dawngyu

[dawngyu]

When The Night Comes || Choi Yeonjun

➛Pairing // Choi Yeonjun x fem! reader

➛Word Count // 18.8k

➛Genre // university au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to friends to friends with benefits to lovers.

➛Warnings // // substance use [cigarettes and weed], mental health issues [not directly stated], past trauma, suggestive language, mentions of past abuse, reader has multiple nicknames [petal, blossom], general pet names [sweetheart, gorgeous, etc]

➛Synopsis // And I hope when the night comes, we stay in limbo together, savouring this moment—ignoring the way I can no longer hold you the same under the morning gaze.

In which Choi Yeonjun finds himself entangled with you. Yearning for a deeper connection, Yeonjun has to navigate his feelings while sharing unforgettable moments with you. 

He must confront the question: does love really conquer all or will the shadows of your past prevent him from achieving the happy ending he so desperately seeks?

➛Playlist

adeline's opening ✉ - my first fic ahh >< genuinely can't believe I was able to write something like this. I'd love to thank 3 individuals actually!! @dawngyu for being such a sweetheart to me and was so supportive during the entire process, @yunverie for having the sweetest reactions to the early snippets I gave her and to my wife @just-nc-tea who read it even when it wasn't completed yet :). I love you all so much, thank you <3

I || Whispers of Spring ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The emergence of Spring reminded Yeonjun of you. After Winter made her exit, Spring began to reveal herself—welcoming the warmth of the sun and the vibrant blooms that burst forth in preparation for her lively sister, Summer. To most, Spring signified renewal and the blossoming of new beginnings—yet to Yeonjun, Spring evoked memories of your first interaction. Like the season you possessed a cool demeanour, yet a touch of warmth remained hidden deep within you, waiting to be revealed. To Yeonjun, Spring marked the beginning of his entanglement with you.

Seeing you for the first time felt like a breath of fresh air.  It was the first year of college and you were sitting on a bench near the quadrangle nursing a cigarette while you listened to Beomgyu, someone he got acquainted with in one of his earlier classes. Your presence was undeniable—despite your intimidating aura, Yeonjun thought you were gorgeous. The way the sunlight caught your eyes, the slight curve of your lips when Beomgyu said something funny, captivated him—your entire being captivated him, like a magnetic pull, drawing Yeonjun in. He couldn't deny his immediate attraction to you. 

Over the years, Yeonjun’s attraction to you blossomed more than he would’ve imagined. Naturally, he and Beomgyu became friends through their shared classes; every mention of you from Beomgyu made his heart leap for joy, his interest in you seemed to deepen with every blurb of information he was told about you. Despite his extroverted nature, Yeonjun always shied away at the idea of talking to you. In a world where everyone wanted to be the Sun, to him, you were the Moon—unreachable, only to be admired from afar.

Your first interaction with Yeonjun remained etched into his being. Amidst the chaos of the party, there you were, clinging to the corner, as if the walls themselves whispered secrets to you. It was the final party of Sophomore year, and despite the drink in your hand, you seemed more sober than tipsy. Even though you appeared nervous, you seemed to maintain a steady conversation with Beomgyu, smiling at his antics.

While all eyes were on him, Yeonjun couldn't help but focus on you. In that moment, the lights reflected on your skin, causing you to illuminate a soft glow almost as if you were the Moon—so close, yet unattainable. Your unapproachable aura always left Yeonjun yearning for more—wanting to explore your secrets, unravel your complexities, yet treat your body as a sacred temple, whispering silent prayers hoping that you might grant him a taste of the salvation you had to offer.

Despite the season, the moment the cold air enveloped you as you stepped onto the balcony, it felt as if Death itself embraced you—a biting cold that seeped into your bones. A cigarette found solace between your lips, dulling Death’s grip on you, allowing you a moment of respite. The first drag was bittersweet—despite the warmth it brought to you, you couldn't help but be reminded of why you hoped to quit in the first place.

The second drag felt tantalizing—tormenting you on the goals you're unable to achieve, reminding you that quitting meant letting go of the only thing that connected you to your past—like a noose around your neck, unable to be free of the comfort the addiction brings you. The third drag was interrupted—Yeonjun, the party’s main guest, enters, glowing, as if he were the Sun itself and you, Icarus, destined to fly too close and be burned.

You’ve seen him around campus before—always surrounded by some form of company, as if he were a flame that drew people in like moths. Known for his charisma and talent, Yeonjun was never a bore—from what Beomgyu told you, he was also a giant sweetheart despite what people may think. In contrast, you found solitude in flowers, the silent messages they conveyed, and the untold stories weaved between their leaves. With each bloom, a message waiting to be relayed.

With a final drag, you crushed the remnants of your cigarette as you turned to face Yeonjun as he approached—his raven-coloured hair cascading along his neck, eyes filled with something akin to wonder, “Is the party too much for you?” he asked.

As you wrapped your arms around yourself, you responded, “Beomgyu drained all the energy out of me.” You paused, glancing away, “I needed to sober up before I decided to leave.” 

“But it’s only 12 am! The party has barely started, Pretty,” Yeonjun pouted, his expression playful.

“Unlike you, I have the social battery of a Plum Blossom. Alcohol can only help me so much,” you replied, ignoring the way the nickname made you uneasy.

“A Plum Blossom?” he asked, surprised.

As heat rushed to your cheeks, you clarified, “The flower. They symbolize loneliness, so to an extent, I like being alone.”

Smirking, Yeonjun leaned in slightly, “Then what flower am I?”

“A sunflower,” you said softly as your gaze fell to the ground, “you’re bright, warm and approachable with loads of energy.” As you turned to leave, you felt embarrassed having shared so much about flowers. Despite this, you looked back to give Yeonjun a non-verbal goodbye, only to find him placing his jacket around your shoulders.

Instantly, his scent surrounds you—grapefruit with undertones of incense and jasmine—pleasant, but not overwhelming. The jacket was a touch too big but like his personality, it immediately warmed you—almost as if it were a talisman, warding off Death’s embrace.

Confusion etched across your features as he smiled sweetly, “An excuse for me to see you again. You’re friends with Gyu, right? So, we’re bound to see each other on campus. I hope to see you soon Blossom,” he added before making his way back on the dance floor as if the entire interaction had been a casual exchange. 

Embarrassingly, you've avoided seeing Yeonjun for a month. Despite your desire to return his jacket, you've steered clear of places you knew he frequented, only staying within the confines of your safe space—the University's greenhouse. Beomgyu teased you about it, relishing the idea of his two friends interacting—you however dreaded the thought of seeing him again. 

It's not that your first interaction with him was terrible: it's just that to you, Yeonjun was the Sun—ethereal and radiant while someone like you, was too broken to be seen with someone like him.

“You know you can't avoid him forever, right?” Beomgyu started one day, leaning against the table as you watered the orchids. “He asked me for you, asking if I'm coming to see you in your little hideout,” he teased.

“It's not a hideout,” you mumbled, focusing on the delicate flowers, “It's just that, he shines so brightly, I don't think I deserve to be in the same space as him, Cookie. He shouldn't waste his time on someone like me.”

Beomgyu sighed, his expression softening, “You're more than worth it, Petal. Don't let your past define you, you're more than that. You shine just as brightly; anyone would be lucky to get to know you.”

You placed the watering can down as tears welled in your eyes. You've known Beomgyu since you both were in elementary school—he's been with you at your worst, from the loss of your brother when you were fifteen to your parents abandoning you at sixteen, leaving you to navigate in a world that moved on too quickly, denying you a chance to grieve. He's witnessed the aftermath of your last relationship, the way that even in his death, your ex haunted you, leaving you shattered.

Giving you a side hug, Beomgyu continued, “I know it's hard, but give him a chance. Yeonjun’s a nice guy. Even if it takes time for you to get close as friends, he'll understand.”

You had really hoped that could be true, but the fear and anxiety wrapped around you, made you hesitate. Deep down, you really wanted to believe things could turn out differently.

Your second interaction made Yeonjun feel alive; nostalgic even—you're with a cigarette again as you sat with Beomgyu, talking. Despite not having seen you in months, Yeonjun couldn't help but think you're even more gorgeous than when he first met you—his feelings resurfacing almost as if it had never truly left.  You were glowing—you seem more animated that day; happy in the bubble you're currently in, laughing at the antics Beomgyu is doing—your rosy cheeks contrasting the chilly weather.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Yeonjun decided to approach you both—hoping his presence doesn’t cause this side of your personality to be stored away again.

“Gyu, hey!” Yeonjun said as he made his way over with his gaze fixed on you. He noticed the surprise in your eyes at his presence and he finds it adorable—the way your smile softened, and your nose scrunched at his arrival made him feel as if he were in heaven. 

“Hey man,” Beomgyu said as he greeted him with a high-five. “You’ve never met Petal, right? She’s like a sister to me, so this is me formally introducing you.” He smiled as he ruffled your hair.

“Nice to meet you Petal," Yeonjun smirked slightly, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

With furrowed brows, you gently pushed Beomgyu as you quietly told Yeonjun your name with a shy smile.

After a brief moment of silence, Beomgyu suddenly jumped up, “I just remembered I had to print an assignment for my next class,” Giving your arm a squeeze, he continued, “Later guys! I'll see you for lunch, Petal!” as he ran off towards the library. 

As you both waved goodbye to Beomgyu, Yeonjun took a seat next to you, his eyes sparkled with anticipation as you handed him a gift bag.

“Your hoodie,” you stated, “and a pressed sunflower, as an apology for taking so long to get it back to you.”

“You didn't have to get me an apology, Blossom,” Yeonjun replied as he took out the pressed sunflower, admiring it—it's beautiful, he thinks. The pressed sunflowers are carefully confined within a picture frame ensuring its beauty is preserved—recalling your first encounter he thinks it's endearing that you gave him one.

“You did this yourself?” he asked, genuinely impressed. 

As you nodded in response, Yeonjun noticed you watching him as he continued to admire your work, sensing the care you put into it.

To others, this may seem like a superficial interaction between two people—but to Yeonjun, this was the beginning of something more. Like a budding flower, this relationship had potential to blossom into something truly beautiful and fulfilling.

Over the next few months, your interactions with Yeonjun became more frequent. He began having lunch with you and Beomgyu more often, even visiting the greenhouse whether Beomgyu was there or not. At first, you were hesitant to open up, your budding relationship destined to remain stunted—with a lack of food it seemed inevitable to fall apart, but Yeonjun's warm smile and genuine interest in your life slowly chipped away at your defences.

At first, it started small—Yeonjun began to join you and Beomgyu in the cafeteria for lunch, a simple action that spoke volumes to you. 

“What's your favourite book?” he asked one day. Evident hesitation on your features left you unsure of how to respond, but Beomgyu chimed in, “Oh, Petal absolutely loves mythology and folklore! Especially stories deeply rooted in romance and symbolism.” As Beomgyu ruffled your hair teasingly, Yeonjun looked at you, his eyes lighting up, “Be sure to tell me about them next time, yeah? Especially your favourite.” With a shy smile and heat rising to your cheeks you nodded as the remainder of lunch fell into a quiet, casual conversation between you three.

In the following weeks, Yeonjun’s visits to the greenhouse became a daily occurrence, often bringing you a coffee or a sweet snack you liked. Some days were quiet, others were filled with sweet conversation between you two—you, explaining the nuances of flower language while he listened intently, admiring the way you carefully tended to each flower.

“I brought these for you today,” Yeonjun said as his eyes sparkled while he entered, handing you a small bouquet of beautifully arranged red chrysanthemums and white roses with a tiny bag of freshly baked cookies. “I'm sure you'll understand the message I'm trying to convey.” Your blush deepened as Yeonjun smiled softly at you, “And the cookies were something Soobin and I made earlier. Wanted to give you some. The cookies taste good though! Even though Soobin helped, I made sure everything was edible in the end,” he smiled cutely as he sat next to you on the bench. You felt a flutter in your chest as you accepted the gift, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him.

The times when the greenhouse was filled with you, Beomgyu and Yeonjun, it became livelier—the flowers embracing the energy that surrounded them. Beomgyu watched from the sidelines as the conversation naturally got quieter, he smiled at the way Yeonjun looked at you, with a look of adoration, unmatched. “I'm glad the two of you are getting along,” he commented, his voice filled with warmth. “It's nice to see my two best friends get along.”

In the confines of the greenhouse—amongst the laughter and quieter moments, it became a safe house—a sanctuary where your blossoming friendship with Yeonjun was nurtured into a young seedling full of life and vigour. The way Yeonjun listened, really listened, made you feel valued—it felt nice to be heard, to be seen, to feel as if you were human like everyone else even if your past tried to tell you otherwise.

And with Spring coming to an end, the vibrant colours surrounding you mirrored the warmth of your connection; as the last petals of the season began to fall, you both stood on the precipice of something beautiful—ready to embrace the Summer of your hearts with open arms.

II || A Glimpse of Heaven ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The next time Yeonjun saw you, you were at a party again but this time it's the beginning of Autumn—unlike your first meeting.

After the sweltering heat of Summer, Autumn's crisp air made him feel alive—her leaves, painted in hues of auburn and crimson, dancing gently in the breeze, creating a nostalgic atmosphere that somewhat felt romantic, contrasting the solemnity of Winter that steadily approached.

This time, he saw you on the dance floor, which was surprising considering your withdrawn personality—your body language was comfortable, with relaxed shoulders, you swayed with Beomgyu to the music, surrounded by other attendants of the party. Yeonjun was mesmerized. The way you handled yourself even in this moment felt addicting to him—he couldn’t resist staring at you as you sipped on your drink, giggling at something Beomgyu whispered to you over the music before you made direct eye contact with him.

He couldn't help but feel shy as he felt the way heat rushed to his cheeks, still, he waved at you from across the room. In response, your eyes shone with excitement which Yeonjun assumed was due to the alcohol, but he felt giddy at the idea of you being happy to see him.

Despite the moments you shared over the last few months, Yeonjun still wasn't sure on where the relationship was headed. Still staring, Yeonjun saw you whisper something to Beomgyu as you stepped outside, onto the same balcony where you first talked last Spring—and Yeonjun, he couldn't stop himself from following.

As you placed your joint between your lips, you fished for your lighter in your purse—you don’t smoke weed often, the relaxed feeling you got, usually became too much for you—but in this moment is felt like a reward for overcoming Summer and enjoying yourself even if the anxiety remained in the back of your mind. 

Annoyed, you realized you left your lighter home, causing you to cut your celebration short—or so you thought, like last Spring, Yeonjun met you on the balcony again. He had a glow to him, a little different than usual—maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's something else, but whatever it is that made him look like he had the Moon, made him look even more beautiful to you.

“Do you have a light?” You asked. “It seems like I forgot my lighter home and I wanted to celebrate,” you stated, the pout evident in your voice as you gestured to your joint.

Leaning in, you allowed Yeonjun to light the joint—the proximity between you two allowed you to get a whiff of his cologne, this time it's stronger, instead of the jasmine and incense undertones, it's woodier with undertones of sage and pomegranate—its addicting you think, it made Yeonjun even more captivating to you, spellbinding almost. It made you want to ravish him in ways that you rather not explain—despite forming something akin to a friendship, the little moments you shared made you hope for something more. As the THC began to enter your bloodstream, you passed the joint to Yeonjun as smoke filled the air.

“What’s the cause for celebration, Pretty?” Yeonjun asked as he took up the offer on the joint, allowing its warmth to surround him. 

“Just cause,” you stated, as you giggle, the alcohol and weed beginning to take effect, “Anything can be a celebration,” you continued as the joint found its way between your lips again. 

The music in the background set the mood for the conversation between you and Yeonjun—in your own bubble you conversed about celebrations and for once, you felt happy without anxiety eating you up inside.

As the night progressed, Yeonjun invited you to continue the celebration at his place, making you feel giddy inside, being cross faded didn't allow you to overthink the situation. Before leaving with Yeonjun, you made sure to let Beomgyu know of your whereabouts. He doesn't let you go before teasing you a bit, his eyes glimmering with mischief at the thought of the two of you being alone together. 

After taking an Uber, you and Yeonjun arrived at his place. Nervousness bubbled within you, you didn't expect Yeonjun to invite someone like you to his apartment. Settling on the couch, the two began to sober up as music played in the background, its soft melodies mingling with the ambient lighting within the room, setting the mood. 

For the next hour, you conversed about mundane things—you shared stories about the new flower you're tending to while Yeonjun animatedly told you of his love for pottery.

Despite the TV flickering in the background, you couldn't help but notice Yeonjun's gaze lingering on your lips for a moment longer than it should. The way the proximity between you two closed in just slightly, felt electric. Your knees brushing against each other made you feel excited—in your little moment things felt easy, the comfort that surrounded the atmosphere was like no other, wrapping its arms around you, shielding you from the outside world.

“May I kiss you?” Yeonjun whispered, his voice low and filled with longing as he gently twirls a strand of your hair, “It's just that, you’re so addicting; I can't help but want you.” With a mixture of desire and sincerity, his eyes searched for yours—causing your heart to race with excitement and anticipation as the tension thickened.

Not trusting your own voice, you nodded, granting him permission. As his hands found their way on your face, he caressed the apples of your cheeks—glancing at your lips, before locking eyes with you again. With blown-out pupils, he searched for any signs of hesitance from you. Once satisfied, Yeonjun closed the gap—his lips against yours are softer than you expected. The kiss itself was amazing—to you, it felt better than fireworks—it felt as if your souls were intertwined, surrounded by bursts of colours. The way Yeonjun held you sent shivers down your spine—gentle, as if he was scared to break you, yet also scared to lose you.

Running your hands through his hair, you deepened the kiss, feeling more alive than you did before. The moment made you feel giddy, yet anxious, the weed in your systems further amplifying the experience. As you pulled away, laughter bubbled between you, euphoria rushing through your veins. The second kiss is more desperate, as if you were afraid of disappearing from each other's grasp.

Breaking the kiss, your foreheads touched—the only sounds are the TV and music in the background, mixed in with your heavy breathing. “Do you want to continue this upstairs?” Yeonjun asked, his gaze locked onto yours, the unspoken feelings dancing around you.

“I'd love to,” you whispered, almost as if you were afraid of shattering the moment.

“Are you sure?” Concern flickered in his eyes. “We can stop here if you want.”

Leaning in, you pecked his lips softly, smiling as you said, “I've never been more sure about something in my life.”

The morning after was quiet—the early morning light seeped into the room, giving you an undeniable glow. Yeonjun felt as if he’s on top of the world—with you beside him, dressed in his shirt, a gentle reminder of the night you shared. He thought you look beautiful like this, in his clothes—even in your tranquil state, Yeonjun can't help but gaze at you in wonder.

Every aspect of the night before remained in the forefront of his mind. From the moment on the balcony to the conversations in his apartment—Yeonjun couldn't get rid of the grin on his face. The way you smiled at him throughout the night, the way your eyes sparkled with joy as you maintained conversation had him captivated. The moment your lips met, it felt as if the world had faded away—you ignited something within him that Yeonjun didn't know existed, a feeling deep down that made him want to savour every moment with you. He remembered the way your bodies intertwined—the way he lost himself in you, the way he was finally able to worship you. The shared breaths and whispered words, a moment he wished he could inscribe into his very being.

As a cool breeze makes its way into the room, it caused you to unconsciously reach out for him, making his heart leap for joy. With you beside him, Yeonjun believed he could conquer anything. As your body instinctively stayed close to him, he couldn't help but smile, he wondered if you would want more from the relationship—at least, he hoped you did.

Contrary to what people thought on campus, despite his undeniable popularity, Yeonjun was a lover boy at heart. He never indulged in the idea of hookups or meaningless relationships, he always valued something deeper. But when it came to you, Yeonjun felt all logic go out the window—he couldn't help but want to go against his values if it meant he got to stay beside you. He wasn’t sure about your views on relationships, but Yeonjun hoped you’d want something more with him.

Scared that the moment might be ruined, Yeonjun decided to be a bit selfish. Even if it was just for a while, he held you a little closer, fantasizing about the idea of you being together. He wasn't sure what would happen when you woke up, but for now, Yeonjun enjoyed the proximity between you two, the warmth of your skin against his. Without a doubt, he was scared—scared that from this moment on, things wouldn't be the same with you, and his chances of having you might have already slipped away.

Waking up, your nostrils were filled with a pleasant scent of coffee, its rich aroma filling the room. As you gathered your bearings, you rubbed your eyes and sat up. Your body ached pleasantly as you thought of what had occurred between you and Yeonjun the night before—flushing as the memories replayed in your mind. Although you hated to admit it, you had never felt so wanted in your life. You remembered the way Yeonjun’s hands adorned your body—the way he treated you as if you were a sacred item. Even when you told him he could be rougher, Yeonjun couldn't help but be gentle with you, as if you were a gift so delicate it could break—the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he made love to you was something foreign to you, and it scared you. 

In the back of your mind, the words of Josh, your ex, plagued you, reminding you that you were nothing more than a body for men to use. The more you thought of Yeonjun, the louder the voice became—as if it was mocking you for the happiness you so selfishly sought. You hated your ex and the power he still held over you despite being six feet under. The way his rough hands made you feel still haunted you, the way it felt to be a puppet while he was the master—the way he treated you like nothing but a doll, the way—

“Hey, you okay?” Yeonjun asked,  as he peeked his head into the room. He gazed at you softly with concern, “I made us breakfast. I'll give you a sec to freshen up, and you can meet me downstairs.” He left you alone and suddenly your once festering thoughts retreated—afraid to reveal themselves almost as if Yeonjun were their kryptonite.

Breakfast felt suffocating. Yeonjun sat at the kitchen table, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, kimbap, and kimchi pancakes wafting through the air. He glanced at you, seated across from him—your hair dishevelled from the night before, your eyes weary and still in the process of waking up. The sight made his heart flutter despite the awkwardness that swirled in the air.

For once, Yeonjun didn't know how to begin the conversation—the only thought occupying his mind was you.

“Last night…you were amazing,” he began, his voice shaky. “Every moment we spent together, I enjoyed it. Even before this happened, your presence always captivated me. This just made me feel more connected to you.”

Surprise flickered in your eyes, causing you to momentarily choke on your coffee, “Yeah, it was nice,” clearing your throat, trying to make your tone casual, “I think that was the best night I’ve ever had.” Despite your praise, Yeonjun can't help but feel the tension that lay beneath your words.

Taking a deep breath, Yeonjun tried again, “I really like you, Blossom. Like, really like you.” His heart raced, the words tumbled out before he had a chance to think, “I know we've been talking for a while, but I would love to get to know you on a deeper level, if you'll allow me to.”

The surprise was evident in your eyes as you looked up, then it faded into something more guarded, almost scared. “Yeonjun, I—” you hesitated, causing Yeonjun to visibly deflate, the anxiety creeping in as he braced for your response.

“I can't promise you a relationship,” you continued, causing Yeonjun’s stomach to drop, a lump forming in his throat, “But, if you want, we can keep things simple—a friends with benefits arrangement? I promise not to do any sort of written agreement; it's just right now I'd prefer something with no strings attached. I'm sorry.”

Despite Yeonjun's desire for something more, he considered your suggestion. Even though it completely went against his voice on reason, he rather hold on to the physical connection for now than lose you entirely.

Running his hands through his hair, “I can do that,” he replied, even if the words on his tongue felt like a dagger slowly twisting into his heart. “I am giving you full disclosure that I'm still interested in you, not just…this.”

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him, making Yeonjun’s throat tighten. “I appreciate your honesty, Yeonjun. But for right now, I really don't think I can handle something deeper. I'm sorry.”

Nodding, breakfast resumed as if everything was normal. The tense atmosphere still lingered, but it gradually faded into something different—the unspoken understanding hung in the air, words and lingering glances between you and Yeonjun made him feel as if the arrangement would be more than what he bargained for.

Slowly, you fell into conversation, your small smile brightening as you complimented his cooking, “I didn't know you could cook like this Yeonjun! These kimchi pancakes taste amazing.” The way you giggled as if the prior conversation had never occurred, hurt Yeonjun in a way that he's never felt before. Despite the dull ache in his chest, he couldn't help but gaze at you lovingly, forever captivated by your presence.

For once, Yeonjun is grateful that Soobin wasn't home for the weekend. He'd hate having to explain the current state of affairs—not only the tension in their shared apartment but also in his heart. The thought of Soobin questioning him made him shudder.

As you continued to chat, talking about your plans for the day Yeonjun found himself stuck between two worlds; in one world he's with you, a smile adorning you face as you share breakfast and in another he's in his head, hoping that somehow the gods above would grant him grace, and maybe, just maybe this arrangement could lead to something more.

But as he takes a sip of his coffee, its bitter taste reminded him of his reality—with the boundaries you've set, Yeonjun has to thread carefully, balancing his feelings, even if it hurts him in the end. For now, he decides to savour these moments, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

After breakfast, Yeonjun drove you home, the car was filled with a comfortable silence with the soft hum of the radio. As you found yourself lost in thought, you glanced over at Yeonjun, watching the way his eyes shone as he hummed along to the melody—his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, matching the rhythm. You pondered over this morning's events—Yeonjun making you breakfast, the way he expressed his desire for wanting something more, which both excited and scared you. Even in this moment, Yeonjun radiated a warmth like no other, his presence, even in such a serene moment was immaculate. 

As he catched your gaze, he smiled brightly—leaving an unbearable flutter in your chest, reminding you that the arrangement itself is more than you deserve. In the back of your mind, memories of your ex nagged at you—reminding you of the way he belittled you, reducing you to nothing but an object of desire. A relationship built on sand, destined to crumble; he made you feel invisible, your feelings and interests insignificant as it had no bearing on the satisfaction you gave him—leaving you, a hollow shell of your former self.

As Yeonjun pulled into the driveway of your apartment, the engine's soft purr and the tunes from the radio, created a moment of tranquillity. In the passenger seat you watched Yeonjun, drinking in the way the sunlight gave him an undeniable glow. “Thanks for driving me home, Yeonjun, and breakfast. It was amazing,” your voice, feathery, like the air.

Yeonjun turned to face you, his eyes filled with warmth, “It was a pleasure having you, Blossom. I enjoyed having you over,” the softness in his voice spreading warmth throughout your body.

Suddenly, his gaze made you feel shy, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. “I should get going now,” you murmured, fumbling with your seatbelt. “I'm sure Beomgyu is waiting for me.” As you unbuckled, Yeonjun leaned across, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Your breath hitched at the unexpected intimacy. Before you could fully process what happened Yeonjun leaned in, kissing you tenderly.

Despite your surprise, you welcomed the kiss, relishing in the feeling—his hand cradling your chin, pulling you closer while your hands instinctively gripped his shirt.

Pulling away, a playful grin adorned Yeonjun’s face, “I hope to see you soon, Pretty.” 

“See you soon, Yeonjun,” you replied with flushed cheeks as you stepped out of the car, waving goodbye as he drove off.

“Woah, what was that?” A voice called from behind you, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned around, mortified, coming face to face with Beomgyu who leaned casually against your front door, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Gyu! When did you get here?” you exclaimed, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly amused, “Sorry to break it to you Petal, but I've been here since Yeonjun drove in. Was wondering when he'd bring you back.” His teasing tone made your cheeks flush even more.

Unable to muster a response, the bag in your hand, once forgotten, suddenly felt heavier. “You know,” Beomgyu teased, leaning in closer, “you can't hide anything from me, right? Especially after that kiss. Let's get you inside,” He said as he took the bag from you, “How about we have some ramyeon and talk about it, yeah?”

Unable to resist ramyeon with Beomgyu, you nodded eagerly. As you made your way next to him, he ruffled your hair, “I can't believe I saw you kissing Choi Yeonjun! Who would've thought?”

You laughed slyly, teasingly pushing Beomgyu as you made your way into the apartment. 

Amidst the laughs echoing within the confines of your apartment, you and Beomgyu settled on the floor, slurping your ramyeon as you recalled the time you spent with Yeonjun, sparing him the explicit details. Moments like these allowed you to cherish your friendship—its warmth wraps around you like a swaddling cloth, reminding you of your appreciation for your best friend.

III || Changing Seasons ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

Like the season, as Autumn progressed, and the air grew colder in preparation for Winter—so did Yeonjun's relationship with you. The start of your arrangement felt shy, filled with fleeting glances and even shyer touches. It felt ironic that you and Yeonjun were shy with each other despite having explored each other before. 

Despite the initial shyness, Yeonjun took you to stargaze one evening—determined to maintain your friendship, even if you have seen each other naked. 

Settling on the soft blanket spread across the grass, the world around you felt idyllic—the evening sky coloured an indigo hue, adorned with the sparkles of countless stars. The moment felt protected, almost as if the gods themselves were watching over you, ensuring your moment of peace.

As you both lied down, you snuggled close to Yeonjun, using his arm as a pillow. It made his heart race—the proximity between you two highlighted your scent, with undertones of lilac and cinnamon, Yeonjun couldn’t help but feel his focus falter, lost in the warmth of your presence. 

“Look at that,” Yeonjun whispered in your ear, pointing upwards. “That's Pisces, the two fishes are swimming in opposite directions.”

“Yeah?” you replied, looking up at him, your eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun smiled softly, booping your nose as he looked at you. Your laugh in response was light and melodic, reminding him of a choir of angels.

“And over there,” you pointed out this time. “That's Andromeda, right?”

Yeonjun looked down at you smiling, “Yeah, the princess who was saved by Perseus.” For a moment, he paused, contemplating the weight of his next words, “Do you think they're us?” Yeonjun whispered, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Do you save me from a sea monster?” You joked, eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Maybe,” Yeonjun replied, pulling you closer as the air grew serious. “Just like Perseus fought for Andromeda, I'll fight for you. In every lifetime, I'll slay your metaphorical sea monster, once it means I get to have you.”

Instantly, you sat up, looking back at Yeonjun in shock, “Jjun…” you mumbled, tears forming in your eyes, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming emotions. The sincerity behind his declaration caused your heart to swell, hardly believing his words you wondered, could it be true? In every lifetime? The thought fills you with hope but also a flutter of anxiety at the idea of someone wanting you that badly.

Yeonjun brought you back down, allowing you to face each other. “I mean it,” he whispered, even quieter. “In every lifetime, I'd fight for you.” 

The air became thick with unspoken words, the magnetic pull drew you closer together. You felt the warmth radiating from him, the sincerity in his gaze made your heart race. Slowly, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tender, tentative kiss.

You pulled away, breathless, searching his eyes for something more—with a blush adorning your cheeks, you smile shyly, “You really mean that?”

“Every word.” Yeonjun affirmed with confidence and sincerity, “I'd face anything for you.”

Under the twilight sky, it felt as if everything else faded into nothingness and only the two of you remain, lost in each other—the twinkling stars above witness your love, the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

Winter arrived in full force—as she finally settled, claiming her throne, the air felt crisp as she covered the Earth in soft layers of white. As the snowflakes danced with one another in the air, it felt as though they represented the relationship between you and Yeonjun—a transformative moment between you two, where shy touches turned into confident ones.

Snowflakes drifted lazily outside your window, reminding you of the warmth that you yearned for during the season. It was Christmas week, and Beomgyu had been urging you for weeks to come home since his family hadn't seen you for a while. Despite missing them, you decided to spend Christmas alone this year—a solemn feeling settling in as you looked back on the year gone by.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home this year, Petal?” Beomgyu asked again, his voice glimmering with hope as he got ready to leave. “Mom and dad miss you, even my annoying brother misses seeing your face.” he pouted as he held onto your arm.

Reassuring him you replied, “I’m sure, Cookie. I want you all to enjoy time on your own.” You offered him a small smile, hoping to ease his worries. “I'll be okay. I promise. If it gets too lonely, I'll spend time with Yeonjun.”

Despite his distaste, Beomgyu doesn't push you further—he pulled you into a tight hug, his warmth enveloping you. “I can't believe this is our first Christmas apart. I'll miss you, Petal.”

“I'll miss you too, Cookie. Take care and enjoy Christmas for me,” you said, as you watched him leave.

Closing the door, you thought of ways to decorate the apartment. Even though you didn't feel the Christmas spirit, you began to gather old decorations to get yourself into the holiday mood.

On Christmas Eve, however, Yeonjun messaged you, asking you if he could come over. This year, he decided to spend Christmas on campus, and with Soobin going home this year, he felt a bit lonely. Welcoming the idea of two lonely souls being together for the holidays, Yeonjun was now sitting in your apartment, the two of you cuddling under blankets, watching nostalgic Christmas movies and sipping hot cocoa. The air was thick with the scent of pine and cinnamon creating an atmosphere that almost felt domestic—the way you both eased into each other, as if it has always been that way. As the months went by, your relationship changed, where friends became something deeper, yet neither of you refused to acknowledge the change. 

As midnight arrives, Yeonjun goes to the Christmas tree you had decorated days prior and reached for your gift. He turned to you, eyes sparkling with adoration, warmth and a touch of nervousness, “Merry Christmas, Blossom. It isn't much, but I wanted to get you something that reminded me of our time together.

As he handed you the gift, you admired the way it's wrapped—the care radiating from it. With a shy smile, you slowly unwrapped the present, revealing a delicate gold necklace, adorned with a sunflower and blossom pendant. Reminding you of your first interaction together, tears pricked at your eyes. “It's beautiful,” you breathed, touched by Yeonjun’s thoughtfulness as it showed you how much he valued the relationship you had built thus far.

“Put it on for me?” you asked, smiling cutely at Yeonjun with sparkling eyes. As you handed Yeonjun the necklace and turned around, his hand touched you almost teasingly, as he fastened it around your neck—his hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, but you didn't mind the warmth from his fingertips.

As you turned back around, you reached up to him, giving him a tender kiss. Feeling the way his breath hitched in response, sent a thrill through you. Immediately, he responded to you, pulling you closer—the air thick with unspoken feelings. As he deepened the kiss, it became more passionate, more sensual, more urgent. A soft sigh escaped you as Yeonjun, savoured your taste in the moment, your natural bittersweetness mingling with remnants of the hot cocoa from earlier, creating a unique flavour.

Before things could go further, you pulled away, giggling at the way Yeonjun pouted at you. “Wait, let me give you your gift too!” you said excitedly as you made your way to the tree, picking up a medium sized box adorned with a blue and white bow.

“What is it?” Yeonjun asked, his eyes glimmering with curiosity as you handed him the box.

“Open it, silly!” you giggled, playfully slapping his arm, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling within you.

As Yeonjun opened the box, his eyes seemed to shine brighter than they ever did before. Pulling out a beautifully knitted sweater and matching scarf—its purple and blue yarn interchanging to form a beautiful blend that brings out his complexion, your love felt in every stitch.

“Wow,” he breathed, slipping the sweater on, “You made this?”

Heat slowly crept onto your cheeks, “Yeah! I wanted to make you something you could use. To keep you warm during the Winter,��� you replied shyly.

Yeonjun’s expression softened as he wrapped the scarf around himself, “And it's the perfect fit too. Thank you, Blossom. This is the best gift ever; no one has ever made me something like this before. I love it, really.”

With that, Yeonjun leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then on your nose, a kiss for each cheek before finally settling on your lips. Unlike the kiss before, this one felt innocent—full of unconditional love, as if Yeonjun was trying to transfer all his feelings into that one kiss. 

He pulled back for a moment, gazing lovingly into your eyes, before holding your face tenderly and kissing you slowly again. As you gripped his sweater, you returned the kiss, hoping your emotions were transferred too. 

As the snow began to fall, the two of you continued to kiss in the middle of your apartment, the glow of the Christmas lights adoring both your features. With love filling the air, you shared an unforgettable Christmas—a moment that showed the blossoming of journey together.

Yeonjun made your apartment his home for the next week—relishing in the domestic moments together, from sharing the same bed to cooking meals together, you and Yeonjun enjoyed your time escaping from the world. Instead of attending a New Year’s Eve party, you both decided to spend the night together—savouring the intimacy that formed between you.

 As the clock inched closer to midnight, you found yourselves on the balcony outside your room, swaying gently to the soft melody in the background. Holding you close, Yeonjun admired you—with the snowflakes adoring your hair and fairy lights from your room, casting a soft glow on your face, he thought you looked ethereal, almost like an angel.

“You're the best thing that happened to me,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence that formed between you.

Looking up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief, “How so?” 

“It's just that…ever since I met you, I've never felt more alive. I feel like I can finally breathe.” Yeonjun paused, looking down at you, gauging your reaction. You seem content in the moment, staying close to him as you continued to sway. “You make me feel alive. Every moment I spend with you, I cherish. Almost as if I'm afraid to lose you,” he admitted embarrassment colouring his cheeks.

You stopped swaying, your gaze locking onto his, your eyes melancholic, “You won’t lose me Jjun. I promise.”

A sad smile tugged at Yeonjun’s lips as he hoped to believe you. Yet, in the back of his mind, a mocking voice reminded him that it was only an arrangement—nothing more, nothing less. Ignoring it, Yeonjun focused on the warmth of the moment, determined to live in the present.

As the countdown played softly from the TV in your room, you and Yeonjun picked up your wine glasses, excitement bubbling between you as you joined the countdown, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Ten…nine…eight…” With each number, the anticipation grew and once the countdown reached zero, Yeonjun immediately pulled you into a sweet kiss, his glass resting forgotten on the table beside you.

“Happy New Year, Blossom,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with emotion. 

Pulling back slowly, you rest your drink next to him before you shyly pecked his lips, “Happy New Year, Sunflower. Thank you for starting the new year with me.”

Laughing softly, Yeonjun responded, “Of course, there’s no one else I'd rather spend New Year’s with than you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the gentle snowfall, the weight of the world felt momentarily lifted. No one knew what the future held, but despite the uncertainty, you had each other, and for now, that was enough. 

For the remainder of Winter break, Yeonjun was able to encourage you to spend it at his apartment.

Currently, you both were in the kitchen, the soft hum of holiday music filling the air—the countertops were dusted with flour and sugar, a sweet scent of vanilla and orange in the atmosphere, enticing you—a perfect way to end the holiday celebrations. 

As you measured the ingredients, putting it in the bowl, Yeonjun ensured he preheated the oven correctly—he glanced at you for a moment, drinking in the way you were, adorned in one of his hoodies and sweatpants, your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as you glanced between the recipe and the bowl. Your hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands fell delicately in your face as you ensured you were following the correct steps. Even in this moment, something so simple, Yeonjun thought you're the most beautiful being ever. 

“How’s little miss baker going?” Yeonjun teased as he hugged you from behind.

“Good!” you replied, as you tried to look up at him, “I just have to mix the batter.”

“Let me help you with that,” Yeonjun said, as he held your hand. Mixing the batter together—the warmth between your bodies merged together, the simple moment, feeling intimate between you both. Once the batter was thoroughly mixed, Yeonjun poured the batter in the pan, deciding to give you a gentle kiss as he placed it in the oven.

Moments like these Yeonjun cherished the most, while he loved the passionate moments when you were under him, the domestic nature of these innocently intimate moments felt like a drug—addicting, with no chances of sobriety.

Once the cake finished baking and cooled, you and Yeonjun moved to the counter to ice it. The scent of the freshly baked good filled the air, as you both prepared to decorate your creation. As you spread a generous layer of frosting, your tongue peeked out in concentration as you focussed intently—grabbing another spatula caused a dollop of icing to land on the corner of your mouth. Yeonjun couldn't help but chuckle. Glancing at you, he pointed playfully. “You have something there, Blossom,” a teasing smile on his lips as he gestured to the corner of your lips . With raised eyebrows, you reached up to wipe it away, but before you could, Yeonjun stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours, “Let me help you with that,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

Without waiting for a response, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss, the sweetness of the icing lingering between you, igniting the moment into something more—something passionate. Yeonjun’s hands cupped your face, tilting your head slightly upwards as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lips, asking for permission. 

With the parting of your lips, you allowed him to slip inside, a rush of warmth and arousal flooded between you—the cake long forgotten as the world around you began to fade away, leaving only the taste of the frosting as you found yourselves lost in each other.

Yeonjun’s heart raced as you leaned into him, feeling the heat radiating from your body—his hands travelled from your face down to your waist, where he pulled you closer as your hands travelled through his hair, slightly tugging. In that moment, nothing else mattered, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of sweetness and desire.

“Hey, are you two—” Soobin’s voice trailed off, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the scene before him. A half-decorated cake sat forgotten on the counter, icing smeared across the table, and the two of you quickly pulled away—cheeks flushed, your lips glistening with remnants of frosting, a sweet testament to the kiss you just shared. You exchanged a glance, filled with a mix of embarrassment and amusement, the moment charged with an undeniable spark that remained lingering in the air.

Soobin blinked, processing the scene before him before bursting into awkward laughter. “Didn't mean to interrupt your, uh…baking session,” he teased. A playful grin spread across his face as he watched your cheeks deepen in colour and Yeonjun with a smug smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun grinned, clearing his throat, “We were just, uh, tasting the frosting, you know, quality control.”

Soobin, raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but amused, “More like tasting each other.”

“Sorry you had to see that, Soobin,” you squeaked out as the embarrassment slowly washes away. “Do you want to help us finish frost the cake? I promise all taste testing is over.”

Yeonjun laughed as Soobin accepted your invitation, grabbing a spare spatula. The earlier embarrassment faded, replaced by the warm laughter of you three as you attempted to decorate the cake.

You don't interact with Soobin much, but in the moments that you do, you cherish the quiet friendship between you both—he reminds you of your departed brother, the way he quietly looked after you, his steady presence bringing comfort to your life. 

As you three admired your chaotic masterpiece—a lopsided snowman adoring the top of the cake, an attempt at a winter wonderland—you couldn't help but laugh at the delightful mess you made.

Amidst the chaos, you settled down enjoying your cake while watching nostalgic holiday movies.

“This is definitely the best cake I’ve ever seen,” Soobin joked, earning a playful nudge from Yeonjun.

Surrounded by this chaotic, sweet moment you realized this is exactly what you needed—a reminder that love and friendship can coexist beautifully, having you thankful for your formed friendships—a beautiful end to winter break indeed.

With Spring’s return, you are reminded of your first interaction with Yeonjun—on the balcony of a random party, there you were, two unlikely souls who formed an unseemly connection. Now, life without him seemed dull—like the flower he represents, Yeonjun had brightened your life in ways you never thought possible. Choi Yeonjun became the air you breathe, a deeply engraved part of you. Looking back on your time together you feel alive—like you've never felt before, grateful for the man you've met.

At the start of the season, you decided to take Yeonjun to a flower arrangement class. Within the flower shop, the scent of fresh blooms delightfully filled the air, everyone in their own world as they received guidance from the instructor. You remembered how you made arrangements for each other—Yeonjun gifting you baby's breath and lilies while you chose carnations and tulips for him. Both arrangements perfectly made to fit the vases you crafted for each other in a previous pottery class. Although they weren't perfect, the vases were filled with character and love, serving as a constant reminder of the time you've shared.

“Hey, are you two dating by chance?” a participant asked you, glancing at the way you and Yeonjun conversed.

Surprised, you quickly glanced at Yeonjun, who was busy fixing his arrangement. “No, just friends!” you replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Well, from the way he looks at you, Sweetheart, that man is totally in love with you. I hope you don't let him go.” As the participant turned back to their arrangement, you looked back at Yeonjun.

“What was that about?” he asks curiously.

“Nothing,” you brushed off casually. “She just said our arrangements were pretty.”

As the class continued that day, you found yourself staring at Yeonjun more than before, wondering of the way he looked at you. But for now, you savoured the moment—enjoying the way his arrangement brightened your apartment in its vase, reminding you of him every time you looked at it.

With the progression of Spring, your birthday dawned, bringing with it a sense of renewal and hope. You stirred awake to the soft sound of singing, fluttering your eyes open, you saw Beomgyu walking in, a big smile on his face as he carried a tray in his hands.

“Happy Birthday, Petal,” Beomgyu sang softly as he rested the tray on your nightstand—the aroma of seaweed soup and the assortment of side dishes, waking you up pleasantly.

As he ruffled your hair playfully, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Thank you, Cookie,” you replied, giving him a small hug.

Growing up, you hated your birthday, it being a painful reminder of the loss you suffered—a reminder of those who abandoned you, but with Beomgyu by your side, he and his family embraced you as their own, ensuring you enjoyed your birthday regardless. For the remainder of your morning, you and Beomgyu enjoyed breakfast in bed, sharing laughter and reminiscing on the moments you spent together. After a while you video called his parents who, despite being away, wanted to celebrate with you. A familiar warmth filled you as you enjoy the remainder of your morning with your best friend and his family, thankful for the love they gave you.

“Thanks for breakfast, Gyu, and for always celebrating my birthday with me. You mean a lot to me, I hope you know that.” You said sincerely as you both made your way downstairs.

“Of course,” Beomgyu grinned, “I wouldn't have it any other way. I hope you look forward to tonight!” he teased, winking at you.

“Tonight?” you say confused. 

Once you make your way down, Beomgyu handed you a flat velvety-black box, mischief glimmering in his eyes, “Open it.” Opening the box, revealed a note, which said,

To my World,

Happy Birthday Blossom!

I hope you love this surprise! I wanted to get you a special outfit for tonight. I think it would look amazing on you, something to make you feel as beautiful and confident as you truly are.

Reservation is at 8. Can't wait to see you tonight!

Love, 

Your Sunflower, Yeonjun.

With disbelief in your eyes, you set the note down gently before turning your attention to the box, pulling out the most breathtaking dress ever created by man. The fabric felt luxurious and soft against your fingertips, its silhouette destined to hug your curves in all the right places while cascading gracefully to the floor. Its colour was deep and rich—a beautiful shade that complemented your skin tone beautifully.

“He sure knows how to make a girl feel special, huh?” Beomgyu, commented as he observed your reaction. Wordlessly, you nod, rendered speechless. Then, you reached for the heels nestled beside the dress. Their design was one of a kind, a stunning blend of elegance and allure—sleek and sophisticated, their graceful arch that would elongate your leg just enough while adding an air of confidence to your stride. The shoes were not just an accessory, but a statement piece, elevating the outfit and making you feel empowered.

“You knew about this?” You asked Beomgyu as you looked up, your eyes filled with amazement. 

“Maybe,” he teased. “Needed to help him get your perfect size.” 

You playfully swatted Beomgyu’s arm, “Gyu, what the fuck? I’m genuinely at a loss for words.”

Ruffling your hair, Beomgyu chuckled, “I hope you enjoy your night, Petal.”

The evening couldn't come soon enough. As you added the final touches to your outfit, you admired yourself in the mirror. The dress adorned your body beautifully, the silhouette hugging your curves perfectly, accentuating your waist as it flowed gracefully to the floor. The neckline’s elegant cut revealed enough skin to feel alluring while leaving the rest to the imagination. The slit that went up to your thigh allowed the heel to peek through, adding a hint of playful sexiness. 

Your makeup was perfectly understated,  enhancing your features while making you look even more irresistible. Finally, the necklace Yeonjun gave you last Christmas felt like the perfect finishing touch—the way its delicate chain rests against your collarbone, completing the look entirely. 

With one final twirl in front the mirror, you applied your perfume—amber and vanilla, swirling together creating an intoxicating scent that lingered. Grabbing your purse, you make your way downstairs, excitedly waiting for Yeonjun's arrival.

“Woah! You look amazing,” Beomgyu commented, his eyes wide with admiration. “Yeonjun will absolutely love it.”

“You think so?” you asked nervously, your heart racing at the thought of Yeonjun seeing you like this. The weight of the evening hung in the air—despite you and Yeonjun being in each other's company for a year, this felt different, and you couldn't help but wonder what tonight might bring.

Before Beomgyu could answer, the doorbell rang, its chime feeling louder than usual, almost as if it was mimicking your nervousness. “That’s him!” Beomgyu grinned as he made his way to the door.

As Yeonjun’s silhouette was revealed, you couldn’t help but gasp softly at his appearance. Adorned in a simple black suit—his hair was styled slicked back, exposing his forehead—an unexpected but striking look for him, different to his usual, everyday style. The slight exposure of his chest housed a simple chain, while various rings and a few bracelets decorated his hands, adding a touch of flair to the entire ordeal. 

In one hand, Yeonjun held a bouquet of red roses, an addicting aroma filled the air as their sweet scent mixed with his musky perfume. When he looked at you, the world seemed to stand still. You didn't see it before, but in this moment, you finally recognized the way Yeonjun looked at you—as if his eyes penetrated your very soul. He looked at you as if you're the only woman on Earth—as if no one else existed. Finally, you saw the depth of his feelings, the way he looked at you with so much love both excited and scared you.

“Roses, for the most beautiful girl in the world,” Yeonjun said, as he stepped into the room and handed you the bouquet. “Happy birthday, Gorgeous. You look absolutely divine.”

With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Yeonjun took a step back and looked at you again, his eyes filled with an undeniable admiration. Smiling shyly, you replaced the old flowers in your vase with the newly received roses, their vibrant petals standing out beautifully against the soft glow of the candles. Before you both leave, Beomgyu excitedly brought his camera out, taking out a few pictures to commemorate the memory, encouraging you both to stand close, like a proud dad. 

As you made your way to the restaurant, you couldn't help but focus on the way Yeonjun’s hand felt against your thigh, his slightly calloused hands gripped you softly, sending a rush of warmth through you, while the other confidently steered the wheel.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked Yeonjun, your voice unusually shy.

“You.” he says, gripping your thigh a little tighter. His simple admittance rendered you speechless, leaving you aroused. As you pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, the only thing you could focus on was Yeonjun and the way he ignited a desire within you, one that can only be quenched by feeling his body against yours. Thinking of the way he peppered kisses along your skin under the moonlight, the warmth of his breath that sent shivers down your spine—the thought left you unfocused—in anticipation of what the rest of the night might have to offer.

The soft lighting illuminated the restaurant creating an intimate atmosphere, perfect for the occasion. As the night progressed, you both enjoyed a delightful dinner—one filled with laughter and reminiscent stories of the time you spent together, a circumstance you never expected to be in. 

When the special birthday dessert was brought out at Yeonjun’s request, he eagerly took his phone to capture the moment. The dessert, a beautiful, deconstructed cheesecake, topped with rose petals and fresh strawberry pieces, looks almost too divine to eat. As you smiled softly, the light from the candle faintly reflected in your eyes, making you look even more alive in the moment. 

Reaching into his pocket, Yeonjun pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box—your heart racing as he placed it in front of you. “Happy birthday again, Darling,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Unwrapping the gift, you revealed a small framed picture of your time spent under the stars last Autumn and a delicate silver chain. Attached to it was a pendant of Perseus’ constellation—something so simple, yet powerful. 

“A reminder of our time,” Yeonjun started, shyly showing you his hand. It's decorated with a matching bracelet with a pendant of Andromeda attached. “I really meant what I said then. I’d face anything for you.

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of love and gratitude wash over you, knowing that this night was one you would cherish forever.

The night ended within the confines of Yeonjun’s bedroom—with your dress on the floor and his hands feverishly exploring your body, tracing over your curves. Each touch sent a wave of electricity coursing through you. Wrapped in each other, you lost track of time—with a touch, gentle and possessive, you arch into Yeonjun, craving more of him. The kisses, nothing short of passionate, ignited that fire within you as you made love to each other.

While the rest of the world slept, you found solace in your intimate space, rediscovering not only each other’s bodies but also the depths of your unspoken feelings that lingered in the air. The warmth of his skin against yours as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings—creating a cocoon of intimacy and love.

Its night of passion, a suitable end to a wonderful birthday, indeed—leaving you both breathless, yearning for more.

The Summer before senior year crashed in like a wave, washing over you with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty—the sunny days and vibrant colours Summer brought with her filled you with anticipation for the season ahead. For the first time in a while, you and Yeonjun were spending some time apart, each returning to your respective homes for a bit. Despite not wanting to be separated, they did say that absence makes the heart grow fonder—the saying filled you with hope, excitement coursing through your veins as you looked forward to being reunited with Yeonjun.

Even though thoughts of Yeonjun plagued your mind, you enjoyed your time back in Daegu with Beomgyu. His parents and brother welcomed you both back in open arms, almost as if you hadn't left in the first place. They ensured you've had your fill of the local cuisine before going back to Seoul in August, showering you in affection and home-cooked meals, reminding you of how much you missed familial warmth. 

Beomgyu’s mom fussed over you, exclaiming that you've lost too much weight as she fed you generous plates of food. While his dad pinched your cheek lovingly asking if any boys were bothering you. It takes everything in you to not trample Beomgyu as he quickly mentioned Yeonjun—leaving his dad to lecture you on the importance of being a responsible adult.

Moments like these made you miss home. After they took you in and treated you as their own, you've always been grateful for their presence and the way they treated you as their daughter. Even the moments where Beomgyu and his brother teased you about Yeonjun filled you with joy. It felt oddly nice having two brothers tease you about boys—it allowed you to forget your family history, even for a moment. You don't mind it, as you felt truly happy with your found family.

As you sat in the living room one afternoon, everyone was doing their own thing while basking in each other’s presence. Your phone buzzed with Yeonjun’s name popping up as he video called you, a smile spread across your face as you answered, delighted to see and hear him.

“Hi Blossom!” Yeonjun beamed, his eyes lighting up as he saw you, “I miss you.” His admission left you flustered, “I miss you too, Jjun,” you smiled shyly. “How’s everything with your parents?” you asked, getting comfortable on the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you shared stories about your time apart. You told him about all the home-cooked meals you had while he told you about the places he visited with his parents.

Suddenly, you heard a voice from off-screen, “Yeonjun, who are you talking to?” His mom said as she appeared on screen, her voice warm and curious. As he said your name, her eyes shine in recognition, “Blossom” she exclaims, smiling softly, “Jjunie, told me so much about you! You’re even prettier than he says!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, embarrassed, “Thank you Mrs. Choi! I see where Yeonjun gets his looks from.”

Yeonjun’s mum gushed over your response, turning to him with a proud smile. “You've met such a sweet girl, Jjunie!”

As your chat continued, you glanced over at Beomgyu’s parents, who were watching you with knowing smiles. A sense of belonging washed over you, feeling glad to have received the warmth from Yeonjun’s family—it left you looking even more forward to being reunited with him.

Going back to Seoul felt bittersweet—after being under the care of Beomgyu’s family for the last month, it felt nice to let go of the worries of life, if only for a moment. 

Even though you were glad to be back as it meant reuniting with Yeonjun, you couldn't help but wish to go on another getaway—somewhere sunny and serene, where you could relax under the sun, with the pleasant sea breeze brushing against your skin.

As you made your way into your apartment, Beomgyu looked at you with excitement.

“What?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It's nothing,” he shrugged, resting his luggage down with a grin. “Just excited to see your reaction.”

You gave him a weird look. “To what?”

Beomgyu remained silent, his eyes sparkling with mischief as you headed upstairs. As you stood outside your bedroom door, Beomgyu leaned against the wall looking at you, he seemed to be more excited than before. You couldn't help but feel nervous as you wondered what lied beyond your door. The sight that greeted you left you utterly shocked. There, sitting on your bed, was Yeonjun, a wide smile spread across his features.

“Yeonjun?! What the fuck? I thought you were coming back to campus till next week?” you exclaimed, enveloping him in a tight hug.

Yeonjun laughed, the sound warm and familiar as he embraced you, lifting you off the ground for a moment. “We have plans, Blossom.”

“Plans?” You said as you took a step back, admiring Yeonjun for a moment. Despite the short time away, his hair is a bit longer and he had a glow to him that felt more confident than.

He took a deep breath, “I actually planned a trip for us to Jeju Island. We leave in a few hours.” His voice getting a bit softer, “I know how much you love the Summer and enjoying the beach. And I know you've never been before. I just wanted to have that new experience with you before senior year started. You deserve it.”

His words left you in shock, emotions overwhelmed you. Tears welled up in your eyes, “Oh my God, Yeonjun…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How did you manage all this?”

Taken aback by your tears, Yeonjun wiped them away slowly, “Don't cry, Pretty.” A sheepish smile formed on his face, “My parents covered the cost actually. They knew how much I wanted to take you somewhere special and actually offered to pay for us. They were really excited for us to have this experience together.”

“Thank you Jjunie,’ you mumbled as you began to cry more, “no one has ever done this for me.” 

“Do you like your surprise, Petal?” Beomgyu piped up, smirking.

You turn to him, eyes wide in disbelief. “You knew all this time?”

Beomgyu laughed softly, “I helped plan the trip. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

A wave of gratitude washed over you—you couldn't help but laugh through your tears. The sheer realization that Yeonjun had put in so much effort to surprise you filled you with warmth, but it also scared you yet you were determined to make long-lasting memories.

And with that, you and Yeonjun embarked on your journey, hearts full of excitement and anticipation for the adventures that awaited you. The moment the plane arrived on Jeju Island; you were overflowing with excitement—overwhelmed with all the possibilities that lied ahead.

When you arrived at your accommodation, you were rendered speechless—it was a quaint little cottage hidden among the lush greenery overlooking one of the island’s many beaches. The warmth in its atmosphere makes it feel like a home away from home—with a beautiful exterior, adorned with wooden beams, the inside is even more breathtaking, leaving you in wonder; the inclusion of a skylight in the bedroom makes the place even more cozy than it did before.

“This place is beautiful,” you said to Yeonjun as you took it all in.

Yeonjun grinned, pleased with your reaction, “I thought you’d like it,” he pulled you close, “let’s rest a bit before we head out again, yeah?”

Your days in Jeju were nothing short of magical, filled with breathtaking views and cherished moments. While Yeonjun ensured to take you to known places such as the Hallasan National Park and the Cheonjiyeon Waterfall, he also ensured you enjoyed the quieter moments—taking a day trip to Biyangdo Island was one of those moments that left you captivated. The small uninhabited island left for a day filled with hiking and exploring, a moment you would never forget.

As the sun began to set on your last day in Jeju, the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas as if it were painted with orange and red hues, casting a warm glow over the island. Your evening began with a lovely dinner at a local restaurant—as many other moments you've shared together, you and Yeonjun were in your own world, making idle chit chat as you savoured each other’s presence. 

Followed by a walk along the beach near your cottage, you both enjoy the feeling of the sand between your toes as the ocean sang quiet hums to you with its waves—the moon, casting a silvery light over the water with the cool breeze creating a romantic atmosphere. Pulling out a pair of wired headphones, Yeonjun handed you one side as soft melodies began to play. As he held you close, you both swayed to its rhythm—losing yourselves in each other as the world melted into nothingness.

With a sweet kiss, your night concluded in the bedroom—as Yeonjun had you under the stars, your body glowed softly in the moonlight, only the melodious sounds of your breaths mingling together were heard. With every kiss, the connection deepened, somehow becoming more intimate than before—your heart full as Yeonjun looked at you in adoration, worshiping your body as if it were his last chance at salvation.

Resting his forehead against yours, Yeonjun confessed softly, “I love you,” his voice thick with emotion. The confession pierced your heart in a way you never felt before—as if all your fears and doubts began to rise to the surface, making it unable to breathe. 

“Yeonjun…” you breathed, your voice trembling as tears began to spill over. The intensity of the moment left you overwhelmed, every insecurity you had felt more seen—leaving you exposed.

Cupping your face softly, his thumbs brushed away your tears that fell. “You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured, his eyes understanding. “I just wanted to let you know that I am truly and utterly in love with you.” As Yeonjun kissed you softly, your salty tears mixed in the kiss and you continued to cry, unable to contain your emotions. With each gentle kiss you shared, your heart ached more as the weight of his confession became more real with each passing second.

“Please don’t cry,” he murmured tenderly between kisses. “I’m here, I’ve got you. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” Yeonjun’s thumbs continuously wiped away your tears which only seemed to flow harder.

As your final night in Jeju Island came to an end, time seemed to stand still as the stars above witnessed your love. Unspoken words created a tension that lingered in the air. This transformative moment became a pivotal point in your relationship—both terrifying and exhilarating; only time will tell whether the outcome led to joy or heartbreak. The salt and sweet mingling on your lips as you shared a final kiss that night filled you with unease—the feeling haunted you as you drifted into a restless sleep, shadows of doubt weaving through your dreams.

IV || Love Is Like A Cigarette…Quick To Burn Out ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

Autumn felt colder than before—her reappearance felt like a mockery, a reminder of what once was. You found yourselves intertwined beneath the covers each night—his warmth, a bittersweet testimony to the love that still lingered as you slowly felt yourself slipping away. The fragility of each shared breath hung in the air like a whispered secret—an unspoken acknowledgment of the growing distance.

As you lay beside Yeonjun, the shadowy hands of doubt made their return, pleased to reacquaint themselves with you—finding their way back around your neck, tightening their grip, reminding you of why your fears lingered.

“Please. Don’t look at me like you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like you want to kiss me,” you replied, averting your eyes as tears welled up in your eyes.

Yeonjun reached out, his hand brushing against yours sent shivers down your spine. Hurt flashed across his face as you flinched at his touch. “Please,” you begged, “just…don't kiss me.” As you cried yourself to sleep, Yeonjun held you tenderly—whispering sweet words of reassurance, hoping to alleviate your fears.

Ever since the confession, your dependency on cigarettes seemed to increase tenfold—unable to let go of your source of divine relief. Each inhale felt like a desperate attempt to fill the void inside you while each exhale felt like a mocking reminder of the scars Josh had left behind.

Josh's cycle of abuse was an intricate web of manipulation, woven with such precision that it left you trapped and helpless. It started slow; he first reeled you in with a whirlwind of affection—his words and actions sweet, leaving you feeling intoxicated, invigorated, desperately wanting more. But as he ensnared you in his tapestry of lies, his personality shifted. The once sweet Josh became your worst nightmare; berating you, blaming you for the way your life turned out. His sweet words turned into knives, leaving deep cuts in you that left you questioning your worth. 

Every time he claimed you as his own, it felt like a twisted blend of passion and possession—the once intimate moments morphed into something darker. Each caress, a reminder that your body was his, only meant to fuel his desires. The aftermath always left you hollow, like a mere shell of your former self—your body desperately begging to be free. 

At those times, he became withdrawn, leaving you to pick up your broken pieces—his warmth replaced by a chilling cold, one that settled in the corners of your mind. Inevitably, he would return, charming as he once was, offering a tender-hearted apology and sweet lies, pulling you back into the same destructive cycle. Each time you forgave him, you hoped for change, only to find yourself more deeply entangled in your ultimate demise. 

Despite severing your ties, the cycle continued to haunt the forefront of your mind. As you closed your eyes each night, you relived the haunting memories of your past—sleep becoming a battleground of destruction. As the nightmares faded and reality embraced you—you found Yeonjun lying beside you, his concerned gaze meeting yours as tears fell from your eyes. You sank deeper into him, whispering that you were okay, desperately hoping that would be the case.

Yeonjun didn’t know what to do—he was at a standstill in his life, unable to make his next decision. Ever since you returned from your trip to Jeju Island, things had shifted. It started small, with the way you avoided his gaze, a subtle action that tore his soul apart. Then it transitioned to you avoiding his kisses, something Yeonjun never expected. His breaking point came when he noticed how you flinched at his touch and cried in your sleep—holding onto him as if you were afraid he'd disappear. Yeonjun loved you, but he feared this arrangement was now hurting you both more than it should. 

Yeonjun stood outside Soobin’s room, riddled with anxiety as he contemplated the conversation he was about to have. He wanted to ask Beomgyu for advice, but he decided against it, thinking it was unfair to put him in such a position.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself before softly knocking in the door. “Hey, Soobin. Can I come in?” he called out.

“Yeah!” Soobin replied, his tone light.

As Yeonjun entered, he saw Soobin sprawled out on his bed, phone in hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he sat up, “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

Smiling sheepishly, Yeonjun rubbed the back of his neck. “It's about Blossom, actually.”

Soobin sat up a bit straighter, his expression shifted to one of concern. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Remember when we took that trip to Jeju in the Summer?” Yeonjun asked.

Soobin nodded slowly in understanding. “Yeah…you guys had a wonderful time, right?”

Nodding, Yeonjun continued, “Yeah, but I sort of confessed to her?”

A deadpan expression formed on Soobin's face. “You…confessed. Aren't you dating her?” 

Yeonjun felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. “Well…no, we're not.”

Soobin's eyes widened in shock. “Wait, what? You two were kissing in our kitchen last winter and you aren't dating?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun responded, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “We just had an arrangement. No strings attached.”

Looking more shocked than before Soobin says, “Why don't you explain everything to me? From the beginning.”

Yeonjun recounted to Soobin the story of his entanglement with you, from your first meeting to the night you slept together, detailing every moment that led up to this one.

“Honestly,” Soobin started, “I think it's best you step back. For both your sakes. It's clearly taking a toll on you both and it isn't worth it that you both are hurting in your own way. You love each other, anyone would be stupid enough to think otherwise. I know she hasn't said it, but she looks at you with so much love, Yeonjun.” Clearing his throat he continued, “Just give her the space to work things out on her own. It will hurt, but she'll come back to you once she's gathered her thoughts. She's clearly going through something deeper, so have some patience with her, yeah?”

With a nod, Yeonjun hugged Soobin, grateful for having a friend like him during times like this. This newfound perspective guided Yeonjun on the path he had to take—he didn't want to, but if it meant you slowly got to heal from your unspoken trauma, he would do anything to save you from that.

The cool evening air wrapped around you as you sat on the balcony of your room—with a cigarette in hand you're listening to Beomgyu beside you, his eyes full of worry as he talked to you. You saw his lips moving, eyebrows furrowed yet you couldn't hear him—it was as if you and your body were disconnected.

The world around you felt blurred, the once vibrant colours, fading into a muted palette. It felt as if you were a spectator in your own life, watching the scene unfold, nodding absently to Beomgyu. As you inhaled the last remnants of your cigarette, you felt yourself fading back into reality.

“...And I'm just worried about you, Petal. These days you don't seem like you're present in reality. I just want you to talk to me, please. I just want to help you,” Beomgyu said as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can't lose my best friend. Not again,” he added softly.

You watched Beomgyu with sad eyes, feeling the weight of his concern. “I'm sorry, Cookie. I…I don't know where to start. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. Just tell me what happened,” he urged, his voice quivering, “you've been smoking so much more lately. I'm worried.”

“Yeonjun confessed,” you said, biting your lips. “During our last night in Jeju, and it kind of just freaked me out? Ever since Josh happened six years ago, I just don't feel worthy?”

Beomgyu looked at you earnestly, his steady gaze urging you to continue. “It's just that, my mind convinces me that I'm destined to be in a perpetual cycle of abuse and…” Your voice breaks, tears welled in your eyes, “...And I don't think I'm deserving of the love Yeonjun’s willing to give.” Wiping your eyes, you continued, “Ever since the nightmares resurfaced, I keep seeing his face and reliving moments and it scares me. I'm terrified of slipping back into that space.” 

Beomgyu’s expression softened, “I get that, Petal. But hanging onto the past isn't going to help you or Yeonjun. You both will get hurt in the end. You need to let it go.”

“I'm scared, Gyu. Not of letting go but facing what comes after.”

Beomgyu rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “We’ll be here to support you, you know that, Petal. It'll be okay,” he smiled softly. “Just give yourself some space and gather your thoughts. Then talk to him, shutting him out won't help either of you. He loves you, he'll understand and want to help.”

You sighed softly as the weight of his words settled in your heart. “Okay,” you whispered, “time to let go.”

The weather was overcast, almost as if it mirrored your mood, or was mocking you—either way, you didn't like the feeling. Yeonjun asked to meet you at your apartment that day and it filled you with dread. It wasn't like his usual messages or spontaneous visits—this felt different, as if the air was thick with an impending change.

To ease your nerves while you waited for Yeonjun, you smoked three cigarettes, each one making you feel worse than the last. Nothing seemed to help extinguish the turmoil inside you.

As you contemplated lighting another, the doorbell rang, disrupting your spiralling thoughts. Your heart raced, anticipation and dread coursing through your veins as you prepared yourself to open the door.

Opening it, you found Yeonjun standing there but unlike his usual lively appearance, today, he looked exhausted—the dark circles under slightly bloodshot eyes were evidence that he hadn't been sleeping well—the sight made your heart ache.

Closing the door behind you, you glanced at Yeonjun again with sorrowful eyes. “Yeonjun…are you okay?” you asked, your voice, barely above a whisper, fear knotting in your stomach at the thought of his answer.

“I'm sorry,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion, “I don't think this arrangement can continue. I'm too in love with you and too selfish.” Yeonjun paused, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “I desperately want more, and I don't want to ask you for more than you're willing to give.”

As the rain began to fall softly, each drop mirrored the emotions swirling between you in this very moment. Yeonjun stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of heartbreak and desperation. 

“Just this once,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the patter of the rain, “I know you've been avoiding kissing me lately, but just this once,” he begged, his voice breaking, “let me kiss you one last time before I end this.”

The desperation in Yeonjun’s voice is evident—it broke you knowing that you're the one that caused him to be like this. Despite your hesitation and racing heart, the weight of his words pulled you in. As he leaned in, the world around you faded into nothingness—the final kiss is sweet and sorrowful, mixed with desperation, the moment feeling suspended in time. As the rain begins to fall harder, your clothes become soaked but the warmth from Yeonjun lips makes the chill forgettable.

The kiss deepened, hot and cold, salty and sweet; mixing with your tears and his—as his hands cradled your face gently, his thumb brushing away your stray tears that mixed with the incoming raindrops.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, saying your name softly, “just let me have this.”

The urgency in his voice spoke volumes, all his unspoken feelings poured out into this single moment. Pulling you closer, as a final desperate grasp, the world around you seemed to blur further, the rain, swaddling you, shielding you from everything else.

As you both pulled away, tears streamed down your faces—breathless and trembling, the reality of the situation crashed in. The sheer vulnerability in his eyes broke you more than you had hope. It almost felt as if his gaze mirrored your own pain.

“Yeonjun I—”

“Don't,” he interrupted softly, almost begging. He placed his forehead against yours, “Just let me be selfish one last time.”

With a final kiss, Yeonjun wiped your remaining tears, whispered an “I love you” and made his way to his car, where he left you, standing in the rain.

Everything then came crashing down on you as he left. You felt your strength fade away, suddenly you're on the floor—glancing at Yeonjun’s figure became smaller as he drove away. The feeling of his lips haunting you as you began to sob uncontrollably. You knew it was your fault the things turned out this way, unable to give him more. Yeonjun made the decision for you, preventing the inevitable. It shouldn't hurt, since it was something you needed; it shouldn't feel like this—but you couldn't help it since you were so utterly in love with Choi Yeonjun.

Going back into the apartment you felt numb, like a piece of you left with Yeonjun. Part of you knew this was necessary, best for both parties—yet a small part of you hoped to stay in your current arrangement, ignoring the unspoken feelings. Beomgyu looked at you as you entered the living room, shocked at your appearance—soaked, with tears streaming down your face.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked as he fetched a towel, gently drying your hair, then wrapping it around you.

“It's Yeonjun,” you mumbled quietly, your tears slowly subsiding. “He ended the arrangement. Which is fine, I just didn't expect it to hurt so much.”

Beomgyu looked at you with empathy, “I know it hurts, but you knew you needed this. It's okay to feel sad about it. You loved him even if you didn't say it out loud.”

“Yeah…I do love him” you admitted quietly, “I think I want to start therapy. I want to get better—not just for myself, but for Yeonjun as well. Once I get through the beginning of that journey, I'll reach out to him again.”

“That's more like it, Petal,” Beomgyu encouraged softly, “Let's get you upstairs and I'll run you a warm bath, yeah?”

Despite the heartbreaking moment, you understood what had to be done. Now, it was time to embark on your journey of letting go—letting go of the past that haunted you and embracing the present. You knew it would be hard initially, but you were determined to be better, determined to reclaim the life you once lost.

For once in his life, Yeonjun absolutely hated himself. He knew he should feel relief—relief that he let you go, not because he wanted to but because he needed to. Yet still, there seemed to be a you-shaped hole in his chest, which had a hollowness more profound than any heartbreak he ever felt. The void reeked of you, memories of your laughter, your warmth, your presence—now replaced by an unbearable silence that was almost deafening.

After what felt like forever, Yeonjun stopped at the park near his apartment—today it was quiet, usually filled with the laughter of innocent children—the air remained still, deadly still. As the sun began to set, the park felt tranquil, almost as if it empathized with him. With the rain finally passing, the orange and red hues adorn the sky and even in this moment, Yeonjun’s first thought was you—he thought you'd love the sight before him, your eyes would light up in delight, wanting to take a picture to savour the moment.

As if his body moved on autopilot, Yeonjun walked to the nearest convenience store. In front of him was a cigarette display with various brands—unconsciously he picked up your favourite brand and a lighter, paying for them and settling on some swings within the park. Yeonjun didn't smoke often, but in this moment, he craved some kind of proximity with you, something to keep him grounded, something to fill the hollow feeling inside.

As Yeonjun lit the cigarette, the flame flickered in the dimming light, taking a drag, the smoke filled his lungs—the warmth contrasting the chill air as the evening came. 

Momentarily, the hollowness receded, but as he exhaled, the feeling rushed back in, somehow worse than before. With each drag, Yeonjun felt more reminiscent than before. He recalled the moments during the arrangement, the way you mentioned that you liked having a black coffee, a croissant and a cigarette for breakfast—something about wanting to feel like a girl in Paris. He chuckled sadly at the memory, even though in the moment he was stressed about your lack of a nutritionally balanced breakfast. 

He remembered the way your body felt against his, how every intimate moment you shared felt like matching puzzle pieces, your body immediately reacted to him as if you were made for each other. He recalled the way you looked at him, with so much love shining in your eyes, and the way you kissed him as if each one might be your last.

“Why did it have to be this way?” he whispered, the only response being the wind rustling through the leaves. A bitter chuckle escaped him as he took another drag, “God,” he sighed, “I love you so much. I wish I didn't have to do it, but I couldn't just have an arrangement with you anymore.” Yeonjun continued, speaking to the universe, hoping that somehow you could hear him in the confines of your apartment. 

With a final drag, the smoke swirled around him, flickering the ash from his cigarette—he watched it fall to the ground, like the remnants of your relationship. Despite the emptiness of the park, memories of your time together lingered in the air, haunting him.

Leaving the pack of cigarettes on the swing, Yeonjun made his way to his car, the weight of your absence more present than before. As he drove back to his apartment, he knew the hole you left would take time to heal, but for right now, he listened to the playlist you made together, living through the moments for one last time as familiar melodies washed over him, each note a bitter reminder of what once was.

Arriving home, Yeonjun felt a lingering sadness. The decision to give you space weighed heavily on his heart. Remembering the way you cried those nights haunted him, the sound of your sobs as you held onto him were heartbreaking. He knew you needed space to sort out the problems you haven't mentioned even if you didn't openly admit it. He loved you and this was the only thing he thought of doing to help you.

“Soobin,” Yeonjun began, his voice low, “I finally let her go.” The admission lifted a weight off his shoulders, but the pain still lingered. “It hurts more than I expected.”

“It's normal to feel that way,” Soobin reassured him. “You love her and giving her the space is best for both of you. She'll come back when she's ready, I know it.”

Yeonjun nodded, consoled by the idea that you would come back, better than you did before.

As quick as Autumn came, so did she leave—leaving behind soon-to-be distant memories, each day served as a reminder of what was lost. With the days getting shorter and the nights growing colder, Yeonjun hoped you were on the path to a better place—like the changing seasons he hoped you were becoming stronger, no longer a slave to your haunting past.

V || Ashes and Second Chances ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The first snow of Winter came quietly in the beginning of December—unlike her previous arrivals, this year her snow quietly blanketed the Earth like a mother nursing her child. You haven't spoken to Yeonjun since your last conversation two months ago but sometimes he sent you messages encouraging you to eat and take care of yourself. You didn't have the heart to respond just yet, but his messages filled you with hope. It felt nice knowing that he still cared even though you weren't on speaking terms—each message a reminder that the bond was still there, despite the distance.

You started therapy the same week Yeonjun left, a daunting but necessary decision. The first few sessions of therapy felt suffocating at first—almost as if you were scared to admit what was wrong. But once you got over that hurdle, things became easier—your therapist encouraged you to confront your past so that you could take a hold of your future. 

Within that safe space of the therapy room, you were taught ways to cope with the cycle of manipulation you had gone through without relying on your cigarettes. As the ties to your past slowly became severed, you developed a love for painting. Each brushstroke became a form of expression for the words you were unable to convey. 

As winter settled in, you felt a growing pain to properly move on from your past—a persistent discomfort that gnawed at you.

Thus, you found yourself at a gravesite during the harsh Daegu winter, determined to make amends. Your first visit was to your brother—you hadn't visited his grave when you returned to Daegu last summer, so you decided to have a conversation with him, sharing your journey.

The cemetery was serene, the snowflakes danced around you as you walked toward a familiar headstone. Sitting down in front of the grave, you placed a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots.

“Hey, big brother,” you whispered quietly. “I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't visit you last Summer.” You took a breath, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I've been trying to get better. I started therapy and I'm learning to cope with everything,” You smiled sadly and continued, “I broke up with Josh too, I know how much you hated him when we first started dating back then. I'm sorry, I should've listened to you.” You recalled all the memories you spent with Yeonjun, “I met someone new,” you laughed quietly, “you would've loved him. He's special to me but I messed up.” Tears began to fall from your eyes, “I promised myself to quit smoking too. It's been hard going through the withdrawals, but I'm getting better.” You took a moment to collect yourself, wiping the tears that fell, “I promise to be better—not just for myself, but for Yeonjun too. I want to be someone he can be proud of, someone who can love without fear.”

Standing up, you took one last look at the grave, “I miss you so much and I wish you were here. I promise to be better so you can be proud of your little sister, okay? I love you.”

You walked away from your brother's grave feeling a sense of warmth filled you as if a weight had been lifted, but there was one more conversation you had to have—one that had been long overdue.

As you stood in front of Josh's grave you no longer felt anxiety and fear washing over only that of anger. You took a deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill your lungs, “You took so much from me,” you began, voice rising slowly. “You took my sense of self and trust. You made me feel like I was never good enough and I let you. I let you control me for so long even when you're dead and gone and I'm done.”

Gently, you rested a bouquet of black roses at the base of the headstone. “I'm here to say my final goodbye. I'm here to reclaim my life.” You take out your last cigarette from the pack, now, a symbol of your past, placing it on the grave as a final offering. “This is my last one. You loved it when I smoked but I'm no longer letting any aspect of you take control over me.” With a steady voice, you declared, “I'm letting this go and I'm letting you go too. I hope you know how much I hate you.”

As you walked away you felt lighter, relieved that it was over, but also relieved that the shackles of your past no longer had a hold on you. The cold Winter now felt like a moment of transformation—as you made your way back to Seoul, hope filled you as you were ready to embrace the life you were finally reclaiming.

Winter felt colder to Yeonjun this year—the lack of your warm presence beside him became a constant reminder of the void that settled in his heart. Despite the ache, he knew it was for the betterment of your relationship. Occasionally, he sent you a message, a word or two of encouragement—a part of him hoped you would respond. He was thankful that Beomgyu always gave him an update on your wellbeing, letting him know you were getting the help you needed.

During your time apart, Yeonjun found himself visiting places you had been together. One morning he visited the greenhouse before he went to the café, admiring the way you always took care of the flowers there. He saw the sunflowers and plum blossoms next to each other in bloom and stared at them in wonder—recalling the day you decided to place them together, cutely saying, “They're us,” as you smiled softly at him. From that moment on, your relationship blossomed with every waking moment you spent together.

At the café you frequented together, he had a croissant and coffee, another attempt at feeling closer to you. The combination of the bitter coffee and flaky pastry only served to be another painful reminder of the laughs you shared over breakfast—the way you would lean across the table, your eyes bright with excitement as you stole a strawberry from his plate. Yeonjun missed those days dearly.

In the middle of winter, Yeonjun found himself staring at the night sky, watching the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda together. He remembered that night all too well, the way you pointed Andromeda out, the way your eyes filled with wonder as he recalled the story. Yeonjun fell in love with you that night—from that moment on he knew he would fight for you in every lifetime. 

He wondered if you were okay—praying to the gods above that your past would no longer haunt you and you could finally take control of your life. The memories, although painful at times, had a comforting warmth that contrasted the stillness of Winter leaving Yeonjun holding onto faith—faith that your relationship would be okay, like the changing seasons, your love had the power to endure and flourish even in the harshest of winters.

Ever since you visited Daegu weeks ago, life has felt brighter—for once you felt like you were able to breathe on your own without any shadows or voices tormenting you. 

Sometimes the nightmares still lingered, but they occurred less frequently than they did before—something you were absolutely grateful for. Therapy had been beneficial as well; after understanding how your abuse affected you, the road to recovery wasn't a terrible journey.

Your sobriety journey from nicotine was a different story. Aside from the typical cravings after withdrawals, the increased irritability and insomnia you faced stressed you out. After Mrs. Kim, your therapist recommended Nicotine Anonymous (NicA), things became easier, especially since Beomgyu came with you, providing you with the extra support that you needed. The meetings made you feel seen as people understood your struggles while Beomgyu’s reassuring presence reminded you that you weren't alone.

With the festive season approaching, you felt a growing desire to reach out to Yeonjun—to give him the explanation that he deserved and to apologize for the distance that had grown between you. You decided to get him a special gift—something that signified the moments you shared and what he meant to you.

A chain, adorned with both of your birthstones along with a painting you did of your time together in Jeju. A landscape painting of the day you spent on Biyangdo Island—on top of its peak, both of you smiling as with the surrounding ocean and nearby islands in the background—truly one of your happiest days there.

You knew Yeonjun would've been alone again this Christmas. Not wanting him to spend it alone, you gathered your courage and with a bouquet of apology flowers and his gifts, you made your way to his apartment. 

As you stood in front of his apartment you took a deep breath, reminding yourself of the progress you had made. You were no longer living in the past, letting a gripping fear dictate your actions—now you lived in the present, ready to embrace what life had to offer. With the gifts tucked under your arm, you quietly knocked on the door, heart racing, hoping that this would be the beginning of a new chapter for both of you—one filled with promise of brighter days ahead.

As Christmas approached, the world around Yeonjun transformed into a wonderful winter wonderland. Yet, despite the festive atmosphere, a heaviness settled in Yeonjun's heart as he yearned for you, hoping that somehow, he was granted a Christmas miracle, and you would greet him at his door.

Despite not knowing when you would talk again, Yeonjun wrote letters for you, one for each season since you've met, each detailing the different ways he fell deeper in love with you—testament to the memories you shared, little things about you that made you unique.

Alongside the letters, Yeonjun made a homemade scrapbook, each page filled with photos you took together and surprise ones he took just of you—each with a little note highlighting his favourite thing from that memory. He included snapshots of places you had visited, menus from your favourite restaurant and even pressed flowers that reminded him of you. Each page was adorned with quotes and song lyrics that reminded of you—their words encapsulating the love he had for you.

His doorbell rang Christmas morning, his heart raced as he prayed it was you and when he finally opened the door Yeonjun smiled, his heart racing—there you are standing, in all your glory, looking brighter than before. 

“Merry Christmas, Yeonjun,” you said as you smiled softly at him, “Can I come inside?”

As you stepped inside, Yeonjun embraced you tightly, “Merry Christmas, Blossom,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Yeonjun,” you said lightly as you laughed, hugging him back tightly as the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, a scent you missed. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

Yeonjun pulled away, his expression serious, “You don’t have to apologize, Sweetheart. How has everything been going?”

Taking a deep breath, you gave Yeonjun the apology flowers, feeling the weight of your past for a moment, “It was hard at first. To let go. But therapy helped me confront my past and it no longer haunts me. Now, I've started to understand how it shaped me, and I’ve finally taken control of my life.” As you explained to him the details of your last relationship and how it left you, Yeonjun’s fists tightened, angry at the idea that you've been through something like that.

“I’m proud of you,” he said softly as he cupped your cheek, “It takes a lot of courage to go through that and still face the past. You’re stronger than you think.”

You continued to give him details of your therapy sessions, your new love for painting and even mention how your NicA sessions helped with your sobriety.

“Thank you for being patient with me. For letting me go when you did, it really helped push me towards the right direction.”

“Always,” he promised, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I'll always fight for you.”

“I actually got you some presents,” you said with a shy smile, gesturing to the gifts you brought with you. 

Yeonjun's eyes lit up, “I got you some presents too! Let me get them then we can exchange gifts.”

As you sat together, Yeonjun slowly unwrapped your presents. His eyes shining as he admired the chain you got him.

“A reminder that we’re always together, even if we are physically apart,” you said, shyly.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, “I love it, Blossom,” he said with adoration as he put on the chain. “I'll cherish it forever.” As Yeonjun unwrapped your second gift he gasps, looking at you in shock. “You painted this?!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“Yeah!” you say excitedly, matching his energy. “Once I realized my love for painting, I was determined to paint one of my favourite moments.”

“It's beautiful,” Yeonjun said softly, “It’s definitely getting framed and hanging up in my room.”

The atmosphere that surrounded you both was light—the soft glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the room left you feeling excited and nervous as Yeonjun handed you his gifts. 

As you pulled out the stack of letters, your heart swelled—each letter adorned with a different seasonal motif. With trembling fingers, you read each letter, tears welled in your eyes—with each season since you've met, Yeonjun highlights the moments in which he fell deeper in love with you. From your laughter in the spring to the warmth of your hand in his during the summer nights—to the cozy moments together in autumn and the quiet times during the winter evenings, each highlighted moment cherishing every little thing about you.

“Yeonjun…” Your voice broke. “I can't believe you wrote all this for me. These are incredible.”

He smiled softly, his eyes shining with warmth, “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. With every season I felt more hopelessly in love with you.”

As you set the letters aside, you turned your attention to the scrapbook—each page was a beautiful collage of your time together, from photos of you laughing to menus from your favourite restaurant, each page was filled with  Yeonjun’s thoughts and even more things we loved about you.

“I didn't even know you took some of these,” you laughed softly as you flipped through the scrapbook.

“I wanted you to see yourself from my eyes.” Yeonjun said softly, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes, “To understand just how beautiful you are, not just on the outside, but also in the way you radiate kindness and strength, lighting up the darkest days. You’re incredible, Blossom.”

The weight of Yeonjun’s words hung in the air, his hands still against your cheeks—gazing at you with unconditional love.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice filled with longing and tenderness.

With a racing heart, you nodded. As he closed the distance between you, the sweet kiss transcends the heavens, filled with all the love and longing that had built up over the time apart—you both savoured the moment, tasting the sweetness of reunion after so much uncertainty.

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss—reality dimming, leaving you two, suspended in a perfect moment. As you pulled away, you're both breathless and smiling. “Yeonjun,” you began, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. “There's something I need to tell you.”

He looked at you, eyes twinkling with curiosity, “What is it?”

“I love you, Yeonjun.” you said proudly, “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I just needed you to know.”

With a radiant smile on his face, Yeonjun laughs softly, “I love you too, Blossom. More than I can express.” 

As Yeonjun kissed you, his warmth enveloped you, reminding you that relationships are like the changing seasons—despite the warmth they bring, they often have the coldest winters. Just as flowers bloom in spring after enduring harsh conditions, so does love flourish after facing trials and tribulations, growing stronger and more vibrant with each passing season. 

Together, you and Yeonjun would be okay—with each season, you would endure what came, hand in hand, knowing that your love had the power to conquer all storms and shine through even the darkest of days.

Epilogue || Seasons of Us ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

It's been a year since that fateful kiss, and as Spring returned, Yeonjun was once again reminded of you. With your past no longer haunting you, he had watched you blossom to your full potential, radiating like a Plum Blossom in full bloom—your vibrant spirit surrounding the atmosphere in all its glory. He marvels at the way you've fully embraced life, proud that you have surpassed your struggles. 

The seasons, once a memory of Yeonjun’s entanglement with you, has now transformed into cherished memories of your time together. Now, he's able to hold you the same under the morning gaze—no longer stuck in limbo, Yeonjun is now able to live the rest of his life with you. The last year has been transformative for you both—having graduated and moved in together, you and Yeonjun were now ready to embark on another part of your journey. 

Together, you stepped into the world, eager to embrace every moment, every season and every challenge that came your way. Together, you would continue to bloom. 

Taglist.ᐟ – @yunverie, @filmnings, @yeonjunnnielover, @just-nc-tea, @iluvjjunie, @fancypeacepersona, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @bunniwords, @lostgirlyystuff, @beomgyusluver, @beaabz

adeline's closing ✉ - if you've made it to the end, I thank you for reading!! I'd also love to know which moment was your favourite, I'd love to hear your thoughts :] mine was the kiss in the rain!

[dawngyu]

i'm ded

[dawngyu]

please see the updated final release date. see you all soon.

Official Teaser: What Remains The Same

Pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader Genre: small town au, childhood friends, angst, second chances, romance, pregnancy, psychological drama (more to be added)

There had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips. But you hadn’t seen them in years. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

The other hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "I heard that he’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

RELEASE DATE: APRIL 15TH, 2025 12PM MST.

i started writing this fic on a whim a few days ago, but the plot refused to leave me alone—it haunted me. before deciding to fully commit to it, i had conversation with a friend who encouraged me, and i owe them so much for giving me the confidence to not only write this but to share it. (also me discovering just how much i love writing angst) i can’t wait to bring this here.

Taglist: Open! Let me know if you want to be tagged for this one.

[dawngyu]

a little late, but thank you so much for 1k 😭

i remember writing this and thinking, “i’ll be lucky if it even hits 100 notes” because of how heavy the genre is. but somehow, people started reading it. this fic made me realize just how much i love writing angst and how many of you see the beauty in it too.

THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip. All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender—is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better. Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.soobinbunnie5 @.pagelets @.yoseicour @.baekberrie @.blossommi @.younbeanz @.soohashits @.brrytears @.shycreationdreamland @.notevenheretbh1

[dawngyu]

friend you COOKED with the scientist 🙏🏼 genuinely want my own hyuka after that read u are amazing for posting that masterpiece 🙏🏼🫂

thank you, friend. 😩

[dawngyu]

THE SCIENTIST

pairing: popular hueningkai x deaf fem!reader

summary: Kai, who thrived in sound. Loud noise, vibrant conversations, the hum of life. And the quiet girl that sits prettily by the window—had begun to haunt his mind—stirring his heart the way only music ever had.

There must be some scientific explanation for this... right?

warnings: deaf reader, set in 1995 timeline, verbal!abuse, physical!abuse, family-trauma, ableism!(hate this word so much). side character!death, purely work of fiction. subtle implications of survivor guilt, high-school setting but everyone is 18 and above. everything written here is not a description of any idols. characters like chae-won, yun-jin etc are used. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please proceed with caution if you decided to read. (let me know if i missed anything.)

smutwarnings: explicit!smut, pull-out method(pls don't),fingering!, missionary!, virginity!loss. MDNI.

wc: 21k

notes: inspired by twinkling watermelon. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be deaf, there may still be inaccuracies. I did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. love knows no boundaries, hence I wrote this piece. a big thank you to my beta reader.

You were born with the inability to hear anything.

The world is nothing but a muted place for you. You never heard the birds singing at dawn, the hum of a bustling street, or the warmth in your parents’ voices—even your own. The sun might be painting the sky with its warm hues, but for you, it was just another day of deafening silence.

And then there was that one particular day.

You didn’t hear the crash, the scream of tyres, or the shattering glass. You didn’t hear your mother's voice, soft and trembling, as she held you close. Eyes brimming with tears, searching yours, face pale and streaked with blood.

You tried—desperately—to focus, to read the words forming on her lips. But your head spun, the world blurred, and all you could feel was her cold hands cradling your face. How can you? When you couldn't even hear your own pained whimpers from the glass that cut your skin. Strangers pulled you. They carried you away—away from her, away from her forever.

You’ve convinced yourself it must be punishment—a cruel reckoning from a life before this one.

Why else would your hearing be taken from you? Why else would the universe strip away the one person who truly saw you, who tried to understand you, even in your silence? What crime could have been so unforgivable that it warranted a lifetime of loss?

You stabbed at the food on your plate, pushing it around without taking a bite. Your stomach churned—not from hunger but from being trapped here. The room was filled with people who called themselves your family. Family—nothing more than a coincidence of living in the same house.

A sharp kick to your foot snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes met hers—your stepmother. Her perfectly practised smile didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes.

She had arrived after the accident, ten years ago, when you were just eight. Back then, she was a tutor, brought in to give your father hope—a cruel, empty hope that you could still learn to speak. She had played her role well, and now she sat at the head of this table, the head of this house, ruling with her own. Her daughters—your stepsisters—sat on either side of her, mirroring her expressions, their eyes flickering toward you.

“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked—you read her lips, something you had to do out of necessity. Her stare burned into you.

You knew that look too well. Behave. Know your place.

And, as always, your father sat there, oblivious. His eyes never caught the disdain in hers, never lingered long enough to notice the cracks in the perfect picture she painted. Soon, he'll be back overseas for another business trip.

"Y/N?"

You hesitated, lifting your hand to sign, then you caught her eye—a sharp, pointed look. Your hand faltered, dropping back to your side.

Instead, you let out a hum. It wasn’t much, just a sound—a vibration you couldn’t hear but felt in your throat. She tilted her head slightly, giving a satisfied nod.

Your father pushed back his chair, standing with the same distracted air he always had. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your head, a gesture so routine it barely meant anything anymore. I’m going now. That was what it always meant.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead briefly, before straightening up. His secretary hovered near the door. You watched his back as he walked out, leaving you staring from the table.

The day your mother left you, you lost... him too.

Seeing the doors close, you rose from your seat, but your stepmother was quicker, blocking your path. She loomed, her face a mask of forced patience. "Do I need to remind you again?" she said, "I said speak. No hand signs or whatever that is. That is not allowed here on this house. Do you want me to get mad at you again?"

Her glare felt like a physical force, pinning you to the spot. Unable to meet her eyes, you nodded weakly, looking at the floor. But she wasn’t done. She stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders in a firm, punishing grip. Her fingers dug into your skin as she shook you, her frustration spilling over.

Everyone watched. They just.. watched. The maids stood frozen in the corner, their expressions carefully blank, devoid of any emotion, too scared to intervene. Your stepsisters whispered to each other, their mocking smiles only adding to the humiliation.

You nodded again, your only escape was to comply. A soft hum escaped your lips, the sound she always, always insisted on, a token of submission that seemed to satisfy her. Her hands drop from your shoulders. The moment her grip released, you ran. Up the stairs, down the hall, into the only place that felt remotely yours—your room.

Once inside, you collapsed at your desk, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against the hard surface. The tears came quickly, spilling from your eyes as sobs racked your chest. They said crying was supposed to help, to lighten the burden somehow. But for you, it only made the weight heavier. You couldn’t even hear yourself cry. The silence made your pain feel endless.

In your despair, your arm knocked into something on the desk. You looked up in alarm, your heart skipping as you saw the mess. Paints, scattered and spilling, teetered dangerously close to the last drawing you had finished the night before.

Frantically, you reached out, your hands moving quickly to fix it. The thought of losing that small piece—felt unbearable. You righted the paints and saved the smudged edges of the paper, tears blurred your vision as you looked at the sketch.

A boy, in your uniform, with bangs that fell over his eyes and the back of his hair just shy of touching his collar, stood smiling softly. In his hands, he held a guitar, fingers resting gently on the strings.

Huening Kai has so much to be delighted for—his mom, his dad, his sweet sisters—but if he’s being frank, what he’s most thankful for is the day he picked up a guitar and found his love for it.

Music has been his refuge during both the small, frustrating setbacks—like failing a math test he poured hours into studying for or losing a manga he cherished so much and never finding it again—and the moments that cut far deeper.

It was there when his parents decided to end their marriage, leaving him struggling at first—to make sense of a family that no longer looked the same. It was there when Lea packed her things and left for college, that he felt the ache of her absence in a much quieter house. It was there when two of his bandmates graduated, their spots in the group left empty, a reminder of how quickly life can change.

Through music, he met people who became his closest friends, his second family—people he couldn’t imagine living without.

It all comes back to one truth: music doesn’t betray you. It’s always there, no matter what. It’s honest, a constant in a world that often feels anything but. It’s there when you need it most, wrapping you in its arms like an old friend who doesn’t need words to understand—even when you can’t find them yourself.

“Huening Kai!” a high-pitched voice calls out. He feels the soft thud of pillows hitting him and a sharp slap against the back of his thigh. Seriously? He had just fallen asleep.

“I’m going to eat all your food if you don’t get up,” the voice threatens. That gets his attention. Groaning, he blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of his room. Familiar sight of used guitars propped against the wall, the gleam of trophies, and the dark violet hue that wraps around the room.

He blinks. Oh. It’s his sister, Hiyyih.

Hiyyih stands there, a plate in one hand, an annoyed look plastered across her face. Kai can tell she’s been sent by their mom to rouse him, probably against her will. She takes a deliberate bite of scrambled eggs, her eyes narrowing as she gives him a pointed look before turning to leave.

Kai chuckles softly, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. He stretches, muscles still heavy, and a frown tugs at his lips. Today is the first day of his last year in high school. The final chapter. Soobin and Yeonjun won’t be there anymore. He sighs, swinging his leg off the bed.

He runs a hand to his tousled hair, grabs a hoodie from the back of his chair and pulls it over his head. He heads towards the chatter—smell of eggs, bacon and pancakes makes his stomach growl.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," His mom greets him with a smile. His frame now towering over the kitchen shelves. He catches her watching him, a soft look in her eyes, and it makes him smile back.

"Morning," Kai mumbles, sits down at the table, reaching for a slice of toast.

Hiyyih watches him,"I thought I was going to have to eat all your food," she teases.

Kai rolls his eyes but grins. "You wish."

"Big day, huh? Last first day of school."

"Yeah. It feels… weird. Soobin and Yeonjun aren’t going to be there. Has Lea called yet?"

"She did. She's doing great so far, being a college girl." his mom answers, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll make even greater memories this year."

Kai smiles, appreciating her words. "Thanks, Mom."

Breakfast was filled with small talk, morning routines wrapping around them. Hiyyih busied herself packing her lunch, their mom helping her with a few finishing touches. Being just a year below Kai, their schedules almost mirrored each other, so they will go to school together.

"Kai, want me to sneak some of these into your lunch?" Hiyyih asked, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. He glanced over to see her holding up rice balls shaped like hearts and little animals, clearly proud of her handiwork.

"No, thank you," Kai replied, his tone flat but amused.

"Killjoy," she muttered, giving him a mock glare before returning to her task. He watches as she carefully places a tiny heart-shaped piece of seaweed to form a cat's nose. Something he did not understand.

Why go through all that effort?

The three of them make their way to their mom’s old car, a little worn but still reliable. Kai slips into the passenger seat, and Hiyyih climbs into the back, fussing with her hair even though she just brushed it a minute ago.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Kai asks as the car starts rolling through the neighborhood. “That way you don’t have to keep going back and forth from school to home.”

His mom glances at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Son, just because you turned 18 last summer doesn’t mean I’m handing over the keys. Besides,” she adds warmly, “I want to do this for you and Hiyyih.”

Kai leans back in his seat, nodding. She’s right. And anyway, it’s not like they head home together after school. His afternoons are spent in the band room while Hiyyih flits between her own plans, always busy with something or some girlfriends.

The car rolls up to the massive school grounds, Kai glances out the window. The sight of students milling around, the towering building ahead—it’s the same as always. He exhales and starts gathering his things.

He steps out, the crisp air latch on his face. With a quick ruffle of his hair, he pushes his longer bangs away from his eyes, though they fall back almost immediately. The strands at the back have grown out too, brushing the collar of his jacket. Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder and his guitar case over his left, he adjusts the weight and sets off toward the main building. Black—headphones rest around his neck.

He’s barely made it a few steps before he feels it—the stares. The whispers.

“Isn’t he one of the handsome seniors?” “The main guitarist of TXT.” — “He’s so tall. And cute.”

Kai shrugs it off, keeping his focus ahead. He’s used to it. Beside him, Hiyyih is already swept up by one of her friends, her laughter fading into the background after she’s pulled in another direction. His feet carried him down the well-worn hallway, a path he didn’t even have to think about. He could probably make the walk blindfolded. The band room.

When he reached the door, he grasped the doorknob and paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips as the low, bassline thrummed from inside. Peeking inside, the sight was just as he expected—home.

“Yo! Huening Kai!” Beomgyu’s voice rang out, bright and animated, as he set his bass down. His grin widened as he crossed the room in a few quick steps, pulling Kai into a hug before he could dodge. “How was your summer?”

Kai let out a soft laugh, prying Beomgyu’s arms off him. “It was fine. I went shopping with Taehyun a couple of times,” he said, making his way toward his guitar shelf. “Watch it.” he added, shooting Beomgyu a look as the other trailed dangerously close behind.

Beomgyu’s eyes landed on the guitar case Kai was carrying, and his grin turned sly. “What’s this? A new baby?”

“Yeah,” Kai replied, carefully unzipping the case and pulling the guitar out as if it were a fragile treasure. “Dad brought it back from abroad.”

Beomgyu snickered, reaching out to pinch Kai’s cheek. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

“Would you stop?” Kai swatted his hand away, but there was no hiding the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

Before Beomgyu could tease him further, the door swung open again. Taehyun stepped inside, clipboard in hand, expression calm and no-nonsense as usual. “The new auditionees are here,” he announced, motioning to the two figures who followed him in.

“This is Heeseung,” Taehyun said, gesturing to the taller one. “He’s here to audition for piano. And Jay—he’s trying out for drums.”

Kai glanced at the newcomers, giving them a polite nod as Beomgyu rubbed his hands together, mischievous grin returning. "Alright," Beomgyu said, "let’s see what they’ve got."

The next hour flew by with skills checks, and it didn’t take long for them to see that Heeseung and Jay were solid. They were skilled, sharp, and seemed to fit right into the gaps left by Soobin and Yeonjun. It felt like they could pick up the left space and carry it forward without missing a beat.

Afterwards, Taehyun waved them off, heading to his next class, while Kai and Beomgyu walked in the opposite direction. They shared the same class, while Taehyun, ever the academic overachiever, headed to the advanced one.

“Only the brainiacs go there,” Beomgyu says, nudging Kai with his elbow.

Kai shook his head. Taehyun’s class was famous for being perfectly orderly—a stark contrast to theirs, which was noisy and chaotic on a good day. Their room always felt like the epicentre of the school’s commotion, every day.

The rest of the hours passed in a blur of introductions and meetings with their new advisors. And, of course, Kai’s least favourite math teacher made his return, every bit as strict as before.

Kai slouched in his chair, barely stifling a groan as the teacher droned on about equations and formulas. His mind drifted—Why do he even need this? Is he going to calculate the quadratic formula to buy chips at the grocery store? No.

He glanced down at his hands, the faint calluses on his fingertips from hours of guitar practice catching his eye. He’d much rather spend his time until his hands were sore than trying to decipher problems that made no sense to him.

Beomgyu leaned over, “I think your brain just checked out.”

Kai grinned, giving him a light shove. “Math checked me out first.”

The two of them exchanged quiet laughter, abruptly stopping when the teacher eyed them down.

By the time the last class wrapped up at 4 p.m., Kai found himself right back where he’d started his day: the band room. He and his four bandmates were deep into their after-school practice, bestowed in instruments, time slipped by unnoticed.

“Shoot,” Jay muttered, his gaze snapping to the wall clock. 7:30 p.m. Thirty minutes past the curfew for club rooms.

The realization hit them all at once. If the guards caught them here, it would mean one thing: detention.

“Pack up. Now,” Taehyun said, already slinging his bag over his shoulder. The others scrambled to gather their own gear.

Everyone slipped out into the dark, quiet halls, trying to move as silently as possible. The sound of their footsteps seemed louder.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A booming voice cut through, and suddenly, ta flash of light caught them mid-step.

“Go!” someone hissed, and chaos erupted. The guard started running toward them, and they bolted in every direction. Beomgyu let out a panicked squeal as he sprinted with his bass case clutched in one hand.

Kai didn’t have time to think—he just ran, heart pounded as his legs carried him blindly through the halls. He rounded a corner, only to see another guard up ahead. The group split, scattering.

He can’t get detention on the first day. His lungs burned as he pushed himself further. He kept running, not even sure where he was going, until his body… gave out.

Panting, he slumped near the wall, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. A flashlight beam swept the hallway behind him. His pulse quickened as he realized he was at a dead end.

Frantically, his eyes darted around, then saw a room ahead. Kai’s brow furrowed at the sight of the mop propped against the door handle, clearly used as a makeshift way to keep it shut. Weird.

He hurried over, carefully removing the mop, and slipped inside. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of light spilling in from the high windows. It cast eerie shadows on the walls, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hide.

Kai tried flipping the light switch, but nothing happened. Figures, he thought bitterly. He shut the door as quietly as he could, pressing his back against it to steady his breathing.

“Anyone there?” The sound of footsteps echoed outside. The guard’s flashlight swept across the small window in the door, and Kai instinctively slid to the floor, curling himself. He crawled, akwardly, backwards, toward the corner at the far end of the room, hoping to make himself as invisible as possible.

But something bumped against his foot. He whipped his head around, his breath catching in his throat. Sitting in the corner was someone else.

You.

Your legs were drawn up to your chest, wide eyes staring right back at him.

“Shi—” Kai started to curse but stopped himself, clapping a hand over his mouth—heart hammered in his chest, not sure if it was your unexpected presence in the room that caused it—or the way your wide, startled eyes locked onto his in this small space.

Chae-won, like you, is in her final year of high school, while Yun-jin is a year below. Your stepsisters.

When they first moved in, your twelve-year-old self had hoped you could be... friends. You had imagined shared secrets, laughter, and maybe even sisterly bonds. But the moment your father’s attention shifted elsewhere, it was clear that your stepmother’s whispers had already planted seeds of resentment in their hearts.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. When did it all go wrong? Was it because you were the only biological daughter in the house? Because your father, despite his best intentions, never really connected with them either? Or was it simply because you couldn’t speak?

The inability to communicate fully, to bridge the gap between your world and theirs, seemed to widen the chasm. You often wondered if things would have been different if you could—if words could have built a room where silence had only erected walls.

After years of trying, of reaching out and being met with cold indifference or outright hostility, you gave up. You stopped hoping for understanding, stopped yearning for a connection that seemed impossible. The effort of trying to be part of their society when they wanted nothing to do with yours had only broken your heart.

"Watch where you're going, fucking weirdo," Chae-won sneers, her foot juts out, sending you stumbling. The water bucket you were carrying—filled with the murky grey water of used paintbrushes—tips forward, dousing your chest. You don’t hear the laughter, but you can feel it, buzzing around you in the painting room.

You look up, your gaze darts to Yun-jin. She leans against the counter, arms crossed, her painted red lips curved into a smug smirk. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to do something about it.

You’re in your school's art room, surrounded by the faint smell of turpentine and dried paint. Art has always been your peace. But your love for it didn’t go unnoticed by your stepmother.

It wasn’t long before she pushed her daughters into it too. You’re not sure if it was to force some kind of twisted togetherness between you, or if it was her way of ensuring they would always outshine you, in everything—even this.

You push yourself up, your clothes clinging to your body, damp. Your eyes narrow as you stare at Chae-won. You want to tell her off, to demand an apology, to ask why she does this—

"Cat got your tongue?" she taunts, her lips curl into a cruel grin. "Oh, wait. You can’t speak. Poor girl. That’s what you get for being such an attention seeker."

Your breath hitches as your brows knit in fury. You can’t reply with words, but actions—actions—will do just fine.

As she turns to leave, you grab her hair, yanking it back with all the frustration and hurt bottled up. She shrieks, spinning around to claw at you, and soon you’re both tangled in a fierce struggle.

The others jump in.

Someone grabs your arm, wrenching it back. Another slaps you hard across the face, the sting reverberating through your skull. A foot connects with your leg, sending you buckling. You hit the ground again, tasting blood on your lips as they shove you down.

Your things are heartlessly thrown at you—your bag, your books, your sketchpad—hitting you like stones. Footsteps retreating, laughter echoing in their faces. They close the door before you can even blink.

You force yourself to your feet, every movement a struggle against the ache in your body. You stumble to the door, testing the handle. It doesn’t budge. Of course, it doesn’t. They’ve done this before.

Silence.

You sink back down onto the hard floor, your chest heaving as tears spill freely down your cheeks. Trembling hands reach up to the corner of your lips, fingers brushing the split skin. The sting makes you wince.

The clock ticks on, indifferent. 4:50 p.m.

You take a shuddering breath and wipe your tears with unsteady hands. You smooth your hair, trying to tame the mess they made of it. With a quick swipe, you clear the blood from your mouth, leaving behind only the faint metallic taste.

All you can do now is wait. Alone—praying—that someone will come and find you in this empty room.

What you didn’t expect was that someone would come—three hours later, long after the sun had set. You’d been staring at the door for so long that when it finally creaked open, you were already halfway to your feet.

But then you froze.

It’s him.

Of all people, it’s him.

You swallowed the surprise in your throat, pulse-quickening as you watched him slip inside, crouching low, moving backward like he was avoiding something.

He was hiding. From what, you didn’t know—not until a beam of light swept across the windows above, brushing against the walls like a searching hand. Your body stiffened, instinct telling you to stay still.

You weren’t sure you could.

When his gaze finally landed on you, the shock in his expression was unmistakable—and you knew yours mirrored his. Suspended in that shared disbelief.

“Quiet, please,” his lips shaped the words. His hand rose, a single finger pressing against his mouth. The dim light barely reached him, but you caught the faint pink of his lips.

Minutes passed. Neither of you spoke, just staring at each other like you were both trying to figure out something. He shifted, his eyes widening in alarm.

“B-blood,” he stammered, pointing at your forehead.

Your hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against the skin there. When you pulled it back, you saw it—smudges of red streaking your fingertips.

He's as startled as you, he tapped his chest, like he was trying to centre himself, and quickly rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out to you with a slightly trembling hand.

You didn’t take it. You couldn’t. It must be the ache in your bones, the hunger in your stomach, the blood still fresh on your hands—or maybe... your mind was still catching up to the fact that he was here, standing this close to you.

When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, hesitating only briefly before carefully pressing the cloth to your forehead. His touch was cautious, you could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric.

From this close, you could smell him. Clean, with a faint trace of musk, and something sweet underneath. You hated how your chest tightened because of it.

“What happened? Why are you here?” he asked, his fingers were steady as he wiped the blood from your skin. His brow furrowed as he inspected the small cut, his concern written plainly on his face. “Did someone lock you in?”

You shook your head, hesitant. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you let your gaze fall somewhere—anywhere—but on his eyes.

He didn’t press for more. “Let’s get out of here.”

His hand found yours. All you could do was stare at your entwined fingers. You can feel the tip of your ears go warm. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood and pulled you up from the cold, unforgiving floor.

The boy who had only ever been a distant figure to you. The boy you’d sketched on countless pages, the one whose smile crinkled his eyes so perfectly it made your chest ache. The boy you were sure didn’t even know you existed.

He pulls you out of this suffocating room. His tall, sure figure led, guiding you as you ran. Every so often, he glances back, his eyes searching yours and for a fleeting moment, you glance down and see your shadows on the wall—together. His hands never let go of yours until you weren't in the dark anymore.

Huening Kai.

Kai slouches in his seat, letting out another heavy sigh. His body’s in class, sure, but his mind? It’s stuck somewhere else—somewhere back last night.

He can’t stop thinking about you. And he's not sure why.

You both made it out of the school grounds safely, and he even helped you gather your things from your locker. He stood there awkwardly, watching when you downed a bottle of water in one long gulp like your life depended on it. His suspicions were confirmed—someone did lock you in that room.

How long had you waited, sitting there in the dark? His stomach churned at the thought. What if he hadn’t been hiding that way? What if no one had found you? The idea of you spending the entire night in that empty space until a teacher or janitor happened upon you made his heart race. It’s… eating him alive.

But the thing that gets him, the part he can’t stop replaying, is how… quiet you were. No explanations, no complaints—just a nod here and there, avoiding his eyes the whole time. Did he cross a line? Say something wrong? Overstep somehow? Did he offend you without realizing? Or worse—do you just not like him?

He rubs the back of his neck. And yet, despite all that, he also can’t stop thinking about how your eyes seem soft under the moonlight, making them look so—

“Dude.” Beomgyu’s voice cuts, “What’s with the brooding? Bell rang.”

Kai glances around the classroom. Almost empty. “Oh. Right. Nothing,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag.

Beomgyu narrows his eyes. “You’ve been sulking like my dog when I don’t share my snacks.”

Kai remained silent, pouting and followed Beomgyu out of the classroom. It’s lunch now, and as usual, they’re headed to meet Taehyun at the cafeteria. Heeseung and Jay will probably join them too.

Walking through the hall, Kai forces a polite smile at the people who greet him. Beomgyu, on the other hand, is his usual exuberant self, grinning and dapping up every other guy who greets him as they pass.

The two make their way into the cafeteria, people stared. They walk toward their usual spot, a table near the centre of the room. No one ever sits there. Everyone knows—it’s their table. Yeonjun made that mark. It's an unspoken rule.

Kai drops into his seat, setting his bag down and pulling out his packed lunch. The cafeteria food doesn’t really do it, not when his mom’s food is always better.

“What do you have?” Beomgyu asks, leaning over.

“Tempura and some beef,” Kai replies, popping a piece of shrimp into his mouth.

“Give me some,” Beomgyu demands, already reaching for his chopsticks. Kai rolls his eyes but slides the container a little closer, watching as Beomgyu happily steals a piece.

Taehyun walks in, weaving the crowded tables with his usual stride. “You're early,” he greets, his seat across from them. "That's a record."

Kai’s eyes flick toward the entrance, catching sight of you slipping. You moved slowly, clutching your tumbler. You keep your head low, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s watching. Kai stands, pushing his chair back abruptly. He can't miss this chance.

Beomgyu pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”

Taehyun gives him a sideways glance. “Kai?” Kai ignored them. He just heads toward you.

“Hey,” he calls out, but you don’t turn. Hesitating for only a second, he gently taps your shoulder.

You whirl around. Your grip tightens on the water bottle, and your eyes widen slightly when you realise it’s him. Around you, a few people glance over.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “How’s your head?” He tilts his own slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bandaid peeking out near your hairline. “That looks better,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” He points behind him toward his table when you don't answer, where Beomgyu and Taehyun are undoubtedly watching. As he expected, you shake your head quickly, almost instinctively, avoiding his eyes.

The small rejection stings more than it should. Kai nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Alright,” he mutters. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he gently takes the tumbler from your hands.

He heads to the water station, fills it to the brim, screws the cap on tightly, and hands it back to you. “Here,” he says simply. It's small. But he wanted to do it for you.

You nod, a small, polite gesture, and turn to leave without a word or a backward glance.

Kai watches you, chest tight. When he trudges back to his table, Beomgyu’s smirk is already waiting for him.

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks, leaning forward.

“I was just checking on her,” Kai mumbles, slumping into his seat. “She never talks to me. I don’t get it.”

Taehyun’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Kai for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “She can’t,” he finally says, voice calm but firm.

Kai blinks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t hear you.” Taehyun explains, his tone softening. “She’s deaf, Kai,”

Taehyun filled Kai in, sharing what he knew about you.

Kai was surprised to learn that you were in the same advanced class. As always, you kept everything to yourself. Taehyun admitted he had tried reaching out to you before—once or twice—but even he hadn’t gotten far.

“She’s… just quiet,” Taehyun said with a shrug. “Not just because she’s deaf, either. I’ve tried writing things down for her, you know? Like, in a notebook, to make it easier. But she only ever gives one-word answers. A ‘yes’ here, a ‘no’ there.” He sighed, “It’s hard to get through to her.”

Kai leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been so quick to assume you were ignoring him, brushing him off on purpose. But now?

Now, he couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for you that night. Locked, no way to call for help, no way to know if anyone was coming. Alone. Not even the sounds of footsteps approaching to give you hope.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Would he have been able to handle that? Sitting there for hours, completely cut off from the world? Probably not. He’d have broken down.

That's why Kai finds himself walking in the opposite direction of his classroom, away from Beomgyu’s puzzled stare. He doesn’t look back. His feet carry him toward where Taehyun had gone—toward where he knows you are.

The hallway buzzes with life. Groups of students linger outside classrooms, laughing and chatting, their voices blending into the hour of lunch break. A few glance his way as he passes, curiosity in their eyes.

Kai’s steps slow as he approaches the room. The back entrance gives him a clear view inside. His eyes scan the rows of desks. Someone calls his name. Heads turn, smiles and greetings thrown his way.

But not yours.

You’re sitting in the front row, by the window, farthest from where he stands. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a soft glow over you. There’s a sketchbook open on your desk, the pages large and blank except for the lines you’re drawing with practised ease. The way your hand moves—purposeful—tells him this is second nature to you.

You’re so focused, so completely lost, that you don’t notice the subtle breeze dancing through the window. It catches your hair, making it sway just enough to draw his attention.

He watches as you pause, tucking the stray strands behind your ear before continuing with your sketch. You look just like him whenever he's with his guitar. Kai feels something tighten in his chest.

You look beautiful.

He doesn’t even know your name. But now, he wants to. More than anything, he wants the honour of knowing you.

It’s free time now, and the history teacher had just left. Most of the class scattered—some heading out to the grounds, others roaming the halls for a little fun. But you stayed. You always stayed.

The thought of running into your stepsisters made your stomach turn. They acted so innocent the night you came home, as if they had nothing to do with your wound. Your stepmother, of course, scolded you for being late, hurling her usual cutting remarks, but she didn’t dig any deeper. Sometimes you wondered if she knew—if she already suspected it was her daughters who had done it and simply chose to stay oblivious.

You sighed, flipping another page of your book, trying to block out the noise in your head.

The sudden sight of a chair being pulled up in front of your desk jolted you. You look up.

Huening Kai.

He was sitting right there, a small, easy smile on his face. His eyes held a kind of softness you weren’t used to. And then, he waved.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and instinctively, you turned your head to check if he was talking to someone else. Surely, this wasn’t for you. But the room was nearly empty. The only other person was fast asleep at the back.

Kai watches as you glance around nervously, he might have thought how beautiful you were from afar, but sitting this close now—you’re breathtaking.

When your eyes meet his again, questioning, he clears his throat and speaks. “Hi.”

You nod, silent—attentive. His voice softens, deliberate as he says the next words slowly, “Can I have your name?”

It takes a moment for the meaning to click, and then you’re reaching for your bag, fingers fumbling slightly as you pull out a notebook—the one you use to communicate.

Kai watches as you flip through the pages, landing on a blank one. You jot something down quickly and then turn it toward him.

Y/N.

He reads it, and a smile breaks across his face, his dimple appearing. You notice for the first time the delicate constellation of beauty marks scattered across his skin. How it suits him.

“Y/N,” he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue like he’s trying it out for the first time. His gaze lifts to meet yours. “That’s a pretty name.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and heat rises to your cheeks. You look away—embarrassed. His fingers tap lightly on your desk, drawing your attention back.

“How are you?” he asks.

You write, I’m okay.

Kai reads it, his brows furrowing slightly. Without hesitation, he leans in, his voice low but insistent. “Does anyone bother you? You know… when I found you that night. That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

You stare at him, lips parting slightly in surprise. Kai thinks for a moment that maybe you didn’t catch what he said. But then, slowly, you lift your pen: Why?

Just as he opens his mouth to explain, you’re already writing again.

Is it because you pity me? You’re looking at him now—directly, unflinchingly.

He doesn't want you to misunderstand anything. So he gently takes the pen from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. Without saying a word, he leans down and writes his response in your notebook.

Because I want to be your friend...

Your breath catches as you read his words. He adds another line beneath it, the letters a little bolder this time.

And because no one deserves what happened to you.

Kai looks at you then, his expression earnest and open, waiting. The notebook sits between you, and the sound of a new bridge forming in the back of your mind.

When you didn't write anything back, he glances down and picks up the pen again, his handwriting slow and deliberate.

By the way, my name is—

Before he can finish, you reach forward, your hand brushing his ever so slightly making him freeze. You write, finishing it for him.

Kai. Right?

The faintest flicker of surprise crosses his face when he sees what you’ve written. His lips twitch into a small smile, trying his hardest not to let out a wide grin.

You look up, meeting his gaze again, and shrug lightly as if to say, Of course, I know who you are.

Everybody knows you.

The words hang there on the page, Kai blinks, processing your response, and then lets out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking gently, lips slightly apart.

You watch him, a strange ache tugs at your chest. You wonder, How does his laugh sound? Does it sound as pretty as he looks? Now, you're wishing for something you’ve trained yourself not to want—a window into the world you’ve long been shut out of.

It'll be nice to hear his laugh.

The two of you spent the rest of your free time in that same spot. You talked—or rather, wrote—filling the pages of your notebook with conversation. He was surprisingly talkative, and before you knew it, you'd used up two blank pages. When the conversation naturally faded, you went back to your book, but this time, you pulled another one from your bag and handed it to Kai. He took it with a small smile and began to read as well.

There you were, two students, sitting across from each other, lost in your own worlds yet somehow sharing the same one. The room felt warmer, leaving just the two of you in the bubble. You were aware of the flush in your cheeks, the way it stubbornly lingered, but you didn’t mind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you noticed classmates filtering back into the room. Their steps slowed as they took in the scene—Kai, the school’s band guitarist, slouched in front of your desk, reading quietly across from you, the school's outcast. The deaf girl. His long legs stretched out under the desk, almost touching yours.

He didn’t bother to look up. He didn’t greet them or acknowledge the weight of their stares. Instead, his eyes stayed on the page, though every now and then, they flickered back to you. Each time, he’d give you that same small, reassuring smile—the one that made your heart flutter.

He snapped out of it when your foot gently nudged his leg. The classroom was full now, with students bustling back to their seats, most kept stealing glances at Kai. Their eyes darted back and forth, curiosity written all over their faces, as if trying to make sense of why he was here with you.

Out of the corner, you saw Taehyun make his way over. You couldn’t catch their conversation—Taehyun’s body was turned slightly away—but it was clear from his expression that he was asking why Kai was here. Kai gave him a brief nod, and after a moment, Taehyun returned to his seat, still throwing occasional glances in your direction.

You glanced at the clock. Five minutes left of free time. Before you could process it, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Kai stood, waving a quick goodbye. He slid his hands into his pockets, all eyes on him as he walked out.

He had just spent his entire free time here. Here, with you.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. Your gaze drifted down the newly etched words he left in your notebook.

See you later :>

You found yourself smiling at nothing, the memory of your afternoon with Kai playing over and over in your mind. Back home now, the evening settling around you, it felt.. warm.

With a watering can in hand, you moved through the small garden—your mother’s garden. It was one of the few things left untouched by your stepmother, a living memory of the woman who once nurtured it with care. What had started as a modest patch of green had grown into something more of a sanctuary.

Your gaze fell on the cornflowers nearby, their vivid blue seeming to shine a little brighter today. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the joy still bubbling in your chest, making everything around you seem more… alive, more beautiful. You crouched, fingers brushing gently against the petals, and it felt like your mother was right there, as if she, too, could sense the happiness blooming inside you.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off by an icy cascade of water, soaking you from head to toe. The coldness stole your breath, bit into your skin and you let out a shriek, the shock more than you could bear. Spinning around, you found Chae-won standing there, a smug grin plastered on her face, the empty bucket tossed carelessly to the side. Behind her, Yun-jin stood with her arms crossed, her glare sharp.

"Are you a witch now, too?" Chae-won sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. Her eyes locked onto yours, glinting with cruel satisfaction. "For someone who's deaf, you're pretty damn loud."

Before you could react, she grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you down with a force that sent you stumbling. Your knees hit the ground hard, the sting of the impact mixing with the cold that seeped into your clothes. You trembled, pain and humiliation washing over you.

"Kai? What did you say to him?" Chae-won continued. "What the fuck did you say to make him hang out with trash like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to stand, but Chae-won shoved you back down, making you cry out in frustration. You reached for her, desperate to defend yourself, but Yun-jin stepped in, pulling Chae-won away, smirking and enjoying your helplessness.

Chae-won then dusted off her shirt as if your touch had soiled her, letting out an exaggerated huff. "You better not think about—"

Her threat was cut short by the arrival of your stepmother. "Chae-won," She approached, her eyes sweeping over your sodden form with a detached disapproval. "Her father might come home today."

That was enough to make Chae-won and Yun-jin roll their eyes, angrily retreating into the house, but not before casting you one last withering glare.

Your stepmother's gaze lingered on the garden, then flicked back to you, her expression unreadable. "Fix yourself," she said coldly before turning away, following her daughters inside, as if she just didn't witness them assault you.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. The cold water seeped into your skin, its touch biting deep, while the chill of the night’s wind wrapped around you, amplifying the discomfort.

When—when—would they ever stop? When would they finally fail to crush anything close to the hope you dared to feel? You swallowed hard, heart hurt when you saw one of the cornflowers crushed, the delicate blue petals were bent and broken, scattered across the dirt like they didn’t matter.

Just like what they did to you.

Kai thrummed his guitar, his head bobbing in time with the beat as Jay kept pace on the drums. A wide grin spread across his face as he glanced at Jay, impressed. That guy could really play.

The upcoming festival had everyone excited, especially since their band was set to perform. It wasn’t just their idea; the school had practically begged them to be part of the lineup. Naturally, everyone agreed.

As the final song ended, Kai slung his guitar strap off and gave Heeseung and Jay playful pats on the back. “Good session,” he said, voice light. Taehyun had already disappeared for some student council meeting, and Beomgyu crouched near the amp, fiddling with the cables.

As Heeseung and Jay left the practice room, Beomgyu glanced up, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “So… you caused quite a stir yesterday, huh.”

Kai paused, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everyone’s talking about you and… the deaf girl. How you were hanging out with her.”

Kai’s hand stilled on his guitar case. “Don’t call her that,” he said sharply, “She has a name.”

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the glare Kai shot him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirk faltering. “Whoa, okay. Chill, man. That was disrespectful of me. I'm sorry.” Kai didn’t respond, his focus shifting back to securing his guitar. The other could tell he was still irritated.

“So,” Beomgyu's tone was now more careful. “What’s her name?”

Kai hesitated, his fingers pausing over the latch of the case. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, “Y/N.”

Beomgyu caught it—the way Kai’s whole demeanour shifted, softening just at the mention of your name. He grinned knowingly, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Oh, man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Kai didn’t answer, but the way he bit his lip, was enough. Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “You’re in deep, dude.”

The two of them walked out of the band room, sunlight streaming across the school grounds as they headed toward their next class. Kai’s guitar hung over his back, his steps light with anticipation. He had a plan for today’s free time—he was going to show it to you.

Then he froze.

“Why’d you stop?” Beomgyu asked, frowning at his friend’s sudden halt.

Kai’s gaze was locked on you. You were walking across the yard, a book clutched in your hand. But something was off. Your steps were uneven, almost shaky, like you were struggling to keep your balance. His chest tightened as he noticed you blink rapidly, expression dazed.

A cold knot of worry tightened in Kai’s chest.

Kai bolted toward you, his long strides eating up the distance between you in moments. The world around him blurred—voices, students, the sun—all of it drowned out by the urgency pounding in his chest. He reached you just as your legs gave up. You fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice shaking. His hand settled on your face, and the heat of your skin sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. Scorching hot. A fever.

Your eyes fluttered closed, forehead creased, and face was pale. Too pale.

“What the hell happened?” Beomgyu’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but Kai barely registered it. "Is she okay?"

Without thinking, Kai shrugged off his guitar, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. “Help me,” he said quickly, his voice tight. He grabbed your arm, trying to shift your weight. Beomgyu caught on immediately, stepping forward to assist.

Together, they managed to lift you onto Kai’s back. His arms hooked under your legs, his grip firm but gentle as he adjusted you. “Hold on,” With you securely on his back, Kai broke into a run, his breath coming in quick.

“Slow down, man! You’re gonna trip!” Beomgyu followed close behind, clutching the guitar Kai had abandoned without a second thought—because of you.

The school nurse moved quickly, her practiced hands checking your temperature and administering care as Kai stepped back, his chest still heaving from the run. He stood there, hands on his hips, watching you, his heart refusing to slow down. Beomgyu excused himself, talks about getting water, leaving Kai alone.

His eyes fell on the notebook you had been clutching, which fell on the floor. He reached for it carelessly—a loose page slipped free, back to the floor. He crouched to pick it up, and the moment he turned it over, his breath caught.

It was a sketch. Of him.

Every detail was there, drawn with painstaking precision—the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, small moles he often forgot about, his jawline, his hair. The lines were sure, as though you had poured hours into capturing him just… right.

His throat tightened as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Was this really how you saw him?

Kai swallowed hard, and glanced at the rest of the page. Small sketches of cats bordered the margins, their playful forms lightening the otherwise focused artwork. A soft smile enters his lips when his eyes also land on your pen, its barrel adorned with tiny cat designs. His fingers touch the paper, careful not to smudge your work.

You're perfect, he thought, the words echoing in his head, shouting like a whispered confession. How could someone be so perfect?

Kai had to leave you at the clinic to attend classes.

He hesitated, lingering by the door, his eyes darting back to your still form on the cot. You were fast asleep, but the colour slowly returned to your cheeks. He wanted to stay, to make sure you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. With a defeated sigh, he left. And you were gone when he returned.

"Someone came to fetch her," the nurse explained when he asked. He's still bothered. You were home now, he told himself, safe and resting. Right?

The next morning came, he sat at the kitchen counter. What he wanted to do first thing, was to see you. "Hiyyih,"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her brow raised. "Yeah?"

"Can you, uh… can you make my lunch today?" Hiyyih stopped, turning fully to face him. "What? But I always make your lunch."

Kai shifted in his seat, awkwardly. "I mean… could you make it like yours?"

"Like mine? What do you mean, like mine?"

Kai hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Finally, he blurted out, "The cat rice balls. Can you add those?" There was silence as Hiyyih stared at him, her lips tight. Then, she broke into a slow, knowing smirk. "Cat rice balls, huh?"

Kai felt the heat up his neck, and he quickly averted his stare. "Just—just make them, okay?" He groaned, dropping his head onto the counter.

Hiyyih burst out laughing, her teasing ringing through. Oh, he's sure. This was going to haunt him for days.

Kai spent the day in restless anticipation, his usual self replaced with something far more jittery. Even his friends couldn’t ignore it. He fidgeted during class, zoned out at times, and seemed to barely hear what anyone was saying.

It was all because of you.

When he saw Taehyun at band practice earlier, the first words out of his mouth weren’t about music. “Is she coming today?”

Taehyun had nodded, confirming you were attending class, and Kai had been trying—and failing—to calm his racing thoughts ever since. By lunchtime, the decision was made. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he turned to Beomgyu. "I’m skipping the cafeteria today."

Beomgyu just gave him a knowing look, his smirk light, teasing. "Didn’t think you needed to explain," he points out. "Your face already did."

Kai didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he took a steadying breath and headed toward the one place he knew he’d find you. Your classroom.

His steps slowed when he spotted you inside, seated at your desk. The heaviness in his chest lifts. You were pulling open a lunch box, carefully arranging everything, your expression calm and focused.

He stepped inside, and when he was almost infront of you, you glanced up, your eyes widening slightly when you saw him.

"Hi," Kai said, a small, nervous smile sitting on his lips. You blinked, surprised, but a faint smile broke through as you set your chopsticks down.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling warm under your gaze. "I, uh… I figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re okay, you know… after the other day."

You nod, reaching for your notebook to write a reply, but Kai gently stopped you with a small shake of his hand. “You should eat first, okay?” he said softly, his lips forming the words carefully for you to read.

Your response was simple—a quick thumbs-up—but it was enough to make a boyish grin spread across his face.

Pulling out a chair, Kai sat across from you, his movements just a little nervous, though he tried to hide it. He set his lunchbox on the table, the bright cat decorations catching your eye. It's hard to really miss how much effort had gone into it—cat-shaped rice balls, tiny details, and colourful accents that screamed effort.

Kai caught your expression. "Hiyyih made it," he admitted. What he didn’t mention was how he’d spent an entire morning persuading her to make it perfect, offering bribes, doing her chores, and enduring her teasing, all just to get her to agree.

He opened the lid and carefully moved a portion of the food into your lunchbox. "Here," he said, nudging it toward you.

You glanced at him in surprise, then back at the food, your lips parting slightly before they curved into a smile—a real smile. Not the polite, hesitant ones you used to give him, but a full, bright smile. It reached your eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

Kai froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. You’d smiled at him before, but not... like this.

He had never quite understood why his sister went to such lengths with these little creations—why she got up before sunrise to shape rice into animals or why her mood seemed to brighten whenever someone praised her work. But now, watching the way your face softened, the way your smile seemed to linger longer than usual, it all started to make sense.

If something as small and silly as this could make you look at him like this, if it could bring you even the smallest bit of joy, then he thought to himself—he’d start doing it too.

Swallowing, he picked up his chopsticks, forcing himself to eat even as his appetite felt oddly… irrelevant. He stole glances, and it struck him how happy you looked. The memory of when he’d first met you flashed in his mind, alone, wounded and withdrawn. And yet, here you were now.

His stomach fluttered, suddenly feeling full—not from the meal but from something that only your smile seemed to give.

After lunch, Kai didn’t get the chance to spend his free time with you. Beomgyu practically dragged him to practice, which he didn’t resist—especially since seeing you healthy and smiling had already lifted his spirits. His energy during practice was unmatched, his fingers flying over the guitar strings with a renewed vigour. For once, it felt effortless, like his heart was finally in sync with the music again.

When the day wound down, he found himself waiting by the school gates. A few students greeted him as they passed, and he returned their smiles politely, though his attention remained elsewhere. His heart leapt the moment he spotted you walking toward him, your steps purposeful yet light. His lips curved into a small smirk before he could help it.

"I wanted to see you before you went home," he said softly.

Your smile in response made his chest tighten, and you pulled a small notepad and pen from your pocket. After a brief moment of scribbling, you held it up for him to read:

Thank you for everything, Kai.

The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. “You waiting for your sisters here?” he asked, but as soon as he mentioned them, your smile faltered slightly, and something shifted in your expression.

He remembered Taehyun mentioning that you had two sisters at school, but nothing beyond that. He didn’t press. All he knew was that you usually arrived and left together in the same car.

You scribbled another note. They went home early. Shopping, I think.

Kai’s brows furrowed slightly. Why didn’t they wait for you? Before he could ask, you were already writing your next reply.

I’ll take the bus today.

“Let me take you home,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

The bus was packed, and you followed Kai closely as he led the way. He glanced back, his eyes searching for something until they landed on an empty window seat. With a small nudge of his shoulder, he gestured for you to take it.

Sliding into the seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his arm brushed against yours as he stood beside you, gripping the rail overhead. He leaned down slightly, reaching for the notepad in your hands. His handwriting was a little crooked, he had written quickly, but his message was clear:

Are you okay?

You nodded and took the pen to write your response. Yes.

Satisfied, he smiled. He reaches out, hooking his pinky finger to yours. It stays there, throughout the ride. One that you wished that didn't have to end.

Kai’s eyes widened when you gestured toward your home.

Sure, his own house was comfortable—his family could provide everything he needed—but this? This was on another level. Massive gates, the sprawling estate beyond them, the kind of place that practically screamed wealth, grand estate that made him feel like he’d stepped onto the set of a drama. His thoughts stumbled over themselves as the realization hit: you were a chaebol.

And yet, the thought lingered in his mind: how could they leave you to manage on your own, just because your sisters decided to go out? The question sat uncomfortably in his chest, though he kept it to himself.

You turned to him, drawing his attention back to you. Standing there, you looked up at him, your figure small against his tall, broad frame. He looked so effortlessly handsome it made your chest ache. You wished, fleetingly, to reach out and run your fingers through those dark locks, to feel their texture beneath your hands. He had done so much for you today—more than you could put into words.

See you later?

Kai read it, his lips quirking into a gentle smile.“Go inside,” he said, tapping your head softly. “See you later.”

As you turned and walked toward the house, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure until you disappeared through the gates. He let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his heart beating steadily against his ribs.

He could do this every day, he thought. Waiting for you, walking you home, making sure you were safe. He wanted to do this every day, however many days, as long as you’d let him.

After sending you home, Kai steps into a familiar bookstore, and the scent of old paper hits his face.

The owner greets him, casually mentioning the new volume of Slam Dunk just released, but Kai doesn’t even register the words. He’s already moving past, heading toward the back of the store where the shelves are less familiar.

He stops in front of a section—far away from the music books, the theory guides, and mangas. He picks it up.

Beginners: Sign Language.

You closed the door behind you, the weight in your chest heavier than it should’ve been. Dinner was supposed to be a happy time, right? Eating with your family, sharing moments. But it never felt like that for you. Not in this house.

Your eyes caught the sight of the fax machine on the side table, a piece of paper hanging loosely from the tray. You walk over, your steps slow, uncertain. Only two people know your number: your dad, and… Kai. You grabbed the paper, the handwriting unmistakable.

Come out. Will be there in 20 mins. —Kai.

Your breath caught. Dinner had taken longer than that. You scrambled to the window, heart pounding, and there he was—a silhouette against the dim streetlights, a mess of dark hair leaning casually against the gate.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing your pen and notepad from the desk, you ran. The startled looks of the housemaids blurred past you, and even the sharp, judgmental gaze of your stepmother from the couch—teacup poised mid-sip—couldn’t stop you. She doesn’t matter right now. Nothing does but getting to him.

You burst through the front gates, your eyes locking with his. His face breaks into a soft, immediate smile when he sees you, the sight of you in your loose shirt and pyjamas makes his heart skip a beat.

You raise your notepad, writing quickly, then holding it up for him to see. What are you doing here?

You reach for your notepad and pen, the confusion evident on your face as you extend them toward him. But instead of taking them, his hands move, and the world around you seems to pause.

"Hi." His fingers shape the sign, hesitant, uncertain. Your heart stumbles as you watch his hand move again, spelling out your name, letter by letter, in sign language. It’s slow, almost clumsy, but every movement is intentional. He’s trying, and it sends your heart racing.

"How was your—" He falters mid-sign, his hands falling to his sides. You watch as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a small book. The title catches your eye, and your chest tightens. He scratches the back of his neck, looking at you with an embarrassed sort of determination as he mouths, Wait.

And then he tries again, repeating the signs, "How was your dinner?" His movements are a little smoother this time. The question lingers in the space between you, and you feel your throat tighten as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels like you can hear—his voice.

Your body moves before you can think. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Your head presses against his chest, and you feel the slight hitch in his breath before his arms slide around your waist, holding you close. His warmth steadies you as a single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek.

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever tried to meet you in your silence, to understand the world you lived in. At home, they’d dismissed sign language, rejected it, treating it like some kind of shameful reminder of what they wanted to ignore. They’d made you feel like you were something to be hidden, something that's less.

But here he was—a boy who, just weeks ago, had been a stranger—bridging the gap, pouring himself into learning just to reach you. Crossing the distance to meet you where you were alone.

For the first time, you didn’t feel stranded on an island of your own.

Kai spent the next few minutes basking in the warmth of your presence. When another tear slipped past your eye, he reached out, his thumb brushing it away with the gentleness of someone afraid to break something precious. His attempts at signing sentences were clumsy at best, and your happiness marked your face—something that made his heart do flips.

"Yah, I'm trying, you know," he huffed, feigning indignation as he stomped his foot playfully. His pout only deepened when you smiled at him, and he could feel the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He wanted to tease you back, but the words caught in his throat when you raised your hands.

It was the first time you signed in front of him. The motion was small but deliberate, the flick of your hand touching your chin before extending toward him. Kai’s eyebrows knit together, his mind scrambling to catch up. He flipped the pages of his book, muttering, “Wait, what does that mean?”

You reached for your notepad, scribbling the word: Thank you.

Before he could process the words, you signed again, your hands moving with a fluidity that stopped him in his tracks. The glow of the moon and the faint light from the lamppost illuminated your every move, casting soft dancing shadows across your face. And Kai—he forgot how to breathe.

You looked… different. You were stunning. Not the shy, hesitant version of you he’d grown used to, but confident and sure. Each gesture was almost poetic, and he was utterly mesmerized. The way your fingers moved felt like a song without sound—it suited you in a way words never could. He didn’t even want to blink, because he was afraid he’d miss something.

All he could do was watch, completely captivated by the real you.

"You didn't really have to. But thank you… for learning it for me."

The moment was shattered by the loud creak of the gates swinging open. Kai turned, his gaze meeting a woman’s sharp, glaring eyes. He opened his mouth to bow in greeting, but he quickly realized her scowl wasn’t for him—it was directed squarely at you.

Confused, Kai glanced back at you, his eyes scanning your face. Panic was written all over it. You hastily scribbled on your notepad, the letters uneven and rushed: Step-mother. Go home now, Kai.

He read the words and nodded, even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation. When your eyes met his again, there was something pleading in them. Turning back to the woman, Kai mustered a polite bow. “Good evening,”

She didn’t acknowledge him. “Go inside or we’ll lock you out here all night.”

Kai froze, the words almost too cruel to believe. He remembers you being locked up that night at school. His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression neutral, eyes flicking back to you. You were already scribbling again: Good night. Be safe travelling home.

He noticed something then—why hadn’t you signed it? He’d learned those words, and he knew you knew them too. But he didn’t ask, didn’t want to add to your distress. Instead, he nodded silently, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He bent down and pressed a light, lingering kiss to your hairline. A small gesture to remind you that he was here, even if he had to leave now. "See you later."

When he straightened, he turned to your stepmother, who was staring at him with thinly veiled disdain. Kai met her gaze, nodded politely, and then stepped back.

He didn’t look away until he saw you retreat inside.

The gates slammed shut with a force that rattled him. Your stepmother's tone echoed in his ears, harsh and dripping with contempt. He hated the way she’d spoken to you, the way her eyes had looked at you as though you did something so wrong.

He walked away, fists clenched at his sides. The thought of you living in a house with someone like that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kai reunited with you the next day.

He carefully tried to bring up the encounter with your stepmother, but you avoided the topic entirely. He didn’t push, though. Instead, he quietly accepted it when you told him you lived with her, your stepsisters, and that your father was out of town on business. He said he’d wait—that he’d listen when you were ready to open up, when you felt comfortable.

Now, he’s on his way to the band room, arriving half an hour early for practice. His hand is wrapped around yours as he pulls you along. The soft warmth of your fingers in his feels just right. Students pass by, glancing your way, but Kai doesn’t care. Not when you’re here with him.

You agreed to come, though you weren’t sure what to expect. When you step into the room, your eyes widen. Trophies line the shelves, instruments are arranged neatly against the walls, and there’s a large, inviting couch in the corner. There's also a small door that must lead to a private bathroom.

Kai settles you on the couch, his lips curving into a gentle smile as he pulls his guitar out of its case. He tells you he wanted you to see this. He also mentions the upcoming festival in two days—a subtle invitation in his words.

As he strums the first notes, your eyes are drawn to him. The memory of the first time you saw Kai surfaces—your second year of high school. That day, he was being calmed down by Soobin, the band’s previous genius pianist. Even then, he left an impression so strong that you couldn’t forget him, no matter how much time had passed.

Now, sitting here in the band room as he plays his guitar for you, it feels surreal. If someone had told you back then that this would happen, you’d have laughed it off or called it impossible. But here you are, and he glances up, his eyes flickering between the strings and your face.

"I like it," you sign.

Kai’s face lights up. He reaches for something—your eyes are drawn to his hands. There, faint guitar scars run across his fingers, etched into his skin like a map of all the hours he’s poured into his craft.

An idea enters your mind.

Two days later, the school day comes to an end. You quietly pack your belongings, slipping books and papers into your bag as the chatter of students fills the room. The festival is less than an hour away. You’re just about to zip up your bag when movement near the doorway catches your attention.

Choi Beomgyu steps into the classroom, his eyes scanning the room like he’s on a mission. You glance at him curiously as Taehyun notices and stands up, greeting him with a nod then points in your direction. Beomgyu makes his way over with Taehyun trailing behind him. "Hi, Y/N," he signs, the motion catching you completely off guard. Your eyes widen in surprise. Did Kai teach him that? Did he teach both of them?

Before you can even process the thought, Beomgyu hands you a folded shirt. You take it hesitantly, inspecting it as the fabric unfurls in your hands. The moment you see the name Huening Kai printed boldly on the back, your heart skips. It’s his band shirt.

“He’ll love it,” Beomgyu says, a small grin tugging at his lips and winks. He reaches out, lightly tapping your head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Without another word, he throws an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders, and the two of them leave the classroom together. Some girls in your room look at you with dirty looks. It matters not, you'll have to change your shirt first.

Kai’s eyes catch on your shirt almost instantly, his pace slowing as he closes the distance between you.

Confusion flits across his face, but then realization dawns. His band shirt. His name, his number on your back. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he lets out a laugh.

When you’re close enough, he reaches out, gently turning you around so he can see the full print. His fingers linger lightly on your shoulders. His grin widens, a mix of pride and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“You’ll watch, right?” he asks. His throat feels tight, and it’s not just the sight of you in his shirt—it’s everything it means.

You nod, slowly reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small gift box. You hold it out to him, “For me?” he asks softly, taking it with both hands.

When he opens the box, his breath catches in his throat. Inside are guitar picks, each one smooth and carefully chosen, but what draws his attention is the tiny, handwritten phrase etched onto them. He squints, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilts the pick closer to the light.

See you later.

The phrase so familiar, a staple in all your goodbyes. It’s what he always waits to hear from you, what he secretly pouts about if you forget to say it. It’s a simple phrase, used by so many people in passing, but between the two of you, it’s different—reassurance that you’ll always find your way back to each other.

His chest tightens, emotion welling up in a way he hadn’t expected. He steps forward, pulls you into a hug, holding you close, his chin resting on your head. "What do I do with you?" He whispers to himself. He finally pulls back, his hands linger at your elbows, eyes searching yours. You lift your hands to sign, your movements slow.

"Good luck, rock star."

Soobin’s hand rested on your back, touch steadying as the crowd began to thicken around the stage. Kai had entrusted you to him and Yeonjun, and though the absence of Kai’s presence made you nervous, Soobin’s calm demeanour offered an unexpected sense of safety.

Yeonjun had gone to grab water, leaving you and Soobin to hold your place by the barricade. The festival was just moments away from starting, with students from your school, other schools, and alumni who had come back for the event. You found yourself gripping the metal tightly, the unfamiliar place… overwhelming. It's your first time to even attend one.

Soobin noticed immediately. He tapped your shoulder gently, “Are you okay?”

You turned to him, his concern reflected in his face. You nodded, returning a small smile. His kindness felt natural. You could see why Kai spoke of him so fondly.

You barely had time to respond before you were pulled into a sudden hug. The embrace was tight, and a sweet floral scent filled your senses. You froze in surprise, but when the person stepped back, the grin on her face was so bright and genuine that you couldn’t help but soften.

“Hi! I’m Hiyyih!” she exclaimed, her face full of excitement, her eyes shining like she’d been waiting forever to meet you. Her name made you pause, recognition flashing through your mind. Your eyes widened slightly, but you smiled back at her, quickly scribbling in your notepad.

Y/N. Nice to meet you, Hiyyih.

She read it, and immediately squealed, her reaction so heartfelt and full of life that it drew laughter from Soobin. “How did my brother pull you, huh?” she teased, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with mock irritation, she turned to Soobin and added, “Seriously, how?”

Soobin chuckled, clearly amused. “I know. She's too pretty. Magic, maybe,” he offered casually, and Hiyyih groaned dramatically. She hooked her arm through yours, as if you’d known each other for years. You're glad they didn't mention the blush evident on your cheeks.

Yeonjun returned, handing you a cold bottle of water. “You okay?” he asked, his tone just as kind and considerate as Soobin’s had been. You nodded again, clutching the water tightly as you looked between them all—Hiyyih’s bright enthusiasm, Soobin’s quiet reassurance, and Yeonjun’s laid-back charm. It feels nice to be surrounded by people you want to be with.

You could get used to this. Being with people who made you feel like you mattered—more than your own family ever had.

It was dark now, the festival lit only by the vibrant glow of stage lights, casting shifting colours across the crowd. The ground trembled beneath your feet as people jumped and swayed, their cheers blending with the music in an electrifying symphony.

Your eyes scanned the stage, searching—and then you saw him. Kai. There he was, guitar in hand, lost in the music. The way he moved was effortless as if the instrument was an extension of himself. His face was lit up, not just by the stage lights but by a joy that radiated from within. He looked alive. Happy. He belonged there. He owns it.

And then his eyes found yours.

The chaos around you seemed to fade. Slowly, you signed, "You look cool," your hands steady even as your heart raced. You watched as his gaze followed the movement of your hands, his eyes softening with every word you formed. You didn’t need to be close to him. You didn’t need to hear his voice. As long as you could see him—and he could see you.

His lips curved into a smile, and he winked, the playful gesture making you smile back, heart swelling with pride.

The performance was incredible, each member of the band owning their moment, their energy filling the space and igniting the crowd. When the last song ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the band bowed together, camaraderie evident even from a distance. But before you could fully take in the scene, Kai was running.

The moment he stepped off the stage, his eyes searched for your face. His shoulders eased as soon as he saw you, surrounded by people he trusts. He loves performing—he truly does. But the thought of returning to you, is louder than any applause. His feet move before his mind can think.

Straight to you.

He reached you in seconds, his chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through him. "I can't stop looking at you,” he said, his voice low, the words had been waiting to escape all night. His hands cradled your face, calloused by the guitar scars. "I need to kiss you right now or I'll go crazy."

You barely noticed the stares of the crowd or the murmurs of those nearby. All you could see was him. He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, and his lips brushed against yours in the softest kiss. You’d always known his lips looked soft, but they still managed to surprise you—how perfectly they fit against yours.

When he pulled back, his grin was so wide. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as if you were the only thing that mattered. Around you, his friends clapped him on the back, their faces proud with congratulations.

“See you later?” Kai signed, his movements fluid, more confident. You nodded with a smile, waving as he stepped back. His grin widened, and he watched you enter the gates of your home.

That smile lingered on your face, carrying you all the way inside. The front doors opened for you, the maids greeting you with quiet bows, and you headed for the staircase, ready to retreat to your room.

But before you could take the first step, a hand seized your wrist and yanked you back. The slap came next, sharp and sudden, leaving a sting that spread across your cheek like fire. Startled, your hand flew to your face, and your wide, disbelieving eyes met the furious glare of your stepmother.

“You skipped your painting lesson,” she hissed, face trembling with anger, “and came home late without even telling me.”

“And what for?” she spat. “To loiter with boys? To parade yourself in public, chatting in sign language for the entire neighbourhood to see? What else do you have left to ruin? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for the family?” Her voice grew louder, shriller, her hand resting on her hip as she glared at you like you were something she could barely tolerate.

You noticed your stepsisters standing just out of the line. Equal anger on their faces. It was clear—they had told her. Once, their expressions had the power to make you shrink, to make you doubt yourself. Now you felt nothing but disdain. Family, you thought bitterly, scoffing as you turned your head away.

Your stepmother’s hand shot out, grabbing your chin and jerking your face back toward hers. Her nails bit into your skin as she snarled, “Did you laugh? How dare you laugh at me?”

You shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” you signed, your movements sharp, gaze unwavering. You didn’t care that she couldn’t understand. This was the only way you could speak, and you were tired of swallowing your voice.

Her face twisted with fury. “I said stop using sign language!” she barked.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you signed again, your hands trembling. “I’m not alone anymore,” you told her, the tears burning at the edges of your vision. “You can be the queen of this house, control everything and everyone under this roof. But there’s a world outside these walls. And out there, I have friends. People who see me. People who care.”

“Talk! Talk like a proper person! I told you to talk!” The slap came hard and fast, snapping your head to the side. Your cheek burned with the impact, but this time, you didn’t freeze. You pushed her. Hard.

The room erupted with a collective gasp.

“Touch me again, and you’ll see your name in the newspaper.” Your glare shifted to Chae-won as she stepped forward, her mouth opening to speak, but you didn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

You bolted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, panic fueling every frantic step.

The space felt thick as you threw yourself into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You moved toward your desk, your hands shaking as you tore your bag open, yanking out a piece of paper. You didn’t have time to think, only enough to scrawl a desperate message, the words barely legible through the blur of your haste.

The door creaked open behind you. Panic surged. You turned, your pulse pounding as you spotted them—the maids stepping into the room. You bolted to the fax machine, shoving the paper in and frantically typing his number. You had to send it. You had to.

The machine whirred, halfway through sending, when two pairs of hands grabbed you, one on each arm. You thrashed and kicked, trying to wrench free, but their grip was too strong. Your stepmother appeared in the doorway, her smirk was cruel, triumphant, and your stomach churned with dread.

And then you saw it—the glint of metal in her hands. Locks.

"Get her upstairs. Now." Your breath caught in your throat. The room seemed to tilt as a memory surged forward, unbidden and suffocating. The attic. The last time she locked you up, you were fifteen. Your skin crawled at the thought of being trapped there again. You were dragged out, your feet sliding against the floor, your cries echoing down the empty hall. It took three of them—three people to overpower you, until the door loomed.

They shoved you inside, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud. You scrambled to your feet, lunging for the door, but it slammed shut in your face. You pounded on the door, fists aching, tears burning behind your eyes. It was harder for you to breathe.

This was her punishment—her way of crushing you every time you dared to fight back, dared to speak your truth.

She’d leave you here, in the dark, in the suffocating silence, until you broke. Until you admitted she was right. Or until your father’s nearing return forced her to let you out, pretending everything was fine.

You had tried to tell him before. Slipping notes into his pockets, scribbling messages when she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were always there, sharp and watchful, snatching away every chance you had. You can’t help but wonder—if you hadn’t stood up to her, if you hadn’t accepted that small, fleeting chance to feel alive, would you still be here right now? Or would you just be trapped in another kind of prison, shackled to the cycle your stepmother has forced you into?

Dust coated every surface, the faint light that seeped through the cracks wasn’t even enough to pierce the gloom to give you hope. You curled up against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, fingers trembling as they pressed against the cold floor. It was something that you had to endure before.

For years.

Kai was running.

He didn’t care about the stares from strangers or the disapproving grunt as he ran the streets. He didn’t care about his mother’s worried gaze when he bolted out the door or the sting of his lungs from sprinting so fast. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to you.

The fax had come just minutes ago. He had been half-asleep when the machine whirred, spitting out a crumpled piece of paper with words that sent a shrill down his spine.

Kai, pick me up. Come get me, please. He knew it was you.

His heart pounded as he reached your gates, the mansion unwelcoming under the grey sky. He rang the door frantically, and when a maid opened the door, her polite greeting barely had time to escape her lips before Kai pushed past her.

“Sir, what are you doing?” she cried, alarmed. But Kai didn’t stop. He pushed through the grand double doors, his eyes scanning the room wildly. His gaze landed on a young woman, about his age—your stepsister, he realized with a flare of anger.

“Where’s Y/N?” he demanded, his voice booming through the space. The room fell silent. The maids froze, glancing at one another nervously, while your stepsister stiffened, her lips tightening into a scowl. “Where is she?” Kai shouted again, taking a step forward. A timid maid finally cracked, her wide eyes darting toward the stairs before quickly looking away. It was all he needed.

Kai took off, his legs carrying him up the staircase two steps at a time. As he neared the top, he heard it—a faint pounding, far but desperate. His blood ran cold as realization struck.

The attic.

Kai’s chest tightened as he reached the door. His fist slammed against the wood, the sound reverberating down the hall. The pounding on the other side grew more. His heart felt like it might tear itself apart.

“Open this door!” he says, spinning to face the maids who had followed him upstairs. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Do you want to go to prison for this? Do you want to be accomplices?” The maid who’d glanced upstairs earlier flinched, her hands shaking as she fumbled with a key.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he shoved the door open. His breath caught as he saw you huddled on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, your face streaked with tears. “Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to you.

"You found me." You signed, eyes locking on his. He crouched, his arms wrapping around your trembling frame. He pulled you close, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting you out of this place.” His eyes darted around the attic, taking in the oppressive walls, scattered drawings—sketches you must’ve made. Some looks old, others newer. They had been locking you up here. Trapping you.

Kai stood, pulling you with him, “Come on,” his hand tightened around yours, and you nodded.

He led you down the stairs, his grip never faltering. At the bottom, your stepmother appeared, her expression twisting into one of fury the moment she saw him.

“Do you even realise what you’re doing right now?” she demanded, her voice sharp and grating. “This is kidnapping. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

Kai didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was steady, cold, and razor-sharp. “Not as serious as imprisonment. Or abuse.”

Her lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I’m disciplining her,” she spat, as if the word justified everything.

Your stepmother’s eyes flicked to you as your hands moved, signing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her face darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop signing?”

Kai froze, his mind reeling at her words. “What?” he said, voice low. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, fury building in his chest. “How do you expect her to communicate if she can’t speak?”

She sneered. “Return her inside while I’m still asking nicely,”

“No,” Kai snapped, he turned to her fully, standing tall and unyielding. “I’m not talking to you. Tell her father, when he finally gets home, to come find me personally if he wants to see his daughter again. And don’t even think about stopping me. My mother knows I’m here.”

Your stepmother opened her mouth to argue, but Kai didn’t give her the chance. He turned away, tugging you along behind him as he strode toward the door. His glare silenced any maids who dared step forward, daring anyone to challenge him.

“If you walk out that door,” your stepmother hissed, “you’ll regret it.”

Kai didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

The cool night air hit your skin as he pulled you through the gates and into the street. He didn’t care about her threats. He didn’t care about what came next. The only thing he knew was—he would regret it far more if he didn’t leave with you tonight.

When the two of you arrived at Kai’s home, his mother was already at the door, her face filled with concern. The moment she saw you, her eyes softened, but they couldn’t hide the shock and sadness she felt at your condition. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently, ushering you inside with open arms. “Let’s get you settled.”

She led you to a spare room, “This was Lea’s room,” she explained with a small smile. “Kai’s sister. She’s away at college now, so it’s all yours for as long as you need.”

Kai, stepped outside, pacing the front yard. His hands clenched and unclenched, breathing unevenly as he tried to calm himself. “How could they do that to her? As human beings?” he spits, in disbelief. “Even animals wouldn’t treat someone like that.”

His mother followed him out, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Kai, breathe,” she said softly. “She needs space to process everything right now.”

Kai shook his head, “What you did was good,” his mother continued. “Let her stay here for now. She’s safe with us.”

“And what happens when her father comes back?” Kai snapped, “What then? She just gets sent back to that place?”

His mother sighed, her grip on his arm steady. “Kai, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s been happening. Do you think any father would knowingly allow this?”

“That man, he lives in the same house as her. How does he not know? He’s either blind or he doesn’t care because all he does is make money and turn ignorant to everything else.”

His mother stepped closer, pulling him into a hug before he could spiral further. “It’s not your place to decide what kind of father he is, or if she should forgive him. That’s up to her. Right now, she needs rest.”

You sat curled up on the edge of the bed, knees pulled tightly to your chest, your back pressed into the corner. Your fingers picked at your nailbeds. Every breath you took felt shaky, like you were on the verge of falling apart.

It was the first time you’d ever stood up to them—to that whole oppressive house. The weight of it settled heavily on your chest, but more than that, you worried about Kai. About his family. Would they be okay with you here? What if they went after Kai or his family for taking you in? Would your presence bring trouble to their door? You felt like a curse, dragging misfortune wherever you went.

The sight of the door sliding open startled you. You looked up to see Kai’s mom stepping in, her form soft in the dim light. She carried a stack of clothes in her hands, a small smile on her face.

“Hiyyih’s already asleep, so I had to grab these for you,” she said, setting it down in front of you. “These are Lea’s—Kai’s sister. I’m not sure if you’ll like them, but I thought these might fit you.”

You nodded silently, your heart pounding as you glanced at her. You could not shake the fear that she might say you’d put Kai in danger, that bringing you here was a mistake. Or how much trouble you might’ve caused him. The guilt plague, making your stomach turn.

She didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, her gaze soft and thoughtful. Then her smile widened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners like Kai does. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she said, as if she was stating the most obvious fact in the world. “Look at your eyes—they’re so clear, so bright.” Her words made your breath hitch.

“Not being able to talk must be so hard,” she continued, face replaced with sadness. “You must’ve felt so upset. So frustrated.” She moved closer, her hands reaching for yours. Her touch was warm, and something about it made the tears in your eyes sting even more.

“But you did such a good job, honey,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Growing up into such a beautiful, strong young lady.” Her thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, and she smiled again, “I’m proud of you.”

Her words shattered something inside you, breaking through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. You bit down on your lip, but it was no use. The tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“If anyone ever hurts you again, if anyone tries to trap you, you come here,” she said firmly, her tone shifting to one of conviction. “Don’t ever put up with it. Just come back here. Or stay here and live with me." She grinned at the thought, expression animated, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You cried, your shoulders trembling as the sobs punished your body. All the days you had endured in silence. The days they made you feel invisible, like you didn’t matter. The way they looked at you, spoke about you, treated you, as though you were something other, something different. Not belonging. Not normal.

"Don't cry," She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as she rubbed your back in soothing circles. You were starting to see it wasn’t true. Starting to believe. And her embrace is so… familiar. It was like holding onto a memory you’d been too afraid to revisit—the one you’d clung to as a lifeline but had started to fade, little by little.

It felt like you were eight again, back in time—cradled in your mother’s warm arms.

Kai stood at your door, it's been an hour when he saw his mother leaving, her eyes red from crying. She had tried to reassure him to give you space, to let you be alone tonight—but Kai's heart couldn’t rest. He knocked softly before slipping inside.

You were facing away from him, the sheets pulled up high against your body. He walked over, unsure of what to expect, and tapped a single finger on your shoulder to check if you were awake. You shifted and glanced back at him, your face still soft with the remnants of tears.

He offered a small smile, his hands signing softly, “Hi.”

You didn’t respond with words instead, you scooted over, making room for him on the bed. He slid in beside you, leaving just enough space between you both. “Are you okay?” he signed, his face filled with concern.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, your fingers moving slowly, tracing the air. “Because you always come whenever I need someone.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Anything for you,” he whispered, gaze never left yours. "I'll do anything for you,"

His fingers slowly lifted to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and Kai could feel your breath hitch. You shifted closer to him, pressing your head to his chest, seeking his intoxicating smell.

He tucked you in carefully, his arm lying beneath your head as his head rested gently on top of yours. His touch was warm and soothing as his hand trailed down your back, the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You closed your eyes, feeling the calm settle in your chest, until a small movement in his chest caught your attention.

You pulled back slightly, confusion in your eyes. His face was soft, but his eyes shimmered with tears that hadn't yet fallen. His lips parted, searching for the right words. “How did you put up with all of that?” he whispered, a tear slipping down his right cheek. His chest seemed to tighten with the weight of the question. “What they did to you, it was the worst. I— should've found you sooner. I promise… you will not be alone anymore, okay?”

You nod, tearing up at his words. It was the first time someone made a promise to you that you knew he wouldn't break. A small smile found its way to your lips. His hands moved, fingers gently pressed against your palm as he spelled out.

"You're safe now,"

You wake up slowly, your eyes squinting as they adjust to the soft morning light spilling into the room.

Kai's arms are still wrapped around your waist, his body pressed against yours, his face nestled against your chest. You gently trace the lines of his face with your fingers, captivated by the details you never want to forget—the way his freckles and moles give his features a softness, an angelic quality. He's so beautiful. The light in a world that once felt so dark. In a life that’s often felt like a nightmare, he’s the one thing that pulled you into the almost impossible daylight.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t stir. You smile softly at his innocence, feeling your heart flutter. You try to untangle your legs from his, hesitant to leave the safety of his embrace, but you slowly make your way out of the bed.

As you step into the living room, the smell of breakfast makes your stomach rumble. You find Kai’s mom and Hiyyih already in the kitchen. The latter smiles warmly at you. “Good morning,” she greets, and you return the smile.

Breakfast is simple but comforting. The food amazing, your appetite comes back little by little with every bite.

When you’re finished, Hiyyih looks at you with a bright smile. “Want to help me with the lunch boxes?” she asks, and you nod eagerly. She helps you slip on an apron, her fingers fumbling with the straps as she giggles. It's contagious, and makes you smile.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, a few strands fall loose, and you reach for your notepad. You quickly scribble, Let me braid your hair?

Hiyyih’s eyes widen with delight, and she nods. You gather her hair gently, carefully weaving the strands together. A soft smile spread across her face at the comforting touch of your hands.

Kai stretched his arm to your side, but the space was empty.

His eyes snapped open, sleep quickly fading as he registered the absence of your presence. He sat up abruptly, fumbling to slide his feet into his house slippers, the soft padding of his steps barely audible as he hurried out of the room.

Where could you have gone? Has someone come to take you home? His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. He barely noticed the cold air of the hallway as he hurried toward the kitchen—then he stopped, heart halting in his chest.

There you were.

The tension melted away as he took in the scene. You stood at the counter, laughter spilling from your lips as you helped Hiyyih pack three lunch boxes. The soft fabric of an apron hugged your frame, and his mother moved gracefully beside you, pouring cups of steaming chocolate milk, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched the two of you.

Your eyes found his, and the world seemed to slow. A smile softened your features as you raised a hand, signing a simple "Hi," and motioning for him to come closer.

"Good morning," Kai murmured. His heart swelled at the scene before him—three women who meant the world to him. "Morning, Mom."

The two watched as Kai closed the small distance between you and him. He softly placed his hands on your shoulders, the touch gentle. Then, he leaned down, pressing a light, quick kiss to the top of your head. His small act makes you blush.

"Good morning, Son," his mother interrupts warmly, passing him a plate of pancakes and sausages. "Y/N and Hiyyih have already eaten. Here’s your breakfast."

Kai took his seat, the clatter of cutlery mingling with the soft sounds of your and Hiyyih’s giggles. His mother, ever attentive, placed a notepad on the counter, making sure nothing was lost in translation as she communicated with you.

If you truly want to express something, you’ll find a way. And if you want to say even more, you’ll learn, until your heart speaks louder than words ever could.

It was the first time you were in a car, heading to school, and there was a grin you couldn’t wipe from your face.

Everything felt lighter today—the warmth of Hiyyih’s arm gently looping around yours, and every now and then, Kai’s glance in the rearview mirror caught yours.

Last night seemed to burn away, slipping from your mind like smoke on the breeze. The car pulled up, and you all said your goodbyes to Kai’s mom, her lips warm against your cheek as she kissed you. “What food would you like later?” Her question made you pull her into a tight hug, surprising her with the warmth you hadn’t known you had in you. It's true, that if you surround yourself with better people, you'll be better too.

It felt like everyone in school was watching, but you didn’t mind. Kai’s hand in yours felt so right, and Hiyyih was chatting away beside you, making everything feel like a dream. When the time came for Hiyyih to part ways, she also kissed your cheek with a smile, waving goodbye.

Kai’s eyes were on you, a smirk tugging at his lips as you laughed softly. He loved seeing you so light, so happy. When he walked you to your class, you bumped into Taehyun, who ruffled your hair with a grin and a gentle pat on the head. You felt like he already knew, given that his stare much more concerned than it ever was.

Is this what it feels like to be part of something? What a family is supposed to feel like?

You washed your hands in the sink, the corners of your lips still tugged into a faint smile. But the moment was cut short when a splash of cold water hit you, soaking your uniform. You gasped, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You only know two people who find joy in these acts. Turning quickly, you saw Chae-won and Yun-jin standing there, flanked by three other girls whose names you didn’t even know but who were always with them.

“Are you done living your life like a victim?” Chae-won’s voice rang out, sharp and biting. A few other students in the bathroom froze, unsure of what to do, before slipping out the door, desperate to avoid being caught in the middle.

“Go home,” she spat, her glare searing. “I’m not letting my mother deal with trash like you.”

Your chest tightened, but you refused to show it. You held her gaze for a beat longer than you thought you could, then turned to leave. The quicker you got out of their sight, the better. You don't want to waste your energy on dealing with her. But before you could make it to the door, two of them grabbed your arms roughly and shoved you back.

“Go home now,” one of them hissed. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows just how pathetic you really are.”

Something inside you snapped. The words stung, but your hand moved faster than your thoughts. The slap echoed in the tiled bathroom. Chae-won’s face twisted in shock before anger overtook her features. She lunged, pushing you into a cubicle. Her hands tangled in your hair as you tried to fight back, her nails digging into your arm as you struggled to block her strikes.

They always kept it hidden, their cruelty tucked away in the shadows—behind the closed doors of your home, in the quiet corners of the art room, places where no one else would see. Never here. Never out in the open like this. These were the same people you once looked at with longing, the ones you dreamed would someday call you their friend.

Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to catch your breath. The sharp ache in your scalp subsided when Chae-won was suddenly yanked off you, her grip torn away by a rough hand.

Hiyyih. Your eyes widened as you saw her, fierce and blazing with anger. “Get the fuck away from my sister, bitch!” she screamed, face cracking with rage. Before Chae-won could recover, Hiyyih kicked her hard on her thigh, her fury igniting as she saw the blood smeared across your arms.

Another girl was with her, someone you vaguely recognized, stepping in to help. Suddenly, it was three against five, chaos erupting in the cramped bathroom.

Hiyyih glared daggers at Yun-jin, voice trembling with raw emotion. “You think you can just hurt people? You think you’re strong because you can?”

The bathroom erupted into noise—shouting, scuffling, and the sound of feet scrambling for safety. Students crowded at the doorway, peeking in with wide eyes, while others bolted to find a teacher. You stayed close to Hiyyih, your chest tight with fear. What if they hurt her the way they hurt you?

You felt yourself shoved against the counter in the commotion, your pulse pounding in your ears. And then, cutting through the chaos, you saw them. Three figures pushed their way through the crowd, pushing onlookers, unconcerned that this was a girls’ bathroom.

Kai. Beomgyu. Taehyun.

Everything seemed to blur as Kai desperately reached you, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, steady and protective, shielding you from anyone.

“Enough!” Beomgyu shouts. “This ridiculous cat fight ends now.”

Kai’s hands cupped your face, his touch trembling as he scanned your cuts and bruises. His jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger and fear. His eyes check his sister, now standing between Beomgyu and Taehyun. He exhaled sharply, pulling you behind him, his body a wall between you and the rest of the room.

“Stop this,” he said coldly, his words directed at Chae-won, who was fixing her hair with a smug expression. "This is your last warning—stay away from her.”

Chae-won sneered, venom dripping from her voice. “Why do you keep protecting that… thing?” she spat. “She’s abnormal. She can’t hear. She made us miserable. She’s selfish, always making everything about her. She plays the victim like it’s a sport.”

Her words made Hiyyih surged forward, ready to strike, but Taehyun held her back with a firm grip.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Chae-won blinked, startled by the harshness in Kai's tone—a tone so unlike the boy known for his warmth and kindness. “She’s the best person to ever walk these grounds,” Kai adds, eyes locked on Chae-won. “She’s everything you’ll never be.”

You tried to step out from behind him, to meet Chae-won’s glare head-on, but Kai’s arm gently stopped you, keeping you behind him, his body a wall between you and her cruelty.

“If anyone here isn’t normal, it’s you. Never her.”

For the first time, Chae-won’s smirk faltered, her confidence visibly shaken. Her eyes dart between Hiyyih, Beomgyu and Taehyun. They all look at her in disdain.

Her mind raced, her thoughts spiralling back to the words her mother had drilled into her—how you were less, how people would never care about you. But now—these people—they were standing with you, like they would shield you from anything that came your way. It made her gulp. She bolts outside, Yun-jin was hot on her heels, matching her pace. The other girls had already disappeared.

For the first time, she was afraid—of the consequences that might happen if she ever dared to hurt you again.

“You don’t have to forgive them, you know?” Kai says, his shoulder brushes against yours, as you both sit, legs dangling off the edge of the makeshift bench in the yard. The watermelon ice cream in your hand drips slightly, the heat of the sun melting it. His sister and mother are out of the house, shopping for tonight's supper.

“It’s okay to take your time,” he adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Or never forgive them at all. You can stay here with us for as long as you want. There’s no rush to figure everything out.”

You shift your feet, wiggling your toes against the warm wood beneath you. Both of you are still in the loose, comfortable clothes you threw on after rolling out of bed. No shoes, no plans—It’s a Saturday—your first weekend here.

You look at him, and the light catches his face. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sign, “You know, I’ve never given you a proper nickname.”

Kai pauses mid-bite, blinking at you in surprise at your random words. “Huh?” he mumbles around the end of his ice cream. “What do you mean?”

You let out a soft laugh, your hands moving fluidly as you explain, “Since calling out your name in sign language takes a little more effort, it’s better to give you a nickname. Something simple but special, something that means ‘you.’”

Kai’s heart stutters in his chest. How was it possible that every time he saw you sign, it felt like the first time all over again? "Wha- what would you call me?"

You smile, a little shy. You’d thought of this nickname days ago, waiting for the right moment to share it. “Diamond,” you sign, your hands forming the shape—your thumb and index finger meet to form the letter D, before tracing an elegant upward motion, like a sparkle.

Kai’s breath catches. His chest feels tight, like his heart is swelling too big for the space it’s in. Diamond. The way you did it, the way it looked—it felt intimate. "It’s beautiful."

You smile softly at him, and his entire world shifts. “I can’t hear your voice, but I see it. You shine the brightest when you’re making music. That’s when you look the coolest, like you’re untouchable… like a diamond. But even then, I don’t feel left out when I’m with you. I never felt I don't belong when I'm with you.” Your hands falter slightly, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Kai watches every movement, every micro-emotion on your face. He understands every word.

He’s in love with you. Completely, helplessly.

He doesn’t need to be the doctor to diagnose his own symptoms, a teacher to put his feelings into words, or to be the scientist to prove his theory. None of those roles matters because—these things will never speak as loud as his heart. He loves you. And with every moment he spends knowing you, he finds himself falling even deeper.

And now, he can give you his music—something he once thought was beyond him. Loving you has been the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Kai's desperate need consumes him as he grabs your face, his heart racing with aching desire to kiss you. His lips crash onto yours, devouring the sweetness of your watermelon-flavoured mouth. You moan, a little sound that only fuels his need as he leans back. "You're so beautiful. I need you, please." He pulls you closer and kisses you again once you nod, unable to resist his sweet kisses. He breaks away and takes your hand, leading you. Like he always does.

You let him pull you into his room, the scent of him wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. The space feels personal—lived-in. It feels like... him.

Before you can say a word, his arms encircle you from behind, holding you close as his lips brush softly against the side of your head. His hands move slowly, sliding from your waist to your stomach. With a gentle tug, he lifts your shirt just enough to reveal the bare skin beneath. His touch is tender as his fingers graze over you, tracing delicate patterns, and caressing. Kai turns you around.

Kai's mind swirls with uncertainty. He stares into your eyes, and he signs the words that he has been holding back. "I love you." You respond by pulling him close, kissing him fiercely and tangling your fingers in his hair. Your mind is consumed by his confession, and his touches.

He pushes you onto the bed, flooding your senses with his smell. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, surprised at yourself for doing something naturally you haven't done. You're craving his touch.

"I need you," His voice is low, repeating the words. He wants to know. He wants to make sure that you're alright with this. You give a slight nod, granting him permission. He eagerly accepts, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire as he hungrily kisses down your neck. He goes down, he bites down on the fabric covering your nipples, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

He gingerly lifted your shirt over your head, revealing your flushed skin. He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and gently sucked, watching closely as your face contorted in pleasure and your eyes fluttered shut.

He slides his hand under your silk pyjama top and gently traces the curve of your back with his fingers. He settles himself beside you, leaning as he reaches your waistband. His long fingers slip inside and finds you already wet, he spreads your lips apart and expertly flicks his finger over your clit. He adds another finger and watches your face for any signs of discomfort, peppering kisses along your cheeks as you shake your head in pleasure. Slowly, he inserts them deeper, making you grip his shoulders tightly as he stretches you.

He rolls his knuckles over your sensitive clit. With a swift movement, his hand opens like scissors, his thumb teasing your swollen nub. You let out a gasp and clutch onto his now longer hair, pulling him closer as he continues to pleasure you with his skilled fingers. Your mouths meet in a passionate kiss, his hot tongue brushing yours as he works his fingers in and out of you.

As he pulls out, you can feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing every inch of your body. Every part of your body is beautiful.

You try to reach for his pants, but he shakes his head with a small smile. "This is all about you." He whispers, and places a kiss on your lips.

He slides into you, causing tears to escape from the corners of your eyes as you feel yourself being stretched and filled. He's so big, hot inside you. "Baby, I got you," He leans in close, his warm breath mingling with yours as he gently wipes away your tears.

Kai searches your eyes and waits for you to signal him to move again, you hummed nodding your head. He presses deeper, and the sensation makes your whole body tingle. With each thrust, he presses you further into the mattress, leaving hot kisses along your skin as his other hand finds its way back to your clit.

His lips found your ears, and he left traces of kisses. The overwhelming pleasure builds and builds until finally, you can't hold back any longer and release with a shudder. But he doesn't stop there; he continues to move inside of you groaning, pulling out before his release, he fists his erection and hot white cum comes undone on his hands. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on your forehead, smirking at your fucked out face.

Kai's touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, and cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hands holding your own.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile. You feel your lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. You see his mouth open, saying "I love you." The same words he kept repeating over and over again even without you knowing it.

It feels unreal, like a fragile dream stitched together by your desperate mind to escape the torment of your reality. Kai doesn’t seem real—a fleeting fever dream you’re terrified will vanish the moment you wake. Your hands move almost on their own, signing the words your heart refuses to deny. "I love you too."

A floor table is set up in the yard, resting on a wide blanket with soft cushions scattered around it. Plates of food and side dishes fill the table, the space alive with chatter and laughter.

Kai sits beside you, his knee brushing yours beneath the table his hands caressing your back when no one's looking, Hiyyih is in the center, her laughter bright and infectious, while Taehyun and Beomgyu are across from you, locked in their usual back-and-forth.

Or rather, Beomgyu trying to bait Taehyun into bickering, and Taehyun rolling his eyes with amused restraint.

The sliding door opens, and Kai’s mom steps out, balancing a steaming pot in her hands. “Here comes the ramen!” she sings. The broth makes you realise just how hungry you are.

She begins ladling out bowls, and the clinking of utensils signals the start of the meal. As the first bite warms your throat, the cold night seems to retreat, replaced by the simple joy of being here, with them.

You reach out toward the dessert—ripe, glossy strawberries—but your hand freezes as you see Beomgyu grab the last one. He pauses mid-bite when he catches the longing look in your eyes. “Oh,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. Slowly, he pulls the fruit away from his mouth, holding it out to you with his chopsticks. “Because I’m a good guy, I’ll let you have it.”

Before you can protest, Kai reaches over with his own chopsticks and snatches the strawberry back. He shoves it into Beomgyu’s mouth, earning a muffled yelp. “You can keep it,” Kai says flatly, shooting a half-hearted glare at his friend.

Taehyun bursts out laughing, pointing at Beomgyu’s shocked expression. “He’s jealous,” he teases, his grin wide.

“I am not,” Kai snaps, cheeks betraying by giving a soft pink hue. “I just don’t want his germs spreading to Y/N.”

Beomgyu, finally swallowing the strawberry, points a dramatic finger at Kai. “You little shi—”

You laugh as Beomgyu leaps to his feet, determined to catch Kai, who’s darting away with that grin that melts your heart every time. Kai—the one who didn’t just save you from your own darkness, but who opened up his world and invited you in, piece by piece.

You sigh, not out of sadness, but happiness—a feeling slowly becoming familiar. It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

You avoid your father’s gaze, his concerned eyes scanning you with a frown etched deep into his forehead. You shift, positioning yourself behind Kai’s broad back. You can still see your father, but having Kai in front of you makes it all feel bearable—almost safe.

Your father arrived first thing in the morning, dressed sharply in his suit, as though he hadn’t wasted a second to come get you ever since he came back.

He explained everything in a rush—what he’d done back at the house. Your stepmother was gone, and she’d taken your stepsisters with her. Without a marriage binding them, he ended it quickly, as swiftly as he’d once welcomed her into your home, believing she could be a solution, a saviour for you.

The maids who had turned a blind eye or worse—enabled the abuse—were fired on the spot. And now, he was determined to make things right—determined to press charges, to hold accountable anyone who had ever hurt you. His voice cracked when he spoke of it, the guilt etched deep into his expression.

"Would you mind if I speak for a moment?" Kai asks stance proud, and unwavering. Your father looked at him, taking in the way he stood in front of you, protective. It reminded him of the days when he had stood like that for your mother—the only woman he had truly loved.

“My mom doesn’t know any sign language,” Kai begins, “But she still talks to Y/N all the time. They understand each other perfectly.” He pauses, letting the words settle.

“That’s when I realized something,” Kai continues, his gaze unwavering. “You can say anything—anything at all—if it comes from a willing heart.” He pulls out a book. It’s a little worn around the edges, its cover creased from being used so often. It’s the same sign language book he’s been studying with you, the one he’s cherished so much.

He holds it out to your father, “I thought this might help. It’s a good place to start, so you can reach her too.” Your father takes it, his fingers brushing against the cover. His lips part, voice thick with emotion, “Thank you, Kai.” He extends his hand, and Kai shakes it firmly, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Then Kai turns to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His mom and Hiyyih wrap you in tight hugs, their warmth lingering long after they let go. You haven’t even stepped outside the gate yet, but they’re already asking when you’ll come back.

You smile, trying to give them an answer, but the truth catches in your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you can live your life without them anymore.

The trip back to your house was quiet.

You opened the doors, but no one was inside. No one inside, yet it felt more… welcoming than it ever had. You walk into your room, and are about to reach to close your bedrooms behind you. But before it shuts, your father steps inside.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “For everything.” All you can do is nod silently, feeling the sting of tears welling in your eyes. You’ve thought about this moment a thousand times—how you would say everything you’ve kept inside, how you’d finally tell him that his silence and distance hurt more than the physical abuse they gave.

You wanted him to know what his absence caused, how it made everything worse. You wanted to shout, to let him feel the anger you’ve carried for so long. But as you hear his apology, you find yourself lacking the heart to do so. Because this moment—it’s the one you’ve been waiting for your entire whole life. For him to finally come back to you.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his hands trembling as they reach up to cup your face. His eyes that screams nothing but regret. “You’re the only one left who matters to me,” he says, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I promise—I’ll make it up to you. Somehow, I’ll make it right.” Before you know it, he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go.

The two of you cry, clinging to each other in the quiet of the house. No other words are spoken. The walls that once held the echoes of your pain now bear witness to something… starting to heal.

The horrors of the past don’t, won't disappear, but they begin to blur, fading as you melt inside your father's arms. You close your eyes as you cry—broken sobs, like a child needing comfort after a big bad nightmare, tasting the salt of your own tears as they fall.

It tastes like forgiveness.

"Do you want to come with me on my next business trip?" your father signs, his hands moving carefully beside you in the car. "New York."

You smile at his effort, the clumsy yet intentional movements making him seem more approachable—so different from the figure you once knew.

"I'd love that, dad." His face lights up with your response, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He looks relieved, maybe even proud, that he's able to communicate with you more clearly now. Your gaze drifts to the newspaper folded in his lap, the bold numbers marking the year—1996.

The car slows to a stop, signalling that you've arrived. Your father leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "See you daughter,"

You wave goodbye, stepping out onto the pavement, watching as the car pulls away. You clutch your shoulder bag, a soft smile playing on your lips—one that seems to have taken permanent residence these past few months. Your steps are light, your eyes brighter, and your heart hums a melody only you can hear.

Community for the Gifted: Advanced Sign Language

The words on the board seem almost dreamlike. A reminder that you're here. Everything that happened wasn't just a dream.

Before you can dwell on it, your bag is gently lifted from your hands. You turn, meeting his eyes—warm, full of affection. He dips his head, pressing a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips, followed by another on your nose, and your brows.

"Hi, pretty girl," He says softly, shifting your bag to his other hand. He reaches for your free hand, fingers intertwining with yours. He squeezes it three times.

I love you.

Together, you step through the doors, hand in hand with the boy who loves you in ways you didn’t think anyone ever could. The boy who simply found you in your silent world. It amazes you—how one person can make life feel so undeniably worth living.

Huening Kai, who learned to speak your language, so you won't have to spend your lifetime translating your soul.

THE END.

taglist: i love you @.beombunni @.hyukascampfire @.yunverie @.gyu-tori @.bamgyuuuri @.saejinniestar @.xylatox @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyunelixbun @.brrytears @.fancypeacepersona @.tyunningstar @.kejingken @.usuallyunlikelyfox @.ode2soob @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.lilbrorufr @.vicurious28

[dawngyu]

YOU AND THE WAY YOU WRITE TAEHYUN

(🏐) SALT & FOAM .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘂𝘁𝘆 , 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇'𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗈𝖻 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

lifeguard태현 ⊹ fem r 8OO smut non idol . . . public sex unprotected sex perv/cocky tyun

⠀ɑ︭ : @luvsicktyun put this in my inbox. that's my taehyun brainrot buddy >.< LIFEGUARD TYUN? yum yum yum. this is literally my first hard thought so i'm still learning the ropes, but hopefully this one works! i keep wanting to write in-scene but idk if that works as well for hard thoughts. oh well! here we go hehe

The sun is no joke, beating down on Taehyun with a vengeance. He might as well just begin melting over his big red seat; something like ice cream down a cone. It’s already hard enough to watch the foamy shorelines for beachgoers—he’s been out there for hours.

But you? You had to go and make his job harder, didn’t you?

You came here with your little squabble of girlfriends, all tan lines and sea salt in your hair. He can’t even see the rest of them past your rosy, sunkissed cheeks and the sanguine air radiating off you in waves that rival even the sun. Well, you see, you are exactly his type. His absolute dream girl, and how fair is it that you’ve decided to come taunt him on the clock? You, and your cruel little tropical bathing suit? He hangs on to the way it clings to your soft edges like a total perv. He watches you sunbathe, tossing and turning to catch more amber rays, shamelessly. The sand dusting your ass as you turn onto your belly has him shifting high up on his seat. 

You see, Taehyun is a man of boundless confidence. His job was  made just for somebody like him: sitting up on his tower, sun-bronzed arms on display for anybody to watch. And they do watch, and nobody could love the attention more than Taehyun. Let them watch, let them drool. Let them want him and never have him. 

Right now, though, he feels like a loser. Watching you—his shorts getting tighter around him. Pathetic. So when your girlfriends push themselves from their beach towels to go god knows where, his brash and brawn wills him to abandon his post.

Three miles down the beach, where he usually would be on watch, Taehyun wouldn’t have dared pulling something like this. That’s where people tend to go anyway; the beach is empty aside from you and your friends down here. But today he was placed here for whatever divine reason, and you just so happened to set your towels up by his post, so he could care less. He wouldn’t miss a chance like this for anything in the world, his job be damned.

Spewing some curse under his breath, he crumbles and approaches you. Taehyun can’t help the wolffish pull to his mouth as he watches the look in your eyes change when you see him. He knows that look well. Knows that interest sparkling in your pretty eyes, because he knew one thing only: how could anybody not want him? 

Taehyun’s got a smooth mouth. It only takes a few moments for you to be giggling at whatever he says, shoving at his shoulders. And the moment you start getting touchier, your cheeks glowing, he knows he’s got you.

Maybe it’s public indecency, and maybe anybody that decided to take a walk down this stretch of beach would see you, and maybe he should be making sure nobody drowns or some shit, but Taehyun doesn’t have it in him to care once his mouth is down the side of your neck with smoldering nips. You, a maneater in your own right, have deconstructed the confident man into somebody stupid enough to not care.

Just like Taehyun had been fantasizing, he tugs the strings of your top loose with one easy tug, saying something about, “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You just laugh because you do. You sent your friends for drinks for a reason. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, hard as hell up there. “C’mon. You think you’re all that, but I know men like you. Horny losers.” To rub salt in the wound, you add, “In fact, you strike me as a ten pumps kinda guy.”

Well, Taehyun just won’t have that. With a scoff on his lips, he presses you into the sand, his hands all over your toasted skin. You taste like saltwater and smell like some exotic fruit body butter you probably lathered yourself in, and you feel so good wrapped around him that he worries he might actually last ten pumps. But that would be losing, and Taehyun doesn’t lose.

So he bends you clean in half until you’re mush beneath him, palms muffling your sounds and your nails down the warm skin of his back as if that’ll help you. Taehyun loves making pretty girls fall apart, but he especially loves making smart girls dumb. And you, limbs shaking and sand in your tangle of hair when he’s done with you, have become fully dumb. 

“Ten pumps?” Taehyun says, an insufferable slant to his mouth as he fixes your bikini bottoms, pulling them back just to let it go and snap to your skin.

With shaking thighs and not enough breaths to say something snarky, all you can do is glare. Taehyun had fucked your brains out, and you couldn’t even be mad about it. He leaves you as a mess when he returns to his seat as if nothing had ever happened, watching as your friends return and you have to make yourself presentable.

With your taste still in his mouth, lifeguard duty isn’t so bad.

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @filmnings , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[dawngyu]

worlds slowest fanfic author tries really really hard

[dawngyu]

Official Teaser: What Remains The Same

Pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader Genre: small town au, childhood friends, angst, second chances, romance, pregnancy, psychological drama (more to be added)

There had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips. But you hadn’t seen them in years. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

The other hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "I heard that he’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

RELEASE DATE: APRIL 13TH, 2025 12PM MST.

i started writing this fic on a whim a few days ago, but the plot refused to leave me alone—it haunted me. before deciding to fully commit to it, i had conversation with a friend who encouraged me, and i owe them so much for giving me the confidence to not only write this but to share it. (also me discovering just how much i love writing angst) i can’t wait to bring this here.

Taglist: Open! Let me know if you want to be tagged for this one.

[dawngyu]

friend will you upload the soobin ff one in a million 😞 your writing style is so pretty that i really was rooting for it

hiiii i will! i'm 50% done w it and i'll be uploading within the month. <3

[dawngyu]

LITERALLY SCREAMED??? started barking on sight and COMPLETELY forgot to reblog.

NOT A SINGLE WORD HAS BEEN SAID YET but @luvsicktyun really hit us with THAT banner like it was nothing??? jail. award. prison. a trophy. something. (oreo beomgyu?? GIVE. HIM. TO. ME.)

legend has it I'm cooking something up.....

and have it has to do with HP and txt....

rough draft, you never know what could come of it....

[dawngyu]

@biteyoubiteme @luvsicktyun brain twinning (and witnessing vip perks)

[dawngyu]

Official Teaser: What Remains The Same

Pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader Genre: small town au, childhood friends, angst, second chances, romance, pregnancy, psychological drama (more to be added)

There had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips. But you hadn’t seen them in years. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

The other hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "I heard that he’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

RELEASE DATE: APRIL 13TH, 2025 12PM MST.

i started writing this fic on a whim a few days ago, but the plot refused to leave me alone—it haunted me. before deciding to fully commit to it, i had conversation with a friend who encouraged me, and i owe them so much for giving me the confidence to not only write this but to share it. (also me discovering just how much i love writing angst) i can’t wait to bring this here.

Taglist: Open! Let me know if you want to be tagged for this one.

[dawngyu]

eyes had been blessed. i'm gonna say it, @apeachty is the prettiest girl i've seen no cap.

[dawngyu]

not a question but... your choice of pfp... taste

ikr... i'll probably keep this for months he's so silly (and hot)

[dawngyu]

valid points BUT beomgyu gives off major gryffindor vibes—he’s bold, a total goofball, and not afraid to stand out. thrives in chaos (in the most endearing way), and you can totally imagine him being the type to pull a wild prank just to make someone laugh, then take full responsibility when it backfires… “ride or die” kind....

SORRY I YAPPED

I actually think beomgyu is definitely a slytherin. He’s highly ambitious and a perfectionist and I think beomgyu is very clever and good at assessing situations and manipulating them in his favor, that’s why he’s always good at games. He’s so sneaky 😭

i honestly totally agree with you!!! slytherin beomgyu would be such a fun concept !!! i say gryffindor beomgyu cos he’s a self-identified gryffindor and i want to give him the credit but… i think i like slytherin beomgyu more teehee

[dawngyu]

HYUKAAAA