirted.
Not directly.
But this?
This was the equivalent of a dramatic serenade.
“Say that again,” she whispered, stunned.
“No.”
-
They were folding laundry together—domestic, mundane, routine.
She held up one of his button-downs and smiled to herself.
“You know,” she said lightly, “sometimes I think I love you.”
Sunghoon didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pause.
Just reached for a towel and said, “Your softener’s too strong.”
She laughed. “You’re allergic to feelings, aren’t you?”
“I’m allergic to your nonsense.”
But when she turned, she caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye—soft, unreadable.
Like maybe he heard her.
Maybe he believed her.
Maybe it mattered.
-
Rain poured hard that night. Soobin had gone home, and her room’s ceiling had sprung a leak. Sunghoon found her standing in the hallway, pillow in hand, drenched and scowling.
“You look like a wet mop.”
“Your guest room smells like dusty textbooks.”
He stared.
She stared back.
Ten minutes later, they lay stiffly side by side on his bed, blanket drawn to their chins like a cartoon couple.
“This is ridiculous,” she mumbled, back to him.
“You’re the one who came in here.”
“Because you’re the husband. You’re legally obligated to protect me from mold and mildew.”
“Sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“…You smell nice.”
He groaned.
But ten minutes later, when she fell asleep and curled toward him without thinking, he didn’t move away.
She woke up warm.
Which was strange, because she never slept warm. Always threw off the blanket halfway through the night. Always ended up cold again by sunrise.
But today… warm.
Solid.
Secure.
Her eyes cracked open, and the first thing she saw was the curve of Sunghoon’s jaw.
He was still asleep.
On his side. Facing her. Arm loosely slung around her waist like it belonged there. Like it always had.
She didn’t breathe for a full five seconds.
His breathing was steady, his lips slightly parted, his forehead just barely touching hers.
And she… she was entirely still, afraid that if she moved, he’d wake and pull away and ruin the one soft, stolen thing they had.
So she just whispered, mostly to herself, “Sunghoon…”
He didn’t wake.
But his arm tightened.
Just a little.
Just enough to make her heart thud once, twice, too loud for her own chest.
-
He woke an hour later, blinked slowly, and seemed to realize their position all at once.
“You drooled,” he muttered hoarsely. “I did not.”
He didn’t argue, just pushed the blanket off and sat up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Your room’s still leaking.” She blinked, caught off-guard. “You remembered?”
“‘Course I did,” he said, already heading for the hallway. “I’ll fix it.”
“Wait—”
“Go make coffee.”
“Sunghoon, you can’t just—”
“Woman,” he warned without turning, “if you fall off a chair trying to duct tape the ceiling by yourself again, I’ll personally file a restraining order… against your stupidity.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. And then mumbled under her breath as she padded toward the kitchen, “…Yes, my loving husband.”
-
Half an hour later, she found him in her room, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp, standing on a ladder as he patched up the leak like he did it every weekend.
“You’re surprisingly handy,” she said, biting back a smile.
“I have depth.”
“Who knew?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dragging over her slowly. “You wore that to say thank you?”
She blinked, then looked down at her oversized tee and sleep shorts. “This is my ‘I’m not climbing a ladder again’ outfit.” He smirked. “Try again. Maybe something with lace next time.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She tossed a pillow at him.
He caught it one-handed, still perched on the ladder like some stupidly hot handyman from a drama. “Is this our thing now? You act helpless, and I come fix your life?”
She shrugged. “You are a reliable husband. I might start leaking things on purpose.”
“I’m deducting that from your allowance.”
“You don’t give me an allowance.”
“Exactly.”
-
It started with a doorbell.
Well, more specifically, it started with Heeseung.
Heeseung, her old classmate, recently back in town, and far too friendly for Sunghoon’s liking.
He was at their door holding two cups of iced coffee and a bag of takeout. “You said you’d been craving this place, remember?”
She blinked, a little startled, but smiled. “Oh—you didn’t have to—”
“Come on. You basically drooled describing their dumplings. Let me treat you.”
From behind her, a voice like gravel dragged over stone cut through the air.
“She’s already eaten.”
Heeseung stiffened. So did she.
She turned around, eyes wide. “Sunghoon?”
He leaned against the doorframe, hair still slightly damp from a shower, white T-shirt clinging to his chest, arms crossed, gaze calm—too calm.
“She had lunch with me,” Sunghoon added evenly, like it was a daily tradition instead of a rare win in his favor. “Right, wife?”
Her brain sputtered. “Um. Yeah. I made him pasta.”
“Homemade. Creamy.” He tilted his head at Heeseung. “Not that fast food junk you brought.”
She gawked at him. Sunghoon—
Heeseung blinked, then laughed awkwardly. “Ah… right, of course. You two. Married.” His eyes darted to hers, teasing. “Guess I’ll have to find another lunch date.”
“Guess you will,” Sunghoon said before she could answer.
He shut the door gently but firmly after Heeseung turned away, and then turned to her with a look that said everything and nothing.
She crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”
“What?” He looked annoyingly innocent. “Didn’t like your guest?”
“You didn’t even let me answer!”
“You were going to say yes.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t feel like sharing.”
She stared at him.
Hard.
And then, slowly, a smile curled on her lips. “Is this jealousy I’m hearing, Mr. Logical?”
He didn’t flinch. “I just don’t like other men feeding my wife.”
“Feeding?”
“Bringing you food. Talking to you like he knows what you like.” He stepped closer, voice lower. “That’s my job.”
Her breath caught.
“You don’t even kiss me goodbye,” she whispered.
“I came back and did, didn’t I?”
She bit her lip. “You sure Heeseung didn’t wake something up in you?”
He leaned in, nose almost brushing hers. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It woke up a real urge to remind you whose ring you’re wearing.”
“Oh?”
He looked down at her, gaze flicking to her mouth. “Should I?”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Sunghoon.”
His mouth brushed the corner of hers, barely a touch, just enough to make her whole body tilt toward him.
“I’m not sharing you,” he said softly.
She found him on the balcony, leaning against the railing, sipping a drink, looking like he belonged in a moody movie.
She stepped up beside him, shoulder bumping his.
“Still brooding?” “Just making sure you’re not texting your new suitor.”
She laughed. “You’re the only suitor I’m legally bound to.”
He glanced at her. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
He hesitated. “You’ve been mine since before the paperwork.”
She blinked. “That’s not very romantic, Hoon.”
“It is,” he said, voice low. “If you knew how often I thought about you before we got married.”
“…Wait, what?”
But he didn’t answer. Just bumped her glass with his and turned away, that damn unreadable smile on his face again.
-
She knew something was off the moment she woke up.
Her skin felt too hot. Her head too heavy. Her limbs? Useless. Like she’d been run over by a truck, reversed on, and then left out in the rain.
Which was, funnily enough, exactly what happened last night when she got caught in a downpour on the way home because she insisted on buying a cake to surprise Sunghoon.
Idiot. She should’ve just let the man eat his boring office fruit platter.
Now, here she was, cocooned in blankets and positively melting, while the sunlight mocked her through the windows.
Her phone buzzed.
[10:23AM] HOON:
Did you eat?
She squinted at the screen and typed with slow fingers.
[10:24AM] You:
does soup air count
Three dots.
Then—
[10:25AM] HOON:
I’m coming home.
[10:25AM] You:
nooo
u said big meetings today
dont come i’m fine i’m just a lil cooked
[10:25AM] HOON:
Woman. You can barely text.
You’re obviously dying.
I’m leaving in five.
Thirty minutes later, the front door swung open with the drama of a K-drama husband mid-climax.
“Y/N?” Sunghoon called, setting down a plastic bag and tossing his coat on the chair.
“Bedroom,” she croaked weakly from the covers.
He appeared at the door a moment later, eyebrows knitting the second he saw her.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” she rasped. “Just what every sick wife wants to hear.”
He crouched down beside the bed and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. His jaw clenched.
“You’re burning up.”
“Hot girl era.”
“Delusional,” he muttered, already pulling out a thermometer from the bag. “Sit up.”
She grumbled but obeyed, swaying slightly. He caught her shoulder without a word and held her steady as he tucked the thermometer under her tongue.
She blinked at him. “Why do you have a thermometer in your work bag?”
“I stopped at a pharmacy, genius.”
She smiled, eyes half-lidded. “You’re such a good husband. My personal caretaker.”
“You’re so annoying,” he muttered. But he stayed kneeling there beside the bed, his hand still on her shoulder. When the thermometer beeped, he checked it, then exhaled sharply.
“You’re not dying,” he said. “Yet.”
“Oh good,” she whispered. “I wanted to be dramatic a little longer.” He rolled his eyes and stood. “Rest. I’ll make you something.”
Her brows lifted. “You can cook?”
“I can heat soup. Don’t push it.”
-
Twenty minutes later, she was propped up in bed with a tray in front of her — porridge, water, and a sliced apple arranged with uncharacteristic precision.
She blinked down at it.
“Sunghoon…”
“What.”
“You cut the apple like a flower.”
He didn’t look up from where he was placing medicine next to her cup. “I followed the internet.”
“You watched a tutorial?!”
He turned, deadpan. “Eat, or I’ll shove it down your throat.” She beamed, heart too warm for someone with a fever. “You love me.”
He didn’t respond.
But later, when he sat at the foot of the bed rubbing her calves through the blanket — muttering about poor blood circulation and “don’t make it weird” — she let herself believe it a little.
-
That Night
She had drifted off at some point mid-evening, and when she stirred awake again, the room was dim and quiet — the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm shadow across her comforter.
Sunghoon was still there. In the chair beside the bed. Asleep. Neck bent at an awful angle, mouth slightly open. And in his lap — a book she’d mentioned wanting to read.
She didn’t even know he listened when she talked about those things.
Her chest ached for reasons beyond the fever.
She reached out, brushing her fingertips over his hand, and whispered, “Hey.”
He stirred, eyelids fluttering open. “You okay?”
She smiled sleepily. “You stayed.”
He frowned like it was the dumbest thing she could’ve said. “Obviously.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. “You’re kind of…my favorite person, you know.”
He shifted forward, brushing her hair back off her forehead.
“Sleep,” he said, low and soft. “…You’ll still be here?”
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes.
And heard him whisper, barely audible, just as she was slipping away—
“I’d rather be here than anywhere else.”
-
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the humidifier he’d set up beside her bed, and the rustle of the blanket as she turned over, bleary-eyed and pouty.
“Sunghoon…” she whined.
He looked up from his seat, brows lifted. “What now?”
She sniffled pitifully. “I want a kiss.”
A beat of silence.
Then: “You have a fever of 38.6°C. Absolutely not.”
She pouted deeper. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being reasonable,” he deadpanned, setting down his book again. “Do you want both of us sick?”
“I want affection,” she muttered, curling deeper into the blanket. “My immune system is suffering, and so is my heart.”
He exhaled through his nose, dragged a hand over his face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m dying and all I want is one kiss from my cold, emotionally unavailable husband—”
He stood.
She paused mid-sentence, wide-eyed, as he leaned over her slowly, bracing one hand beside her pillow. His face hovered inches above hers, expression unreadable.
“Still want it?” he asked, voice low. She nodded, lips slightly parted.
“…Okay,” he said, brushing her hair back gently before pressing the lightest, briefest kiss to her forehead.
Her face scrunched.
“That wasn’t a real kiss.”
“That’s the only one you’re getting, unless you want me coughing next to you in two days,” he muttered.
“But—”
“Sleep,” he said, already sitting back down and picking up his book.
She grumbled into the pillow for a minute. But ten minutes later, right before she drifted off again, she felt something warm press against the edge of her jaw — a quick, stolen kiss.
And his voice, barely audible:
“You’re lucky I like you.”
Three days later, she was no longer dying. Not technically.
The fever was gone. The cough had turned from death rattle to soft wheeze. She had regained control of her limbs and, unfortunately for Sunghoon, her mouth.
She stretched dramatically in the kitchen doorway, still in her oversized pajama shirt, hair a little messy, but cheeks no longer flushed with fever. “Guess who’s back from the brink of death?”
Sunghoon, halfway through pouring coffee, didn’t even look up. “You’re supposed to rest for two more days.”
“I rested for three,” she whined, padding toward him. “And you barely let me move. I’ve had enough sleep to last a lifetime.”
“Still pale.”
“Still dramatic,” she countered, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and pressing her cheek to his back. “You can’t stop me from loving you now. I’m alive and dangerous.”
He went very still.
“…You’re clingier when you’re sick,” he muttered.
“I’m clingier now because I remember how nice you were when I was sick,” she replied smugly, swaying side to side as she hugged him tighter. “You fed me apple slices, Park Sunghoon. You cut them like a flower. That’s love.”
“It was survival,” he said. “You were pathetic.”
She gasped. “I was endearing! Helpless. Cute. A damsel.”
“You drooled on your pillow.”
“Yet you stayed. Slept in that chair like my own personal nurse. Don’t act unaffected.” He turned around, prying her arms off him — but not fully letting go.
Instead, he held her wrists gently, brows furrowed like she was some science experiment he couldn’t quite figure out. “You’re warm.”
“Lingering heat of passion.”
“Leftover fever.”
She grinned. “Maybe. You should kiss me again to check.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’ll infect me.”
“I’m not sick anymore,” she said sweetly, leaning in. “Doctor cleared me.”
“You are the doctor. You gave yourself a thumbs up in the mirror.” She leaned even closer, her lips inches from his. “Then what’s stopping you?”
A long pause. His eyes flicked to her mouth, then back up.
“…You’re insufferable.”
But then he tilted his head and kissed her anyway — brief, sure, but unmistakably real.
When he pulled back, she was smiling like she’d won the lottery.
“Told you I was dangerous.”
He rolled his eyes. “Finish your soup.”
“You didn’t make soup.”
“I will if you stop talking for five minutes.”
She beamed and followed him around the kitchen like a duckling while he sighed deeply, like a man under siege — but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
-
It started with pancakes.
She had insisted she was “well enough to contribute to society again,” which apparently meant trying to make brunch while blasting a playlist called “Wife Era Energy” through the apartment speakers.
Sunghoon had been content sipping his coffee and scrolling through emails at the dining table—until he heard the smoke alarm beep once.
He looked up. “What are you burning?”
“Nothing!” she shouted too quickly from the kitchen.
He stood slowly. “Don’t lie. That’s the pre-scream of the smoke alarm.”
“I’m doing fine!” she insisted, flipping something aggressively in the pan. “It just got a little toasty on one side.”
When he walked over, she was waving a spatula at a barely-rescued pancake. It was shaped like a blobfish.
He blinked. “What is that.”
“A heart.”
He stared at it. “No, it isn’t.”
“It was until I flipped it and it broke. Like your heart, when I inevitably leave you for a Michelin star chef who respects my pancake artistry.” “I’m not letting you near chefs,” he said dryly. “You fall in love too easily.”
“You wish,” she teased, reaching over to boop his nose with flour-dusted fingers. “You jealous, Mr. Husband?”
He dodged late, leaving a faint white smudge on his nose. “Stop flirting while cooking. It’s dangerous.”
“You’re dangerous,” she replied with a wink, spinning to pour more batter into the pan.
He reached around her a second later, casually adjusting the heat on the stove.
“Too high,” he muttered. “You’ll burn the next one, too.”
She turned her head slightly. “Oh? And you’re an expert now?”
“I’m a man who doesn’t want to eat carbon.”
“Touché.”
They moved awkwardly around each other after that — him “supervising,” her swatting him away whenever he hovered too close.
But somehow, they ended up at the sink together. She was washing the bowl; he was rinsing strawberries. Their elbows bumped. Twice.
“Move,” he said.
“You move.”
“I’m doing you a favor.”
“I made you a pancake that looks like emotional baggage. That’s real love.”
He looked at her sideways. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yet here you are, still next to me.”
“…You’re messy,” he added, flicking a tiny drop of water onto her cheek.
She gasped. “Sunghoon!”
“That’s for booping me earlier.”
“You want war?”
“I want quiet.”
She reached over and flicked water back. He retaliated. The strawberry bowl wobbled dangerously. Somehow, her floury hands got on his black shirt.
“You’ve signed a death wish,” he muttered darkly, grabbing a dish towel and tossing it over her head.
She shrieked, yanking it off, laughing breathlessly.
By the time the pancakes were plated — heart-ish blobs and all — the kitchen looked like a flour bomb had gone off. Sunghoon sat down, deadpan, as she placed the plate in front of him with both hands and a dramatic bow.
“Your brunch, kind sir.”
He looked up at her with the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re exhausting.”
She leaned in with a cheeky grin. “You love it.”
He didn’t deny it.
-
It happened quietly.
She had been sitting on the couch, wrapping herself in a blanket like it was armor against the cold air creeping in through the open window. Sunghoon was at the dining table, going through paperwork — his usual stance, focused, detached. He wasn’t ignoring her. No, that would’ve been easier. He just didn’t know how to make it known how often his thoughts shifted from the files to her in the most unexpected moments.
She had been staring at him for what felt like forever, as if this moment was building up to something that didn’t need to be said. But there it was, sitting unspoken in the space between them.
“Sunghoon,” she said, voice softer than usual.
He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”
“I love you.”
He froze, pen in hand, posture stiffening as the words echoed in the air between them. His fingers tightened around the pen for a split second before he set it down, his gaze flicking over to her.
She was staring at him with that quiet sincerity, the kind she only reserved for when she meant it. It wasn’t a playful confession. She wasn’t expecting anything from him. She just needed to say it.
“I love you,” she repeated, this time a little more gently, eyes unwavering.
There was a beat of silence.
And then, his lips curved into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but held warmth in its own way — the kind that was hidden beneath layers of restraint. He leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest, and gave her a look that was impossible to decipher.
“I care for you,” he said, voice low but steady. He wasn’t looking at her fully, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. But there was a soft edge to the way he spoke.
She blinked. “That’s it?” He met her eyes now, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “I can’t say it like you do.”
Her heart stilled for a moment as the words sunk in. He didn’t say it back. But… he cared. He was always showing it in his own way. The small things. The way he made sure she was fed, the way he checked if she was warm enough, the way his hand lingered a little too long whenever he touched her — things that didn’t need to be said.
“I know,” she whispered, a soft smile curving onto her lips. “I know, Sunghoon.”
He didn’t offer a word in return, but he stood up, closing the gap between them. He didn’t kiss her. Not yet.
Instead, he cupped her face with the palm of his hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek gently. His gaze softened just enough for her to catch the hint of something real, something more than just the surface.
“You know, I don’t need to say it to show it,” he murmured, voice low and quiet. “But I’ll show you in every other way I can.”
She didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say. She leaned into his hand, letting his touch speak for itself.
It became a quiet thing between them.
She would say I love you like it was breathing — soft, natural, often when he least expected it.
Like when she handed him a coffee cup in the morning, still half-asleep herself, and mumbled, “Love you,” into the rim of her mug.
Or when he helped her zip up her jacket before she ran out to the grocery store, and she peeked up at him with a casual, “Thanks. I love you.”
Each time, Sunghoon’s answer changed.
-
The first time she said it in public, it was offhanded, thrown over her shoulder as she jogged to the car ahead of him.
“Don’t forget your keys! Love you!”
Sunghoon, walking a few steps behind, froze in place. The valet turned to look at him, amused. He blinked once, adjusted his collar, and muttered under his breath, “I care for her. Deeply.”
“You can just say it,” she teased once they were alone in the car. “It’s not a curse.”
“I don’t say things I can’t take back,” he replied without looking at her.
“You make it sound like loving me is a life sentence.”
He gave her a glance. “More like a lifetime contract.”
She grinned. “Aww. That’s so you.”
-
Another night, they were doing dishes together — her drying, him washing. She bumped her hip against his to get his attention, then leaned in just a bit too close.
“Love you.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“You like it.”
He sighed, lips twitching. “Unfortunately.”
“You should say it sometime,” she said, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “Just once. For scientific purposes.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set the dish down, turned to face her, and with hands still dripping, reached up to tuck a damp curl behind her ear.
“I care for you,” he said, serious this time. “In ways I didn’t plan for.”
That shut her up more effectively than a kiss might have.
-
One late evening, curled up together on the couch with her head in his lap, she looked up with a sleepy smile and whispered, “I love you.”
He looked down at her, his fingers gently combing through her hair.
“I know,” he murmured.
Her brows furrowed. “You sound like Han Solo.”
“Who?”
“Uncultured.”
But she was smiling as she said it, because his hand never stopped moving — gentle and constant.
-
Then there were the in-between moments.
Like when she burnt her hand trying to grab a hot tray, and he all but shoved her into a chair to bandage it.
“You’re reckless,” he scolded, voice clipped.
“You’re worried,” she countered, lips quirked.
“I care for you,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.
“Then kiss it better.”
He did.
And sometimes, the words came out of nowhere.
Like when he poured her a glass of water without being asked, or when she caught him folding her laundry because “you mix the socks up every time.”
“I love you,” she’d say softly.
Sunghoon, as always, wouldn’t say it back.
But he would look at her like the world began and ended in the space she took up.
And sometimes, when she was already asleep, he would whisper it against her shoulder as he pulled the blanket over them both.
-
It happened slowly.
Not with a fight. Not even with a sigh. Just… silence.
For the first time in weeks, she didn’t say I love you when he handed her coffee.
She just nodded, murmured a distracted “Thanks,” and went back to whatever she was doing.
At first, Sunghoon didn’t notice. Not really. He was too caught up in the tangle of deadlines and phone calls, and she was still there — still smiling, still joking, still cooking and humming and curling up on the couch like usual.
But the words were missing.
No “I love you” when he zipped up her coat.
No “I love you” when she left for errands.
Not even a cheeky one when she caught him watching her during dinner.
It took him three days to realize it. And another two to feel the weight of it.
Because once he noticed, it was everywhere.
Like the night she made his favorite kimchi stew, spicy and rich the way he liked it, and set the bowl in front of him without a word. She smiled at him when he looked up — the same smile she always gave. But it didn’t reach her eyes.
And when he muttered a quiet “Thanks,” she only nodded. No teasing reply. No flirty banter.
Just silence.
-
She was getting tired.
Tired of always being the one to reach out first.
Tired of baring her heart in soft laughter and lingering glances only to be met with his closed-off silences and half-answers.
Tired of carrying all the feelings like a secret between her ribs.
He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t cold. He cared — she knew he did.
But some days, she wanted to stop having to translate his version of affection. Some days, she wanted him to meet her halfway without being pushed.
So she dialed it back.
No more casual I love yous.
No more waiting for a reply that never came.
-
Sunghoon realized it fully one night while brushing his teeth. She walked past him in the mirror, mumbling, “Good night,” before disappearing into the bedroom.
Just good night.
Not Love you. Sleep well. Don’t stay up too late again.
Just… good night.
He spat the toothpaste into the sink and stared at his reflection, the silence in the apartment pressing in like a fog.
It wasn’t like her.
Not his sunshine girl who wore her heart like earrings, loud and proud and pretty.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t sad.
She was just quiet.
And somehow, that scared him more than any confrontation would have.
-
That night, he climbed into bed beside her, careful not to wake her. She was turned away, curled into herself, her breathing slow and steady. Her back faced him — something she never used to do.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, his hand twitching with the urge to reach out.
He didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Because the silence between them was louder than ever.
The silence didn’t end the next day.
Or the day after that.
She still smiled, still asked if he’d be home for dinner, still offered him half of her strawberry milk when she brought one home from the store.
But there were no more I love yous.
Not in the mornings when he slipped on his coat.
Not in the texts she sent asking if he was eating well.
Not in the soft looks she used to give him from across the dinner table, the ones that used to make his stomach twist in ways he didn’t understand.
The words were gone.
And now that he’d noticed, it was like living without background music. The silence rang in his ears.
-
He tested it a few times.
Walked past her in the kitchen one morning, brushing his fingers against her lower back — something he didn’t do often — just to see if she’d respond with her usual flirty, “If you’re gonna touch me like that, at least say good morning properly.”
But all she said was, “Want eggs or just toast?”
Neutral. Not cold. Not distant. Just… tired.
He hated it.
It got worse at night.
They still shared a bed — ever since the leak in her room weeks ago, she never moved back. But she’d started curling up at the edge now, wrapped tight in her blanket like a cocoon.
She used to press her feet to his legs and grin when he flinched.
Used to steal his pillow and pretend it was hers.
Used to whisper love you when the lights were off, like it was just a fact of life.
But lately?
Nothing.
Just her soft breathing, turned away from him. Like she didn’t have the energy to try anymore.
-
A week into the silence, Sunghoon opened their group text with his mom and hers. He scrolled back weeks, looking at her bubbly replies and endless hearts and the little selfies she used to send when he stayed late at the office.
He hadn’t realized how often she’d reached for him.
How many times she tried.
How little he gave her in return.
The guilt was slow, but steady. Like water wearing down a stone.
-
On the ninth day, she made pancakes. His favorite, golden on the outside and fluffy in the middle, with just the right amount of syrup.
He stared at the plate.
“…Why?”
She blinked at him. “You don’t like pancakes anymore?”
“No, I—” he stopped, throat tight. “You haven’t cooked like this in a while.”
She just shrugged, flipping another one for herself. “Had extra time.”
No teasing. No smug little Because I love you, dummy. No request for a kiss as payment.
Just pancakes.
He hated how quiet her eyes looked.
-
By day ten, he started talking more, just to fill the silence.
“How was your day?”
“Did that delivery ever arrive?”
“I saw that place you wanted to visit reopened.”
She answered. Always.
But her eyes didn’t linger on his.
And she never asked about his day back.
-
By day eleven, she fell asleep on the couch.
And for a moment, Sunghoon just stood there, watching her breathe.
She always looked smaller when she slept — like the world didn’t sit on her shoulders when her eyes were closed.
Without thinking, he crouched down in front of her and gently pushed her hair out of her face.
She stirred a little. Eyes fluttered. But she didn’t wake.
He hovered there for a long moment, biting the inside of his cheek.
Then, quietly — so soft it barely reached the room — he said,
“I care for you.” She didn’t hear it. Of course she didn’t.
He was always too late. Sunghoon was used to figuring things out quickly.
Contracts. Mergers. Timelines. He’d spent his life solving problems with quiet efficiency and minimal fuss.
But somehow — when it came to her — he had been painfully, devastatingly slow. Because it wasn’t until she stopped trying that he realized how much she had been holding them together.
And how badly he’d taken it all for granted.
-
It started with breakfast.
He was not a morning person. Not even close.
But one Tuesday, he got up earlier than he needed to, quietly padded into the kitchen, and scrambled eggs the way she liked — soft, creamy, slightly cheesy.
When she walked in, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, she froze at the sight of him at the stove.
He didn’t look at her.
Just slid a plate across the counter.
“I added chives,” he muttered. “You like chives.”
She stared at the food. Then at him.
“…You okay?” “I’m fine.”
She blinked, hesitated, then gave a small, cautious smile. “Thanks.”
He didn’t expect the way his chest warmed just from hearing that.
-
Next came the flowers.
Not grand bouquets. Not showy centerpieces.
Just little bundles from the market she liked — baby’s breath and peonies, sometimes daisies. Whatever looked the most like her.
He never said much when he gave them. Just left them on the dining table or kitchen counter with the receipts already thrown out.
But she noticed. Every time.
She’d pause, fingers brushing the petals, eyes going soft for just a second before schooling her face again.
-
And then he started kissing her more.
At first it was awkward — short, stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to be casual about it.
But over time, it became habit.
A kiss on the temple before she sat down to read.
One at the crown of her head when she yawned too loudly.
A soft one at the corner of her lips when she passed him the remote.
She never asked anymore.
But she never pulled away either.
-
The hardest part, though — the one he’d danced around for far too long — was the words.
He could build a company. Run numbers in his head like equations. Predict a market shift months in advance.
But this?
This was terrifying. Because he could lose deals and bounce back.
But if he said it, and it wasn’t enough?
If she looked at him and smiled politely, like it was too late? He didn’t know what he’d do with that.
Still. She deserved it.
And maybe — just maybe — he needed it too.
It happened on a Sunday.
They were cleaning up after dinner, her humming some tune he couldn’t name, the sleeves of her sweatshirt bunched around her elbows as she rinsed plates.
He dried in silence. Watching.
Noticing. She didn’t glance his way. Didn’t ask how the stew turned out. Didn’t lean into him like she used to.
And he couldn’t take it anymore.
“…I love you.”
She paused.
The plate in her hand stilled under the running water. Her head tilted just slightly, eyes still down.
Then — a beat later — she hummed.
Low. Neutral. Nonchalant. Just like he used to do.
And it wrecked him.
Because he finally understood what it felt like to say something real and get nothing in return. But he didn’t regret it. Not one bit.
Because for the first time, he was reaching.
Finally.
He told her he loved her.
And she hummed. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t smile. Just turned off the faucet, dried the plate, and walked past him like he hadn’t just said the most vulnerable thing of his adult life.
Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, towel clenched in his hand, heart pounding. So that’s what it felt like.
He didn’t chase after her.
He just cleaned the rest of the dishes and accepted it — not because he was giving up, but because he wasn’t. This wasn’t a race to win. It was a mess he made, and he was going to sit in it.
And fix it.
Even if it took forever.
-
The next few days, he didn’t back off.
If anything, he doubled down — not with desperation, but with patience.nHe kissed her forehead when he left for work. Sent photos of his lunch like usual, except now with dumb captions.
Does this chicken look dry or is it just my soul without you? She replied with a deadpan emoji, but it made him grin.
He brought her chocolate milk on the way home, the exact brand she liked.
He left notes around the house. Nothing dramatic. Just little Post-its on her mirror:
You looked really pretty last night. Don’t forget your umbrella.
I love you, by the way. Still.
Each one disappeared without a word. He had no idea if she kept them. But he kept writing.
-
And then she got petty.
Playfully so. He came home one night to find she’d left a single sticky note on his pillow.
“You forgot to kiss me again. Tragic.”
His jaw actually dropped.
Not at the note, but at the doodle of a tiny broken heart beside it. He marched into the kitchen, where she was munching on strawberries, and kissed her — firm and full on the lips — until she squeaked.
Then she shoved a berry in his mouth before walking away with a smug, “Took you long enough.”
He laughed. Actually laughed.
God, he missed her like this.
-
Things eased.
Softened.
She started saying goodnight again. Started stealing bites of his food like old times. Started kicking his feet under the table.
And then one night — finally — she kissed him first. They were brushing their teeth. Just standing there, side by side, spitting and rinsing like two semi-functioning adults. And she suddenly leaned up, wiped a bit of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth with her thumb, and kissed him.
A soft, warm press. Her lips tasted like mint and relief.She didn’t say anything after. Just walked back to bed, braid swinging behind her.
He stood in the bathroom like an idiot for a full minute.
The next morning, she didn’t say “I love you.”
But she packed his lunch. With a tiny heart drawn in sharpie on the container.
And when he kissed her goodbye — longer than usual, slower — she sighed against his mouth like she meant it.
“You’re not going to make me say it back first, are you?” she mumbled. Sunghoon smirked. “Nah. You already did.”
“When?”
“The moment you kissed me with toothpaste breath.” She groaned and tried to shove him out the door. He went, laughing.
And for the first time in a long time, they both felt like they were home.
-
It started with a tweet.
She didn’t even know he had seen it — a late-night repost of a fluffy white puppy chewing on a sock, captioned “I’m not a mom yet but I’d kill for this little guy.”
She thought nothing of it. Just something cute during a bout of insomnia.
But Sunghoon saw it. And Sunghoon — logical, calculated, definitely not a dog person Sunghoon — did not scroll past.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then quietly messaged someone. And two days later, on a random Friday, he came home with something moving in a blanket.
She was sprawled on the couch in sweats, rewatching her comfort drama with a blanket over her legs and a half-eaten snack bowl on the floor.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hmm?” she blinked, eyes still on the screen. “You’re home early.”
“No meetings this afternoon.”
“Oh. Nice.”
He walked over, expression unreadable. “Got you something.” That caught her attention.
Her head turned slowly. “What kind of something?”
He didn’t say anything. Just set the bundle down on the couch beside her.
She peered over the edge. And gasped.
It was tiny. Fluffy. Blindingly white. With the roundest black eyes and floppy ears and a pink tongue that immediately tried to lick her fingers.
“A… a puppy?” Her voice cracked. “Is this a joke?”
He looked a little sheepish. “You tweeted about wanting one.” Her eyes snapped up. “You saw that?”
“I see everything you post.”
She blinked. Heart thudding.
Then back to the dog. Then to him.
“Wait—is this ours?”
“…Yours. But yeah.”
She let out an undignified squeal and scooped the pup into her arms, practically crying as it wriggled and yipped and climbed all over her chest.
“Oh my God, you are so cute,” she cooed, completely ignoring her husband now. “Look at your little paws. I’m naming you—wait. No. Let me think.”
Sunghoon just stood there, watching her melt.
And for once… he didn’t mind the chaos.
Didn’t mind the little paw prints already on the couch.
Didn’t mind the way her laugh cracked too loud or how she immediately started talking in a baby voice.
Because it was hers. And he had made it happen.
She looked up at him, eyes glossy. “You really got me a puppy?” He shrugged, like it was nothing.
“You said you’d kill for one,” he said flatly. “Figured this was safer.”
She stared at him.
And then—without warning—launched herself forward and kissed him. Fierce and unfiltered and full of everything she hadn’t said in days.
The puppy yipped between them in protest, but she didn’t care. Neither did he.
When she pulled back, breathless, she whispered, “I love you.”
And this time, he didn’t hesitate.
“I love you more.”
-
“You’re spoiling him.”
“You bought him.”
Sunghoon stood in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed as he stared at his wife and the small white puppy now fast asleep in a ridiculously tiny cable-knit sweater.
It was baby blue.
With a hood.
“You let him sleep on the bed,” he said, accusatory.
“He has tiny legs!” she said, scandalized. “He gets cold! What kind of monster would make him sleep alone?”
Sunghoon blinked. “He has a bed. A memory foam one. That cost more than my office chair.”
She gasped dramatically. “How dare you say that in front of him?” He stared down at the puppy. It snored softly. Dreaming, probably, of chewing through another pair of his socks.
“Great. He’s spoiled and entitled,” Sunghoon muttered.
But he still crouched down and covered the dog gently with the edge of the throw blanket before walking off.
It didn’t take long.
He cracked faster than she did.
One morning, she woke up to find Sunghoon curled around the puppy, his usually perfect hair an utter mess, one arm under the dog’s round body, the other draped protectively over it.
She snapped a photo.
He didn’t even flinch.
“Don’t show anyone,” he muttered.
“You look like a proud single mother in a 90s drama.”
“Woman—”
“My princess,” she corrected sweetly, poking his cheek. “Get used to the third wheel. He’s sleeping in the middle now.”
He grumbled.And kissed her temple anyway.
They split the duties. Sort of.
She handled the outfits. The vet appointments. The excessive toy collection.
He handled the training — which meant he paced the hallway at 1AM with a leash and muttered “go potty” under his breath while the dog just rolled in the grass.
“You’re soft now,” she teased one night as she caught him lying on the floor teaching the dog to sit.
He glanced up, a treat in his hand. “No, I’m not.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He tried again. “I’m just committed to excellence.”
“You call him ‘son’.”
Sunghoon looked at the puppy.
The puppy barked once.
He caved.
“…He’s my son.”
Their conversations shifted.
“Did he eat today?”
“He pooped twice. Solid. Good color.”
“Where’s his giraffe toy? He only sleeps with the giraffe—NO, NOT THAT ONE, THE ONE WITH THE WONKY EYE.”
She caught him one evening scrolling through his phone and smiling.
“Looking at pics of me?”
“No.”
“Other girls?”
“…No.”
“Wait—are you looking at him?”
He turned the screen.
The puppy. Wearing a bib. Sitting in a tiny high chair.
“I love him,” Sunghoon admitted, eyes soft.
She climbed into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. “I know. You’re a good dad.”
He kissed her nose. “Still not letting him lick my face.”
Five minutes later, the dog was licking his face.
-
One night, they were curled on the couch — her legs thrown over his, puppy stretched across both their laps. The TV played something forgettable in the background.
“You’ve changed,” she said suddenly, gaze soft.
He tilted his head. “For the worse?”
“For the better.”
He didn’t respond right away.
But then he leaned in and kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. Soft, slow presses like punctuation marks between thoughts.
“I just needed time,” he murmured.
“And a dog,” she said into his neck, grinning.
He huffed a laugh. “And a wife who never gave up.”
She smiled.
The puppy snored.
And for the first time in a long time, Sunghoon felt like he had everything he didn’t even know he wanted — all piled on one couch in soft blankets and too much love.
-
It was supposed to be a normal day.
She wasn’t snooping.
She was just being helpful, cleaning out Sunghoon’s office while he was in meetings all morning. He worked too hard, let the clutter build — old folders, dust, half-drunk coffee cups. She was humming while she dusted the bookshelf, hair tied up, a warm cup of tea waiting on the desk for him.
Then she found it.
Tucked under a stack of signed contracts, in the back of the drawer he usually kept locked.
A folded document with bold letters.
Mutual Agreement for Marriage Termination.
At first, she just… stared.
She re-read the words.
Twice. Thrice.
Marriage. Termination.
Her hands started to shake.
She didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
Just folded it back as neatly as it was and placed it on the center of his desk like it had been waiting for a confrontation. And then she sat on the couch. Quiet. Still. Puppy in her lap, sensing the shift in her mood, nuzzling her thigh.
She didn’t even pet him back. When Sunghoon came home an hour later, the air felt wrong instantly.
“Babe?” he called, loosening his tie. “You—”
His eyes fell on the paper. Then on her. And everything stopped.
She lifted her gaze, voice barely above a whisper. “What is this?”
He opened his mouth.Closed it.
Ran a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. “I was cleaning,” she said, trying to stay even. “I didn’t mean to find it. But now I have. So—what is this?”
He exhaled sharply. “It’s not what you think.”
“It says termination, Sunghoon.” “I know what it says.” His voice broke a little. “It’s just old. From before.”
She swallowed. “From before what?” He looked like he wanted to bolt. But instead, he walked forward, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. “Are you okay,” he said softly, “with just being married on paper?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her, elbows on his knees. “That was the plan, right? From the beginning. Just pretend. Sign the papers. Merge the families. Move on eventually.” Her lip trembled, but she bit it hard. “Things changed.” “Yeah,” he said. Quiet. “They did.”
Then his hand reached out and took hers.
“I fell in love with you.”
She blinked. “I didn’t mean to,” he went on. “Didn’t plan to. But every day, you… you made it harder not to.” She shook her head, overwhelmed. “Then what is that document—?”
“I was going to propose,” he said, tone suddenly desperate. “I have this whole plan—something stupid and elaborate. With the dog and your favorite flowers and I even bought a fucking ring that’s been sitting in my desk at work because I wanted it to be perfect.”
Her breath hitched.
“I forgot I had that draft,” he muttered. “I meant to shred it weeks ago. But work got in the way and then you started smiling at me like I was your whole world and I thought—‘she doesn’t even know yet, but soon.’”
She stared at him.
Eyes wide. Disbelieving.
“I was going to ask you to really marry me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “To stay with me. Forever. Not just in documents. Not just because our families said so.”
He reached up, fingers brushing her cheek.
“Fuck,” he said again, softer this time. “Baby, please pretend you didn’t see that.”
Silence. Long. Heavy. Then—
“I wasn’t going to leave,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I thought we were finally okay.”
“We are.” He cupped her face now, both hands, like she was something fragile he had broken. “We’re better than okay. I just—I wanted to do this right.”
Her voice trembled. “And now?”
“Now?” he kissed her forehead. “Now I have to earn your yes before I lose you again.” She let out a weak laugh, watery and shaking.
“You could’ve just used the puppy again.”
He smiled — small, guilty. “I still might.”
She nudged his chest lightly, the tiniest hint of playfulness peeking through the ache in her chest. “Also, you’re swearing a lot. For someone who always tells me off for saying ‘shit’ when I stub my toe.”
Sunghoon groaned softly, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah, well. You found the one thing that made me forget my own rules.” She smirked, eyes still glassy. “Tsk. You’re such a hypocrite, husband. What would our parents say?”
“They’d say,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, “I’m in love with my wife, and I’m scared shitless I just ruined everything.” She gasped. “Again? There you go! That’s two!”
He gave her a flat look, but she caught the corner of his lips twitching. “Swearing Sunghoon,” she teased gently, poking his chest. “You’ve really lost it.”
“I’ve always been the sane one,” he muttered, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “And then you walked into my life calling me dumb pet names and putting flowers in the bathroom.”
“You liked the flowers,” she whispered, eyes soft.
“I loved the flowers,” he said. “I love everything you do.” And this time, she didn’t tease him back. This time, she let it settle. Let the words reach where they always failed to before.
“I hate that you were scared to tell me,” she admitted.
“I hate that I waited this long,” he replied. “I should’ve said it the day I kissed you goodbye and drove back just to do it right.”
“Still the best kiss,” she muttered.
“Oh?” He leaned in, nose brushing hers. “Want a better one?”
“…Maybe,” she whispered, letting her eyes fall shut.
And this time, when he kissed her — it wasn’t out of obligation, or affection hidden beneath sarcasm. It wasn’t a favor, or a joke.
It was a promise.
The document was never mentioned again — not out loud. But something changed after that night.
He brought her coffee in bed the next morning, unprompted. Kissed her temple before heading out, eyes softer than usual. And she didn’t flinch when he swore under his breath at a work email during breakfast — though she did raise an eyebrow and mutter, “That’s three for the week, sailor.”
Sunghoon grumbled something about her corrupting him, but he smiled. Smiled — and didn’t try to hide it. He came home earlier. Ate her food with less nagging. Bought her favorite snacks without asking. And three days after the confrontation, when she came back from grocery shopping, there was a tiny box of her favorite pastries on the kitchen counter with a sticky note that read:
Eat before you forget again. I love you.
– The husband who never swears. Ever.
She rolled her eyes. Blushed a little.
The silence that had once been heavy was now… light. Full of things unsaid but felt. Words passed through glances, half-smiles, shared spoonfuls of soup.
Still — he hadn’t proposed yet.
It happened on a Sunday morning.
Rainy. Cozy. The puppy snoring in her lap while she flipped through a magazine, messy bun and oversized hoodie, glasses sliding down her nose.
“Hey,” he said from the kitchen, casually. “Hmm?”
“You free today?” She gave him a look. “I’m your wife. What, you think I’ve got a date with someone else?” He looked suspiciously thoughtful. “That friend of yours from college keeps texting you.”
“Sunghoon.”
“Kidding,” he said quickly, already grabbing her hand. “Mostly.” She snorted but followed when he tugged her toward the hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m in pajamas.”
“You’re always in pajamas.”
“And you’re always in a mood when you plan something.”
“Woman,” he warned playfully, “get your shoes.” She gasped. “The tone! That’s the Serious Husband tone!” But he didn’t respond. He just smiled.
He took her to the dog park first. Let her laugh and coo and race the puppy through wet grass. He stayed beside her the whole time, holding her hand whenever he wasn’t holding the leash, helping her wipe muddy paw prints off her jeans.
Then they stopped by the café she loved — the one with the cozy booths and the cinnamon rolls the size of her face. He let her order two.
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Sunghoon?” He shrugged. “I’m just in a good mood.”
“Okay, now I’m scared.” Still, he didn’t say anything strange. Didn’t act particularly suspicious.Until they got home. Until she saw the living room. Candles. A dozen. Her favorite flowers — white ranunculus — all over the coffee table. The puppy had a bowtie.
She froze. Sunghoon gently took her tote bag and set it aside.
“What is all this?” she asked, cautiously. “A cult ritual? Are you about to sacrifice me?” He huffed a laugh. “Close.”
Then he dropped to one knee. Her heart stopped.
“You found the document before I could do this,” he began, voice rough with nerves. “And I could’ve waited longer. I had a whole rooftop dinner plan. Fireworks. Probably a string quartet. But I realized I don’t care about making it perfect.”
She stared. Tears welled, slow and hot.
“I care about making it real.” He opened a small velvet box. The ring was simple. Classic. Just like him.
“I married you on paper,” he said, “but I want to marry you for real. To wake up beside you knowing you chose me, not our families. I want a million quiet mornings with you and loud nights where we argue about whose turn it is to take the dog out.”
She let out a teary laugh.
“I want the chaos. The sweetness. Your ‘I love yous’ and your swearing and your dumb jokes.”
He looked up, eyes soft.
“So… marry me, Y/N. For real this time.” She blinked hard. Heart pounding. And then — her voice cracked, but clear:
“Yes.”
He stood immediately. Crushed her into his chest. Kissed her — slow, sweet, and tasting faintly of cinnamon. And when they broke apart, cheeks flushed, he whispered, “I really fucking love you.”
She gasped through her tears. “Four!”He kissed her again before she could finish scolding him. Married life, as it turned out, suited them.
Sunghoon still had his resting stoic face and soft grumbles. She still left flowers in weird places and stuck grocery lists on his monitors with glittery cat-shaped post-its. Their white puppy, now full-grown and dramatically clingy, had taken over their bed and most of their attention. But even that wasn’t enough to quiet the creeping, fluttery want that had started blooming in her chest.
It started small. A passing stroller at the park. A tiny shoe left behind on a café bench. A baby giggling on TV.
Then it grew.
A soft sigh when she held a friend’s newborn. A dreamy stare when she saw Sunghoon playing with their puppy, gentle and patient, even letting it bite his shoelace just to keep it entertained.
And then, one night, she whispered it into his chest. Post-dinner, post-shower, wrapped up in bed with his arm thrown over her waist.
“Do you ever think about having a baby?” His hand paused. Just slightly. Then resumed drawing lazy circles on her stomach. “…What kind of question is that?”
“A curious one.” He was quiet. Long enough that she almost changed the subject. Then—
“I do.”
She blinked.b“You do?” He turned slightly, eyes still half-lidded from sleep. “Yeah. Sometimes. I think I’d be decent at it.”
“‘Decent,’” she snorted. “You’d probably be one of those dramatic, overprotective dads.”
“…So?” She grinned. “So I’d love that.”
He kissed her cheek. “You already call me daddy sometimes when you’re drunk or in bed.”
“Park Sunghoon!” He laughed. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
She whacked his chest and turned around, red in the face.
Still — the conversation stayed
A few months later, something shifted.
She was a bit more tired. A bit more forgetful. Spent two mornings in a row hugging the toilet bowl and cursing the yogurt she’d had for breakfast. Sunghoon, who kept telling her to stop swearing like a sailor, looked suspicious the third time.
“You’re not sick,” he said one night, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not even feverish.”
“No,” she muttered, cheeks warm. “I just—maybe—it’s just stress?”
“Hmm.”
“…Stop staring like that.”
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know!”
“Let’s find out.”
Five minutes later, she was hiding behind the bathroom door with a stick on the counter and Sunghoon standing on the other side like a military commander waiting for mission results.
“Woman,” he warned. “Open the door.”
She did.
The test was positive.
Neither of them spoke for a full three seconds.
Then she whispered, eyes wide, “Sunghoon?”
“…You really are gonna start swearing again, aren’t you?”
She laughed. Sobbed. Launched herself into his arms.
He held her like she was made of light. Then kissed the side of her head, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.
“I care for you, remember?” he said. “Now I care for both of you.”
“Sunghoon,” she sniffled, “I love you.”
This time, there was no delay.
“I love you too,” he said, without hesitation, one hand already on her stomach. “So damn much.”
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