#and i say this being someone who refused to be an adult | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedensworld · 30 days ago

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Complexity of Us | J.Ww

Genre: Street Racer au, Friends to Lovers, angst (18+ only!)

Summary: Being a friend to Wonwoo is hard. After Wonwoo saw you coming to race with another guy, it added to the complexity.

All your friends knew Wonwoo. In fact, almost all of your friends were also his. That’s just how close the two of you were. At first, they might ask a few questions,

“Are you two dating?”

“You’re only friends?”

“You lived together?”

“How could you never like each other?”

But then they would realize that Wonwoo was like a brother to you, and you, a sister to him. That was your relationship—a family.

You were five years old when your mother brought Wonwoo home for the first time. He stood silently in the doorway, his wide eyes roaming over your home as he clutched the small bag in his hands. You didn’t ask any questions, though you were curious. Your mother seemed busy preparing a meal for him, so you just stayed quiet, glancing at him now and then as you chewed your food.

"Eat, Wonwoo," your mother said gently, setting a bowl of rice and soup in front of the little boy. You watched as he looked from the food to your mother, then let out a tired sigh. It was the kind of sigh you made when you didn’t get your way—like when your mom refused to buy you the candy you wanted.

"Did my mother abandon me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

At the time, you didn’t understand, but later, you learned the truth. Wonwoo wasn’t just some random boy your mother decided to help—he was the son of her best friend, a woman who had tried to take her own life after her husband remarried, leaving Wonwoo alone. Your mother took him in without hesitation, offering him the care and love he needed. From that day forward, he became a part of your family, though you never needed to question it. He was simply always there, like the brother you never had.

Now, watching him race, with every twist and turn of his bike seeming like it might be his last, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel both pride and worry. For the first time, you truly understood why your mother used to nag him about his racing.

"He’s an adult, Mom. Stop worrying so much," you’d say, trying to ease her concerns every time she brought up his dangerous hobby.

"It’s reckless! I don’t want anything to happen to my son," she would reply, her tone sharp with anxiety. "If he needs money, he could just ask me or his father."

You’d always dismiss her concerns, but deep down, you knew your mom’s worries weren’t unfounded. Wonwoo’s relationship with his father had always been strained, at best. His father, a cold, distant man, had barely acknowledged Wonwoo’s existence after his mother’s death. With his father remarried and distant, Wonwoo had only his older half-brother, Jisoo, who helped him get his first bike and gave him the encouragement their father never would. Racing had become Wonwoo’s escape—a way to make money and prove himself on his own terms, far from the shadow of the man who refused to claim him as his own.

"I heard from Seungcheol that you’re here. What are you doing?"

Wonwoo’s voice cut through the noise of the dispersing crowd as he approached you, helmet in hand. His hair was damp with sweat from the race, and his eyes held a mix of confusion and irritation. He never expected to see you at one of his races. You never cared about his racing—so why now?

"She’s with me."

Lee Jiseok, another racer, appeared out of nowhere, draping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. It was an unmistakable statement, a silent challenge to Wonwoo. His smirk was as irritating as the gleam in his eye, like he was enjoying this little game.

Wonwoo scoffed, barely able to hide his disdain. He knew Jiseok’s type—a classic playboy who treated girls like trophies. And he knew you better than anyone. You wouldn’t settle for someone like Jiseok, not with your values, your standards.

Yet, you said nothing.

Your silence hit him harder than he expected, as if it confirmed Jiseok’s words. You really came with him?

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep his composure. You’re my best friend, he thought bitterly. I’ve invited you to my races so many times, but you never came. And now you’re here—with him?

The next morning, Wonwoo stood outside the front door—his next door. He knocked twice before your mother opened the door, already dressed for work. She greeted him warmly, as always, her smile a comfort that momentarily softened his mood.

"I’m sorry I had to call you so early," she said apologetically, slipping on her shoes. "She has class at eight, but if I leave now, I’m sure she’ll skip it. Please wake her up for me, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Sure, Mom. Don’t worry—I’ll flip her room upside down if she oversleeps."

When the clock struck the time you were supposed to wake, Wonwoo rose from the couch with a determined sigh and headed to your room. There was no need to knock—he knew you well enough to predict you’d still be buried under your blanket, arm flung over your head in your usual deep slumber.

But when he opened the door, his eyes widened in shock.

"Shit! What are you doing?!"

You stood there, fresh out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but your underwear. Your hair was still damp, and you were fumbling with a towel. Wonwoo froze, completely caught off guard, his brain short-circuiting for a few milliseconds before he slammed the door shut.

What the hell? He just saw you almost naked!

His mind flashed back to the last time he saw you with so little on. Right—when you were both six, taking a bath together at your mom’s insistence because “it saved water.” But that memory was far from comforting now.

Clearing his throat, he spoke through the door, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Breakfast is ready. Hurry up!"

The table was quieter than usual as you sat across from each other, eating in awkward silence. You didn’t seem fazed by the earlier incident, casually scrolling through your phone between bites, but Wonwoo couldn’t relax. His mind replayed the scene from your room like a broken record.

"Accompany me to get a new broadcasting supply," you said out of the blue, eyes still glued to your phone.

Wonwoo frowned, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "Don’t you have a boyfriend for that?"

You looked up, startled by his tone. His words were sharp, laced with pettiness. He still couldn’t let go of last night—the sight of you at the race, with Jiseok.

You sighed, already tired of explaining. "He’s just a friend. It was an impromptu invitation. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

Wonwoo scoffed, crossing his arms. "You said no to me plenty of times. I guess I’m just your personal driver, huh? Always at your service when it’s convenient for you. Have I ever missed your events?"

You groaned, setting your phone down as frustration flared between the two of you. At moments like this, it felt like neither of you had matured past five years old.

"You have!" you shot back. "You missed my interview with Woo Do Hwan, remember?"

Wonwoo groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "I told you I was stuck at the supermarket with Mom! She made me wait an hour just to get free soy sauce!"

Slamming your hand on the table, you leaned forward, glaring. "Exactly! So don’t act like you have the right to be mad at me just because I went to the race last night!"

The tension fizzled as quickly as it had flared, both of you slumping back in your seats. That was just how you and Wonwoo were—bickering like siblings one moment, laughing at your ridiculousness the next.

Moments like this were why you didn’t understand why so many people mistook the two of you for a couple. How could they? This was far from romance—it was chaos.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, phone buzzing on the desk beside him. He glanced at the screen—another message from Hansol.

"Bro, I think I gave you the wrong flash drive," Hansol had texted, followed by a facepalm emoji.

Wonwoo frowned, grabbing the drive from his desk and plugging it in. Moments later, he sent Hansol a picture of the folders inside.

"Yeah, that’s mine," Hansol confirmed. "But, uh, I think I handed you the one with… semi-movies."

Wonwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hansol was one of his newer college friends, part of the crowd he’d reluctantly fallen in with after starting school late. Unlike Wonwoo, who entered college later, most of his classmates were still wide-eyed and full of energy—whether it was for studying, partying, or chasing girls. Wonwoo had been there before, though, so he understood their eagerness to experience everything.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, the room dim except for the soft glow of his computer monitor. "It happens," Wonwoo muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Hansol sent another text: "Mingyu says number 12 is the best. Just saying."

Wonwoo rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his curiosity. He sighed, grabbed his headphones, and positioned himself comfortably in his chair. He clicked on the folder labeled “12,” his finger hesitating for a moment before opening it.

The video started, and Wonwoo settled in, one part reluctant and another part intrigued. Hansol and Mingyu had hyped it up, after all.

But just as things were getting, well, intense, a notification popped up in the corner of his screen.

He groaned, annoyed by the interruption, until he saw it was a text from you.

"Where are you?!" the message read, followed quickly by another: "You said you were coming with me!"

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in realization.

Days before, you’d asked him to help you pick out new broadcasting supplies, and like the idiot he sometimes was, he’d completely forgotten. Now you were probably standing somewhere, annoyed, waiting for him.

Why would Wonwoo care about anything else when he had his cock in his hand?

His other hand hovered near his mouse, desperately trying to click away the endless notifications cluttering his screen. Yet the scene unfolding before him commanded every ounce of his focus. The moans echoing in his ears and the rhythmic slap of flesh through his headphones sent jolts of heat coursing through his body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen, couldn’t slow the frantic pace of his hand as he worked himself closer to release.

The tension tightened in his stomach, pleasure building with every stroke. His grip grew firmer, movements more urgent, as he chased that blinding high. His jaw clenched; his breath hitched. It was so close. So, so close—

Another notification popped up, your name and profile picture covering the screen. Goddammit. Wonwoo groaned in frustration, his free hand fumbling to get it away, but in his haste, he tapped your profile picture instead.

Your face expanded across the screen, your bright smile abruptly replacing the explicit video. The sudden shift broke his focus, and his cock twitched impatiently in his grip. He growled under his breath, fumbling to switch back to the other tab.

But just as he was about to, a noise froze him in place. A sharp intake of breath.

Wonwoo’s head snapped up, his stomach plummeting like a stone.

There you were, standing in his doorway, eyes wide as saucers, mouth slightly agape. And you weren’t just looking at him masturbating—you were looking at him masturbating with your profile picture plastered across the screen.

His heart stopped.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall silent. No moans. No rhythmic slap. Just his ragged breathing and the deafening beat of shame pounding in his ears.

“Oh… fuck,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. He scrambled to cover himself, his hands awkwardly darting between the computer and his lap as if any amount of damage control could salvage the situation.

But it was too late.

The damage was done.

And God had officially crowned him the biggest loser in the universe.

You sat in front of your computer, staring at the words you typed into the search engine box.

"Why would a friend masturbate with our picture?"

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard, unsure whether you were about to dive into an existential crisis or just make a bad decision in the name of curiosity. You glanced around the room as if someone might pop up and say, “Don’t do it, this is a terrible idea,” but no one did. It was just you, your increasingly weird search history, and the growing suspicion that you might be losing your mind.

You clicked on the first link. A vague, clickbaity headline stared back at you: “The Psychology Behind Bizarre Friend Behavior: Why Did They Do That?”

Oh, great. You were now entering the realm of psychology and potentially ruining your future Google search recommendations for life.

You closed the tab and slumped back in your chair, rubbing your temples.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the awkward silence. You glanced at it, half-expecting it to be some random spam message or a notification you could ignore. But no, it was from Lee Jiseok.

You hesitated before opening it. The message read: “Hey, you look pretty in your new profile picture.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Pretty?” you muttered under your breath. Seriously? You sighed. Yeah, right. You needed to delete that profile picture, now. That image had clearly caused more trouble than it was worth.

Trying to move past it, you quickly typed a reply: “Jiseok, want to help me grab some broadcasting supplies?” Hopefully, that would steer the conversation away from your now-infamous photo.

And here you were now, roaming around the store, hunting for a new microphone.

“Do you find it?” Jiseok asked, looking at you expectantly. You shook your head and sighed. “They don’t have it until next week. We have a podcast this Thursday, though.” You added, your voice tinged with frustration.

Jiseok nodded, an idea forming. “Let’s try another store. We’ll find it.” He was always the optimist.

The two of you stepped out of the store, but as you walked, a familiar figure almost collided with you. You looked up—of course, it was Mingyu, the engineering student you were doing the podcast with, and, to your absolute delight, Wonwoo.

Your eyes widened, and a chill ran down your spine when you locked eyes with him. Two days after that... incident, you couldn’t look at him the same way again. He masturbated to your picture, for god's sake! And now it felt like the words were written on his forehead—only you could see them, though.

“Y/N, how are you? Nice to see you here!” Mingyu’s friendly voice pulled you back into the moment. You forced a smile, saying the usual pleasantries, before introducing Jiseok.

“Wonwoo’s a racer too. You know him?” Mingyu pointed to Wonwoo, who, to your amusement, now seemed to be avoiding eye contact with everyone.

You internally scoffed. He acted like he didn’t like the attention, but deep down, you knew he secretly loved it when people talked about him. What an idiot.

Jiseok, ever the social butterfly, grinned. “Sure. Who doesn’t know him? He’s the best.”

Mingyu turned his gaze to you, a puzzled look on his face. “Then why did you want to do the podcast with me, rather than Wonwoo? He’s got more achievements.” He said it so casually, completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

Oh, Mingyu, you thought, rolling your eyes inside your head. Now you understood why Wonwoo always complained about Mingyu’s lack of awareness when it came to reading a room.

You forced a smile. “We’ll have the podcast later, but right now, we have to go. We’re in a hurry. Bye, Mingyu!” You grabbed Jiseok’s hand and pulled him in the opposite direction, away from Mingyu and Wonwoo’s destination.

“Why did she only say bye to me? Do you guys fight or something?” Mingyu called out, turning his head as he asked Wonwoo, confusion written all over his face.

Wonwoo sighed deeply, shaking his head. He looked at Mingyu for a long moment, then made his way into the store by himself. “You really don’t know how to read a room, Mingyu.”

Mingyu blinked, still not quite understanding, and then shrugged. “Well, whatever.”

Wonwoo heard a knock at his door while he was unpacking the late-night snack he’d ordered to accompany the game he was streaming. He immediately ran to the door, expecting it to be your mother, perhaps returning something she’d forgotten or maybe just dropping by to see him. But when he opened the door, there you were.

"What's wrong?" Wonwoo asked, his voice sounding oddly stiff. It had been a week since you last spoke, and though you’d fought plenty before, never had there been such a long stretch of silence. And definitely never because he had—well, you knew what had happened.

"The electricity went out next door," you said, your voice a little shaky as you stepped inside. "I called the owner, but they said they won't fix it until tomorrow morning. I’m... I’m kind of scared."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. Your mother had gone to Busan for a trip with friends, leaving you alone for the night. She had asked Wonwoo to look out for you while she was gone and had even handed him a bottle of whiskey her colleague had given her. Wonwoo had shrugged it off at the time—it was just another night—but now here you were, knocking at his door for the first time in ages, even though you knew the passcode. Something had clearly changed after what happened last week.

"Oh my god!" you gasped suddenly, snapping Wonwoo out of his thoughts. He assumed it was because of the food, but then he turned and saw what you were holding—the whiskey.

"Mom gave this to you? I've been wanting to drink it, but she gave it to you? So unfair!" you exclaimed, looking at the bottle as if it were a treasure you had just discovered.

Wonwoo smirked. "Now you know who the favorite is."

You immediately pouted, ignoring the playful tone in his voice. "Let's drink it!" you insisted, eyes sparkling with excitement as you held the bottle up like it was the holy grail.

"No," Wonwoo replied, shaking his head and taking the bottle from your hands. "She just gave it to me. Plus, you haven’t had dinner yet. You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach."

You stared at him with big, watery puppy eyes, your lower lip sticking out in a dramatic pout. You were sending a signal that clearly said, “Please?”

Wonwoo sighed in defeat, his resolve weakening. He looked at the food he’d ordered and then back at you, who was now practically bouncing on your toes in excitement.

"Alright," he relented, “Eat first.”

You let out a delighted squeal and grabbed the plate, skipping over to the coffee table in front of the TV, already too excited to even think about the conversation that had just unfolded.

Wonwoo watched you go, shaking his head with a bemused smile. It wasn’t often he had to deal with this kind of energy from you, and the contrast to last week’s... incident was striking. But still, it was good to have you here again—even if things were a little weird—and he wasn’t about to let you get away with skipping dinner.

He was already mentally preparing himself for whatever chaos might come next.

23:00.

00:00.

01:00.

You poured another glass of whiskey, the bottle now more than halfway empty. Beside it sat a bottle of Soju and a few cans of beer—clear evidence of the drinking escapade you and Wonwoo had been on.

Wonwoo slapped your hand lightly, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for the whiskey bottle again. You winced, offended, before giving him a pointed look and downing the shot in one go.

"Who drinks whiskey in one shot, idiot?" Wonwoo scoffed, his words slightly slurred.

The two of you were definitely drunk, but if the scale of your inebriation had a measure, yours was definitely tipping the higher end. Wonwoo, ever the stoic, had become quieter as the alcohol hit him. On the other hand, you turned into a full-on talkative monster—something Wonwoo had often referenced before, claiming alcohol was your “serum truth.” You never could hold back when tipsy.

"Now, tell me," Wonwoo began, eyes narrowing, "Are you dating Lee Jiseok?"

You didn’t answer, not even giving him a glance. You just kept swirling the last of your whiskey, pretending to focus on the glass in your hand.

Wonwoo chuckled lightly. "Who could guess you'd date a playboy like him?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

You kicked his arm, hard enough to make him flinch. "You're not in the place to call anyone a playboy, Playboy!"

Wonwoo frowned, giving you an incredulous look. "I'm not a playboy," he retorted, his words slow and careful, "Haven’t dated in a while. And I’m loyal too."

You gestured with your hands, mocking his serious tone. "Blah blah blah, whatever, Mr. Jeon Playboy," you teased, clearly having fun with this back-and-forth. "I saw you with that pretty junior, walking to the café next to my campus."

Wonwoo’s expression hardened. "It was for a project," he said quickly, his tone defensive, "She's too young for me, not even twenty."

You suppressed a laugh, trying to hold back the drunken grin that was threatening to spill out. "Shut up, Wonwoo. I know you dated a high schooler before. Did you teach her how to kiss?"

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in shock, and he gasped, flustered. "When was I? You think I’m a criminal? You think that low of me?"

Did you mention that Wonwoo also got angry a lot when he was drunk? His tone had shifted from playful to defensive, the edge in his voice sharper than usual.

You smirked, your mind racing with more teasing remarks. "Lost your virginity at 18?"

"Who told you?!" Wonwoo shot back, his face flushing with a mix of indignation and embarrassment.

You couldn't resist. "Your first kiss was with the aunty neighbor, from ten years ago!"

"Y/n, you better shut your mouth!" Wonwoo growled, eyes narrowing, clearly irritated now.

But you weren't done. "You masturbated over my picture."

The room went completely silent, like a cold wave crashing over both of you. For a moment, everything stopped. The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You felt your heart skip a beat, realizing, in horror, what you had just blurted out.

The weight of your words hit you like a punch to the gut. It felt as though time froze for a brief second, the drunken haze clearing just enough for you to realize the enormity of what you had just said.

Wonwoo’s face went pale, his expression unreadable. The playful banter had evaporated, replaced by an uncomfortable, pregnant silence.

And then, the awkward tension settled in, wrapping around both of you like a heavy, unspoken confession.

"It was a misunderstanding!" Wonwoo blurted out, his voice rising defensively. "You think I’d ever make you an object? That’s completely the opposite!"

You stood abruptly, the alcohol fueling your indignation. "Yeah? What do you mean by that? Are you saying I’m not good enough? For your information, I do have decent boobs!"

Before he could respond, you grabbed your chest dramatically, emphasizing your point.

Wonwoo's mouth opened, then closed. He blinked at you in disbelief. "Not big enough for me," he mumbled under his breath, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Your jaw dropped, and you hissed at him, “Oh, really?” fueled by liquid courage and your mounting irritation. Without thinking, you plopped down onto his lap, challenging him with your eyes. "Let’s see if that’s true.”

You grabbed the hem of your T-shirt and, in one swift motion, pulled it over your head.

There you were, sitting on Wonwoo’s lap, your black lace bra on full display. He froze, his brain short-circuiting as his eyes instinctively dropped.

Sure, he’d accidentally caught a glimpse of you changing once before—an awkward, fleeting moment that had plagued his thoughts for weeks. But this? This was something else entirely.

"Eyes up here, Jeon Wonwoo," you snapped, reaching out to tilt his chin up so his gaze locked onto yours.

His breath hitched as he met your intense stare.

"Are you good at kissing, Wonwoo?" you asked, your voice lower now, almost a whisper.

"Why?" he managed, his voice cracking slightly.

You shrugged, leaning in just enough to close some of the space between you. "I don’t know. I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’m curious... Can you kiss me?"

Wonwoo’s eyebrows shot up, the shock breaking through his haze. "Are you serious?"

You nodded, your determination unwavering.

And just like that, his lips met yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. But as you leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against his jaw, he deepened it, his confidence growing with each passing second.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wonwoo told him to stop—he was sober since an hour ago when you sang that trot song. But right now, with you in his lap, your lips on his, and your scent flooding his senses, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The kiss, once soft and tentative, quickly turned into something deeper, more passionate. Wonwoo’s hands slid beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. He was painfully aware that you were half-naked beneath him, but he held himself back, his hands hovering, unsure where to land.

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. "Why aren’t you touching me? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do during a kiss?"

Wonwoo froze, his breath hitching. "You... want me to touch you?"

You tilted your head slightly, your tone teasing but curious. "I don’t know. I told you—I’ve never kissed anyone before."

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, a mix of amusement and disbelief flickering across his face. "Right... You did say that."

Without another word, Wonwoo leaned back in, his lips crashing against yours with newfound determination. This time, his hands began to move, sliding across your body as though committing every curve to memory. His touch was hesitant at first, then more assured, igniting every nerve he brushed against.

"Is this what you call making out?" you asked, your voice breathless as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck.

Wonwoo hummed in response, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. He licked a slow, deliberate line along it before gently biting down, just enough to leave a faint mark.

Your body jolted slightly at the sensation, and you exhaled shakily, your voice wry as you added, "Isn’t making out supposed to lead to... you know, sex? Are we going there?"

Wonwoo froze mid-movement, pulling back to look at you. His dark eyes searched yours, conflicted yet filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "Wait. You’ve never had sex before?"

You scoffed, the tiniest smirk tugging at your lips. "I’ve never even kissed anyone before tonight. What do you think?"

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. "You’re serious?"

"I’m inexperienced," you admitted bluntly, meeting his gaze head-on. Then, with the same boldness that had started this whole mess, you tilted your head, challenging him. "Why? Does it matter?"

His face softened, but hesitation lingered in his voice. "It doesn’t matter," he said finally, low and steady. "I just don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for."

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at you, his cheeks slightly flushed.

Then you whispered the words that made his breath catch: "Teach me."

Wonwoo froze for a moment, his mind racing, but the determination in your gaze erased his doubt. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in, his lips brushing yours. This time, his touch was more confident, more intentional.

"I’ll go slow," he murmured against your lips.

And you, already captivated, whispered back, "I trust you."

Wonwoo’s lips moved with an intoxicating rhythm, each kiss deepening the connection between you. His hands roamed freely now, exploring the curves of your body with an addicting reverence. You gasped softly as his fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire within you that demanded more.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation, "don’t stop."

His response was a low hum against your lips, his hands now tracing the delicate straps of your bra. He slipped them down your shoulders, his lips never breaking contact with your skin as they trailed along your collarbone.

The tension in the room was palpable, every touch and kiss feeding into the desire building between you. You tugged at his shirt, frustrated by the fabric that separated you. He obliged, pulling it over his head and revealing his toned chest. Your hands instinctively moved to explore him, marveling at the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

His lips found yours again, hungrier this time. His hands slid to your hips, and he pressed his body against yours, every inch of him screaming with want. The air around you was charged, and it felt like nothing could stop the moment from escalating further.

But then Wonwoo froze.

You blinked up at him, confused by the sudden halt. "What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice breathless.

Wonwoo sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat back slightly. "I… don’t have a condom," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration.

Your cheeks flushed as his words sank in, the realization hitting you like a tidal wave. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The charged tension hung in the air, thick and undeniable, but now it was accompanied by an awkward hesitance that neither of you knew how to navigate.

"Well…" you finally broke the silence, your voice softer than you intended. "Maybe we should stop here. I don’t want to… you know… end up pregnant."

Your words hung in the air, blunt yet honest, making you cringe inwardly. Wonwoo’s lips quirked into a small, sheepish smile as he leaned back slightly, giving you space.

"Fair point," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement but also relief. "Guess we got a little carried away."

You nodded, smoothing down your hair and trying to regain some semblance of composure. "A little?" you teased, trying to ease the lingering tension.

Wonwoo chuckled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe more than a little," he admitted.

Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was filled with an unspoken understanding, a mutual acknowledgment that what just happened meant something—something worth protecting.

He shifted, reaching for his discarded shirt and slipping it back on. "You know," he began, glancing at you, "I’m not just here for… that. You can trust me."

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. A small smile crept onto your lips. "I know, Wonwoo," you said softly. "And I trust you."

The tension melted away as the conversation turned lighthearted again. You grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and wrapped it around yourself, feeling the heat in your cheeks finally subsiding.

"Guess that’s enough excitement for one night," you joked, earning a laugh from Wonwoo.

"Yeah," he agreed, standing up and stretching. "Next time, we’ll be more prepared. Or… not let it get that far."

Wonwoo turned his head to you and found you fell asleep.

After that night, you and Wonwoo returned to your usual dynamic as if nothing had happened. Conversations flowed naturally, and you still found yourself knocking on his door whenever you had a fight with your mother. The kiss and everything that followed seemed to have been swept under the rug, left unspoken and untouched. Perhaps it was better that way—a mutual, unspoken agreement to let it stay buried.

One afternoon, Wonwoo received a call from his half-brother, Jisoo, inviting him to lunch. Despite sharing the same father, Jisoo was the only person from that side of the family Wonwoo didn’t dislike. Their relationship had started in his high school years when Jisoo visited him for the first time. Reflecting on it now, Wonwoo thought it was better that they met when he was mature enough to understand Jisoo’s intentions were genuine. He wasn’t there to mock or judge but to offer familial support.

The two met at a renowned high-class restaurant, a place Jisoo often frequented. As Wonwoo took a seat across from his older brother, he observed how composed Jisoo was—every bit the polished executive who worked as a director in their father’s automotive company.

Despite his disdain for anything related to their father, Wonwoo had to admit the bikes the company produced were unrivaled. He even used them for racing, albeit grudgingly.

"How's Y/N and her mother?" Jisoo asked, his tone genuinely curious. He knew how much your mother had done for Wonwoo, essentially raising him as one of her own.

"They're great," Wonwoo replied, leaning back in his chair. "Mom’s still working, though. She doesn’t want to stop."

Jisoo frowned slightly, setting down his glass of water. "I send them an allowance every month. Why is she still working?"

Wonwoo shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I give her money every month too, but I don’t think she ever uses it. She says she prefers to stay busy."

Jisoo smiled knowingly, shaking his head. "She’s a remarkable woman. Your mom must be incredibly grateful to her for raising you so well."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, a rare warmth in his usually stoic expression. "She is," he said simply.

Their food arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as they ate. They caught up on life updates, with Jisoo regaling Wonwoo with stories of his complicated love life, which seemed to amuse the younger man.

But as the meal neared its end, Jisoo’s tone grew more serious. "By the way, as I mentioned earlier, Father wants to talk to you."

Wonwoo paused mid-sip of his drink, his brow furrowing. "What’s that about?"

Jisoo tilted his head, clearly unsure. "I’m not entirely certain. But I think he wants you to join the family company."

Wonwoo let out a dry laugh, leaning back in his chair. "It’s funny that he suddenly considers me family."

Jisoo didn’t respond immediately, his expression neutral but thoughtful. "He knows you’re passionate about automotive engineering," he finally said. "And he knows you studied it for a reason."

Wonwoo’s smile faded as he stared at his brother, trying to decipher the real meaning behind their father’s intentions. "It’s not about passion, hyung. It’s about control. That’s all it’s ever been with him."

Jisoo sighed but didn’t push further. He knew better than to try to bridge the gap between Wonwoo and their father. Instead, he finished his drink, offering his brother a small, reassuring smile. "Whatever you decide, just remember—you’re not alone in this."

Wonwoo nodded, appreciating the sentiment even if he didn’t fully believe it. As they parted ways, his mind lingered on the conversation, the idea of stepping into his father’s world stirring a mix of emotions he wasn’t ready to comfort.

"You're daydreaming, man," Mingyu teased, nudging Wonwoo with his elbow. His words snapped Wonwoo out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present moment in the workshop.

Hansol returned from the restroom, joining the duo as they worked on the hybrid and electric vehicle management system. Their lecturer had invited a professional from the field to guide the session, someone who, to Wonwoo’s dismay, worked for N-Jeen, a subsidiary of his father’s company, Jeon Dynamics Automotive (JDA).

"If any of you are interested in joining us through an internship, please let us know," the professional announced. "We’re currently running a program tailored to your major."

As the workshop concluded and the trio transitioned into their cleaning shift, Mingyu brought up the internship opportunity. "So, what do you guys think?" he asked, his mop sliding across the floor with ease.

Hansol paused, leaning on his mop handle. "I think it’s a great opportunity, but it’s not for everyone," he said thoughtfully. His tone hinted at his own limitations, given his part-time job at his parents’ café.

Mingyu nodded, understanding. "Yeah, makes sense," he said before turning to Wonwoo. "How about you?"

Wonwoo’s response was blunt, his tone laced with disdain. "I hate JDA."

Mingyu froze, taken aback. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill, dude! It’s just N-Jeen. I know you hate JDA—you’ve mentioned it a thousand times. But you still race with their bikes!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in mock disbelief as he gestured dramatically.

Wonwoo chuckled, walking to the other side of the room to tidy up the supplies. "I race with them because I know what their products lack," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I won’t waste my time learning from a company that's lacking."

Mingyu groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. "So, I’m the only one signing up for this internship? Just me? As always! No one cares about poor Mingyu," he whined, flopping onto a nearby stool with exaggerated defeat.

Hansol smiled, shaking his head as he resumed mopping. "You’ll survive, drama king. Think of it as your time to shine."

Mingyu pouted for a moment before perking up. "You’re right! I’ll be the star intern they can’t live without!" He grinned, clearly imagining a heroic montage in his head.

Wonwoo smirked as he glanced at his friends. "Have fun with that, Mingyu. Let us know if you discover anything groundbreaking."

You decided to put everything in the fridge as it became clear Wonwoo wasn’t coming home tonight. You had tried calling and texting him. You even reached out to his college and racing friends, including Seungcheol, but none of them knew his whereabouts.

Settling into the quiet of his house, you decided to make the most of it by binging entertainment shows on his Netflix account. Hours passed, and just as you started to feel drowsy, the sound of the door opening startled you. Wonwoo was finally home.

But something was different. He wasn’t wearing his usual racing suit. Instead, he was dressed in formal attire, his tie loosened, and his suit jacket slung over his arm. His expression was stormy, his brows furrowed, and he looked straight past you as he made his way to his closet.

You stayed silent, sensing his mood. After knowing him for almost 20 years, you had learned that asking him questions when he was upset would only make things worse. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a growing curiosity—and concern—about what had happened.

"Turn off the TV when you leave," Wonwoo said curtly, his voice clipped and final. Without another word, he stepped into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Something had definitely happened.

You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch at some point, because the next thing you knew, sunlight streamed through the windows. Groggily, you checked the clock: 11 a.m. Thankfully, you didn’t have class today.

Where was Wonwoo? Was he still home? You stretched and got up, heading to the kitchen. The food you had prepared last night was untouched, exactly where you’d left it in the fridge. You sighed, noting the little sticky note you’d left him, reminding him to heat it up before eating.

Curious, you made your way to his bedroom and knocked softly on the door. A muffled hum confirmed he was awake. Turning the doorknob, you peeked inside and saw him lying in bed under the covers.

"You didn’t go to campus?" he asked, his voice groggy.

You shook your head as you walked in, heading straight for his bed. "Nope. Scoot over—my back’s killing me from sleeping on the couch."

Wonwoo immediately shifted, making space for you without a word. You climbed into the bed, settling beside him. For a while, the two of you lay in silence, the room filled only with the soft sounds of breathing.

Then, out of nowhere, Wonwoo dropped a bomb. "I met my father last night," he said calmly.

The words jolted you awake. You sat up, staring at him in disbelief. His eyes remained closed, his tone too nonchalant for the weight of what he’d just revealed.

"You what? Why didn’t you tell me?" you asked, your voice tinged with both surprise and frustration.

Wonwoo shrugged lazily, turning his back to you. "Too lazy," he muttered.

You smacked his arm, earning a groan of protest. "You should’ve brought me along! I definitely would’ve punched him in the face."

That made him chuckle, a rare sound given his current mood. "That would’ve been funny," he admitted.

You pouted, watching him. His brief moment of amusement faded quickly, and the weight of whatever had happened during that meeting returned. Now it all made sense—why he’d been so distant and angry last night.

"Wonwoo," you said softly, the concern evident in your voice.

He didn’t respond, but the way his shoulders tensed told you he was listening. Something about the meeting had clearly upset him, and though you knew better than to push, you couldn’t help but worry.

"If you ever feel like talking about it, I’m here," you offered, your tone gentle.

For now, you’d let him take his time, but deep down, you resolved to stick around—because no matter how much he tried to hide it, Wonwoo wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

Jiseok had asked you to accompany him to the races tonight. It was only your second time attending one, and you still had no idea what to do while he raced. That was one of the reasons you always turned Wonwoo down whenever he invited you. Watching the chaotic speed and adrenaline-fueled madness wasn’t your thing—you could barely stand to be there.

Yet here you were, holding tightly to Jiseok as he rode his bike to the arena. The roar of engines filled the air, and the energy was electric as racers stood by their bikes, preparing for the event. Your gaze scanned the crowd, and a familiar face caught your eye.

Seungcheol, one of Wonwoo’s closest friends, waved at you enthusiastically. But his expression quickly shifted to one of surprise when he saw who you were with—Lee Jiseok. You didn’t know much about Jiseok beyond the fact that he’d been trying to get closer to you these past few weeks.

Before you could dwell on Seungcheol’s reaction, you felt a tug on your arm. Looking up, you met Jiseok’s intense gaze.

“I’m racing tonight,” he said, his voice low but confident. “Let’s bet on something.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Alright… What’s the bet?” You’d heard that races often came with bets, though you’d never been involved in one yourself.

Jiseok smirked, his confidence practically radiating off him. “If I win, be my girlfriend.”

It took you a moment to process his words. He wanted to date you? A flush crept up your cheeks, and you found yourself studying his face. He seemed dead serious.

“And if you lose?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He shrugged nonchalantly, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s up to you. But I hope we can still be friends.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Did you even like him? He was charming, sure, but your feelings were still unclear.

After a brief pause, you nodded, deciding to go along with it for now. “Alright. Deal.” You shook his hand, sealing the bet.

As you continued walking, the excitement in the air grew palpable. Your thoughts, however, were distracted when you spotted another familiar figure—Wonwoo. He was leaning against his bike, looking as calm and collected as ever.

Your lips curled into a small smile at the sight of him. Despite the chaos around him, Wonwoo always had this steady presence that put you at ease.

By the end of tonight, it wasn’t just about the race anymore. Whether Jiseok won or lost, you found yourself wondering whose victory you’d truly be rooting for—Jiseok, the confident charmer, or Wonwoo, the friend who had always been there.

Wonwoo was adjusting his helmet when the murmured conversation of two nearby racers caught his attention. He wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but the mention of your name made his ears perk up.

“So Jiseok won? That’s why she’s with him?” one of them said, loud enough for Wonwoo to catch.

The other racer chuckled in agreement. “I guess so. They were talking about her—the prettiest broadcast student. I can’t believe she fell for him.”

“I know, right? She doesn’t even look like the type. I bet she’s a wild one then.”

The first racer snickered. “She slept with him. Of course. That’s why he’s so smug.”

Wonwoo froze, his jaw tightening as their words settled in his mind. Without hesitation, he turned to face them, his piercing glare cutting through their laughter.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice low but menacing.

The two racers immediately looked intimidated, their smug expressions faltering under his stare. One of them stammered, “I-I’m just saying… I heard from Jiseok’s crew. They’ve been betting on her.”

“Betting on her?” Wonwoo’s tone turned ice-cold.

The second racer swallowed hard. “Yeah, uh… whoever sleeps with her first gets the newest JDA bike. It’s just… a stupid bet, man. Jiseok’s been bragging that he’s already won.”

Wonwoo’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he suppressed the urge to lash out. His mind raced, but one thing was clear—he wasn’t going to let this slide.

Without another word, he stormed off to where Seungcheol was sitting, scrolling through the lineup for tonight’s races on his phone.

“Who’s in the lineup today?” Wonwoo asked, his voice sharp.

Seungcheol glanced up, sensing his friend’s tension. “A lot, man. You’re always the last one, though. Why? Thinking of changing it up?”

Wonwoo patted Seungcheol’s shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Tell a guy named Lee Jiseok I want to race him tonight.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shot up. “Jiseok? What’s this about?”

Wonwoo didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the arena ahead. “Just make it happen.”

Seungcheol shrugged, sensing that this wasn’t the time to ask questions. “Alright. I’ll let him know.”

As Seungcheol walked off to relay the message, Wonwoo took a deep breath, his mind replaying the racers’ disgusting words. This wasn’t about the race anymore. It was about protecting you—from Jiseok, and his crew’s vile games.

The engines roared, and the air was electric with tension as racers lined up at the starting line. Wonwoo tightened his grip on the handlebars, his eyes fixed straight ahead, but his mind was anything but focused. The words he overheard earlier echoed relentlessly in his head.

Jiseok's been bragging that he’s already won.

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched as he thought of you.

So you kissed me while you were dating someone else?

The memory of your lips on his played like a cruel taunt. He had thought that kiss meant something—that it was real. But had you been with Jiseok all along? The idea of you lying about being inexperienced, only to give yourself to someone like Jiseok, made his stomach churn.

You were always so shy... was it all an act?

The flag waved, signaling the start, and the racers took off. Wonwoo accelerated, but his focus wavered. Every turn, every gear shift felt slower, heavier.

“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath, trying to shake off the whirlwind of emotions.

But it didn’t help. With every lap, his thoughts consumed him.

Jiseok is a player, a nasty piece of work who uses girls and brags about it. Why would you be with someone like him?

He remembered asking you outright if you were dating Jiseok. You had avoided the question, brushing it off with a nervous laugh. That laugh haunted him now.

Why am I doing this?

Lap after lap, the internal conflict raged. Wonwoo kept telling himself he was racing for your safety, to put Jiseok in his place. But the more he thought about it, the more the hope drained from him.

What’s the point of protecting someone who doesn’t want to be saved?

The finish line was in sight, and Wonwoo pushed the bike harder, trying to catch up, but his distracted mind had already cost him too much time. Jiseok crossed first, throwing his hands in the air in victory.

The crowd erupted, but Wonwoo barely registered it. He pulled off his helmet, his breathing labored—not from exertion, but from the weight in his chest.

And then he saw you.

Jiseok ran straight to you, grinning like a king. Before Wonwoo could process what was happening, Jiseok pulled you into a kiss, right there in front of everyone.

Wonwoo’s stomach dropped. The sight knocked the air out of his lungs.

So it’s true…

He watched as you smiled at Jiseok, your cheeks red, the kind of look he had only dreamed of seeing directed at him.

The crowd blurred, and the noise faded. Wonwoo turned away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had lost—not just the race, but you.

And for the first time in years, he felt completely powerless.

Wonwoo leaned back in his seat on the flight from China to South Korea, staring out the window as the city lights below blurred into streaks of gold. He exhaled deeply, a weight he had carried for years pressing heavier as the plane descended. After nearly six years, he was finally going home.

His mind drifted back to the night it all changed—the night he confronted his father for the first time in years. It had been an uncomfortable meeting, one where his father barely looked at him, keeping his tone clipped and professional.

“You have two options,” his father had said, sitting across from him with a glass of whiskey in hand. “Study business overseas or join the internship at N-Jeen.”

Wonwoo’s stomach had churned. He didn’t want either option. All he wanted was to keep racing, the one thing that gave him freedom, an escape from the heavy shadow of his family name. But his father had made it clear that freedom wasn’t on the table.

“Choose between those two,” his father continued, his gaze piercing, “or stop racing altogether.”

It wasn’t a choice—it was an ultimatum. Wonwoo felt trapped, suffocated by the invisible leash his father had placed on him.

Wonwoo still remembered the moment he let his guard down and told Mingyu the truth about who he was. They had been in the middle of a grueling project late one night when Wonwoo casually mentioned, “My father owns JDA.”

Mingyu had frozen, tools in hand, his jaw dropping. “Wait. What?! You’re… you’re a conglomerate’s son?!”

It took him a while to process. Mingyu had always wondered why Wonwoo had such a strong disdain for JDA, but after hearing how distant and controlling Wonwoo’s father was, everything clicked.

“Man, your dad sounds awful,” Mingyu had said bluntly, his loyalty to his friend overriding any hesitation. Despite Mingyu eventually landing a marketing manager position at N-Jeen—a position Wonwoo applauded him for—his opinion of Wonwoo’s father never softened.

Wonwoo smiled faintly at the memory. Mingyu deserved every bit of success he’d earned. He had worked tirelessly, and when Wonwoo had given him a standing ovation at his promotion, it had been one of the few moments of genuine joy amidst the chaos of his life.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo had chosen a different path, one that took him far from South Korea and deeper into the family business he had always resented. Studying engineering overseas was his way of carving out a space in the empire without fully submitting to his father’s control. For the past three years, he had managed JDA’s branches in China, putting his skills to use while keeping a measured distance from his father’s world.

Now, as the plane touched down, Wonwoo couldn’t shake the mix of dread and anticipation swirling in his chest. South Korea wasn’t just home—it was where everything had started. It was where the scars of his childhood lingered and where unresolved pieces of his life waited.

As Wonwoo stepped into the arrivals hall, a man in a tailored suit approached him, offering a polite bow. "Mr. Jeon, the car is ready to take you home," the man said with practiced precision, gesturing toward a sleek black sedan parked outside.

Wonwoo paused, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a message from Mingyu:

"Hansol and I are on our way to pick you up. Don’t let your father’s people drag you off—we have better plans."

A small smile crept onto his face. Without hesitation, he turned to the driver. “I’ll pass. Tell my father I’ll find my own way.”

The man blinked, momentarily stunned, but nodded curtly. Wonwoo didn’t look back as he walked toward the pickup area, where Mingyu’s car soon pulled up.

The familiar beat-up car, with Hansol’s booming laugh spilling out before the door even opened, was a stark contrast to the polished image of his father’s world. Wonwoo slid into the back seat, greeted by Mingyu’s playful smirk and Hansol’s cheerful wave from the passenger seat.

“Look who’s back from the dead!” Hansol exclaimed, twisting around to face him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo said with a chuckle. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“More like missed having someone else to make fun of,” Mingyu quipped as he pulled the car onto the main road.

They fell into their usual banter, the kind that felt effortless and warm. Mingyu and Hansol weren’t just friends—they were family, the kind he had found later in life. Wonwoo thought about how rare it was to meet people like them as an adult. Before Mingyu and Hansol, there had only been you.

How were you, by the way?

The thought hit him unexpectedly, his gaze drifting out the window. He had caught glimpses of you on TV over the years, presenting news on a Korean broadcasting channel with the same poise and determination he remembered. But beyond the polished facade, he had no idea how you were really doing.

He still regretted leaving without a word six years ago. Not explaining. Not saying goodbye. He wondered if you hated him for that.

His chest tightened as his thoughts turned to your mother. She had always treated him like her own, welcoming him into your home with warmth he rarely felt elsewhere. Mingyu had told him about the car accident that took her life. Wonwoo couldn’t imagine how devastating it must have been for you.

He was ashamed to admit that while everyone else had been there for you, he hadn’t been. He had been thousands of miles away, too wrapped up in his father’s plans and his own resentment to return when you needed him most.

“You okay back there?” Mingyu’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Wonwoo blinked, realizing he had been silent for too long. “Yeah, just... thinking.”

Mingyu glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his expression softening. “Well, stop overthinking. You’re home now. That’s what matters.”

Home.

The word felt heavy. Because for Wonwoo, home wasn’t just a place—it was the people he had left behind. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, part of him hoped that somehow, some way, he could find his way back to you.

You stood in front of Wonwoo, your best friend—or at least, he used to be—that you hadn’t seen in six years. His expression was calm, his handshake professional as though he were meeting a stranger. You mirrored his demeanor, shaking his hand briefly before stepping aside to let your team brief him on the details of the interview.

You knew you were going to interview him today. You’d read the script and his profile yesterday, preparing for this as if he were just another guest. As if you hadn’t spent over 20 years knowing him better than anyone else. But with each passing moment, anger churned inside you. What are you even doing here, Wonwoo?

Wonwoo had just returned from China, now representing N-Jeen, a subsidiary of JDA. Your role in the interview was clear: help him gain recognition among students for a new program designed for engineering majors.

“No personal questions,” the producer reminded you. “Everything should focus on his professional journey and the program.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, his demeanor composed as he took a seat beside you. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore how much he had changed—or how much you hated that he had.

“I’ll go over the list of questions once more,” you said, scanning your notes.

“I already read them on the way here,” he replied, his tone casual but polite.

You blinked at his unexpected thoroughness and nodded, apologizing. “Do you have anything you’d like to add, Mr. Jeon?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at his watch. “Let’s converse for a bit,” he suggested, his voice dropping to the familiar, easy tone you used to know. “How are you, Y/N?”

The question was kind, friendly—even gentle—but it threw you off balance. You could hear Mingyu’s voice in your head, telling you how much Wonwoo had grown as a person. Yet, it didn’t make his sudden reappearance in your life any easier to accept.

“I’m great,” you replied, your voice steady but clipped. “Thank you for asking. I see you’re doing well, Mr. Jeon.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, the sound painfully familiar. “Mr. Jeon,” he repeated, amused. “It’s the first time I’ve heard you call me that. You used to hate that name…” His reference to your shared disdain for his father stung more than you wanted to admit.

You sighed deeply, reaching for your water as the producer motioned that the interview was about to begin. Thank God. Bowing to the crew, you quickly excused yourself and left the set the moment the interview wrapped up.

Wonwoo stayed behind, chatting amiably with everyone like the polished professional he had become. You, on the other hand, grabbed your bag and practically bolted from the room.

The sound of footsteps followed you to the elevator, and you knew without looking that it was him. When the elevator doors slid open, you stepped inside, hoping the ride down would be short and silent.

“Are you free after this?” Wonwoo asked suddenly, his voice carrying the warmth of the boy you once knew. “Let’s grab some lunch.”

You stared ahead, your grip tightening on your bag. He still looked at you as though nothing had changed, as though the six years of silence between you hadn’t happened.

“I have things to do,” you replied curtly.

The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival at the lobby. You stepped out quickly, eager to escape, but Wonwoo’s long strides easily caught up to you. His hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks.

“At least give me your number,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before snatching the phone and typing in a number. Handing it back without another word, you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sliding into your car, you let out a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Your phone buzzed in your bag, breaking your brief moment of reprieve. It was your boss.

“What now?” you muttered before answering, your voice polite despite your irritation.

“What’s your agenda tonight?” your boss asked without preamble. “Join me for dinner with the chief of SKB.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as frustration bubbled to the surface. Since when had you accepted being treated like this? But you knew the answer. It was the same reason you had agreed to this interview in the first place. Because you always put duty first, even at the expense of your own peace.

“Understood,” you replied quietly, ending the call.

Staring out of the windshield, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep this up. And if you’d ever find the courage to tell Wonwoo exactly how much he had hurt you by leaving.

It was unexpected. Wonwoo had just stepped out of the restroom when he caught a glimpse of you through the slightly open door of the private dining room beside his. He froze for a moment, certain it was you—your attire was the same as it had been this morning, leaving no doubt in his mind.

Curiosity pulled him in. As he returned to his own dinner with a board member, his thoughts lingered on the sight of you sitting among what appeared to be senior executives. So, this is what your life looks like now? He found himself wondering. Entertaining superiors... Is this normal for a presenter?

When his meeting ended, Wonwoo stepped out and waited near the entrance of your room, watching as you graciously bid farewell to the older men you had been dining with. You looked tired, but your professionalism didn’t falter until the last of them left. As you turned to head out, his sudden presence caught you off guard.

“Wonwoo?” you said, surprise flickering across your face.

He gave you a small smile and gestured to the room behind you. “I was in the one next door. I saw you.”

“Oh…” You hesitated before nodding. “It’s part of the job.”

“Wanna grab a drink together?” Wonwoo asked, his voice soft but hopeful.

You glanced at your watch, shaking your head. “I have a morning show tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod. A small, awkward silence fell between you before he spoke again. “You did great, by the way. I’ve seen you on TV a few times.”

“In China?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, sometimes.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words. Finally, Wonwoo broke it, his voice quieter than before. “I’m sorry… about your mom.”

Your expression faltered for a split second, but you recovered quickly.

“I wish I’d been there for you,” he continued, the regret in his tone unmistakable.

You didn’t respond immediately, your face unreadable. It was only after a moment that you quietly said, “Thanks,” before shifting your weight, glancing at the time again. “But I have to go.”

You bowed slightly before walking away, your steps hurried, as though putting distance between you and him was your priority. Wonwoo stood rooted in place, watching as you got into your car and drove off.

His chest felt tight as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. 10 PM. Too early to call it a night, especially with the emotions swirling in his chest.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number. “Hansol,” he said when the call connected. “You free?”

Because tonight, more than ever, he needed a drink—and perhaps someone to help him figure out the mess of feelings he didn’t know how to untangle.

Hansol slammed his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the quiet cafe. He was definitely more drunk than Wonwoo at this point, his frustration spilling over with every word. They were seated in the dimly lit interior of Hansol’s closed café and bakery, Vernon’s. The place was a stark contrast to its usual bustling charm, now filled with an air of tension between old friends.

Wonwoo glanced around, his mind drifting briefly to the thought of how much Hansol had changed. Once the rebellious kid who scoffed at the idea of business studies, Hansol had chosen engineering instead. Yet here he was now, managing a family-owned café—a surprising turn of events. Wonwoo recalled Mingyu mentioning it had taken Hansol three months just to start his first day of part-time work. But people did change, didn’t they?

“You left, man!” Hansol exclaimed, his voice louder than necessary in the quiet space. His hands waved animatedly as he leaned across the table. “What the hell did you expect? You didn’t even send a text when her mom died. You just… poofed!” He mimicked an explosion with his hands, his indignation almost comical if not for the weight of his words.

Wonwoo grimaced, holding the can of beer in his hand like it was his lifeline.

“I met Y/N,” Wonwoo murmured earlier.

Hansol snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, and I bet she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you.” He took another sip of his beer before pointing at Wonwoo. “But here’s the real question, Wonwoo: why is she mad at you? What did you do to make her this angry?”

Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table, his fingers tightening around the cold can.

“If nothing happened, she wouldn’t be this mad,” Hansol continued, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “And let’s face it—you wouldn’t be this much of an asshole, leaving her without a single word, text, or call.”

Hansol wasn’t wrong, and that was what made it sting. Wonwoo knew there was something more, something unspoken, that had driven you both to this point. And he hated that Hansol could see through him so easily.

Two weeks after that fateful night when Jiseok beat him in a race, Wonwoo disappeared from the arena. It wasn’t like him to skip races, especially after being undefeated for years. Rumors spread like wildfire—was he too embarrassed to show his face? Beaten by someone with only two years of experience?

But the real reason wasn’t embarrassment. It was you.

Wonwoo hadn’t wanted to see Jiseok, and by extension, he hadn’t wanted to see you. That night, when he saw you and Jiseok kissing after the race, something inside him shattered. He couldn’t bring himself to face either of you. Instead, he texted Seungcheol.

“Can you keep an eye on Y/N for me?”

Seungcheol had questioned him, but Wonwoo offered no further explanation.

That same week, Jisoo approached him to discuss his career. “So, what’s next? Another championship?”

For the first time, Wonwoo hesitated. “I think I’m done with racing, hyung.”

Jisoo’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve been racing for almost ten years. You’re at the top of your game.”

But Wonwoo had already made up his mind. He’d had enough. Between the weight of seeing you with someone else and his father’s relentless pressure to “grow up,” he decided it was time to walk away. Following his father’s advice, he chose to pursue business—while still holding on to his passion for automotive engineering.

Under Jisoo’s guidance, Wonwoo applied for a program in China that combined engineering and business studies. What was supposed to be a two-week observation trip and a visit to JDA turned into something more.

He stayed.

Wonwoo let everyone know he was leaving—everyone except you. After the argument you’d had before he left, he assumed you wouldn’t care. But your mother... he couldn’t bring himself to leave without telling her. He called her, explaining his plans and promising to visit soon.

That promise, like so many others, remained unfulfilled.

Months later, on the very day of his final test, Wonwoo received the news: your mother had passed away in a car accident.

The guilt was suffocating. He’d failed you.

He’d called Mingyu immediately. “Can you watch Y/N for me? I can’t leave the test.”

Mingyu hadn’t hidden his anger. “You should be here, not me.”

Wonwoo sighed, his grip tightening on the phone. “I know. Just... please."

Now, years later, Hansol’s words echoed in his mind, each one a painful reminder of his mistakes. Wonwoo stared at the beer can in his hand, his reflection faintly visible on its surface.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered, barely audible.

Hansol raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Of course I’m right. Now, the real question is: what are you going to do about it?”

You stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. Midnight was minutes away, and with it, your 32nd birthday. The thought filled you with a strange hollowness. Taking a sip of the wine in your hand, you let its warmth spread through you, but it did little to soothe the ache.

The buzz of your phone jolted you from your thoughts. The screen lit up with a name you recognized instantly—Mr. Park, the Chief of Broadcasting at EBS. You exhaled deeply, setting your glass down before answering.

"Good evening, Mr. Park," you greeted with a carefully polished tone, a professional smile forming on your lips despite the late hour.

"Good evening, darling. What are you up to?" His voice was warm, rich with the kind of charisma that made him magnetic in meetings.

You forced a small laugh, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’ve got a morning show tomorrow, so I came home early tonight."

His laughter echoed on the other end, deep and indulgent. "Always the hard worker," he teased lightly. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the two of you exchanging pleasantries and updates until he decided to call it a night.

"Rest well, darling. I’ll send you a little something to thank you for listening to my day."

You hung up and sank back into the couch, the smile vanishing from your face as the weight of his words lingered. You rubbed your temples, feeling the heaviness settle in your chest.

What was all of this for? The spacious apartment, the expensive wine, the silk robe that felt like a second skin—none of it brought you happiness.

Six years had passed since your mother’s death, and you’d worked tirelessly to claw your way to the top. You had fought for everything, even compromising pieces of yourself you once held sacred. But now, as you sat in the quiet of your curated life, you couldn’t help but wonder: What had all this hard work been for?

You had powerful men offering you money for a few minutes of conversation. You entertained your superiors, earning their favor and securing promotions. But at what cost? When had you become this person?

Each passing day seemed to erode the parts of you that once sparkled. The vibrant, hopeful version of yourself was long gone, replaced by someone you barely recognized. A stranger. The weight of that realization was suffocating, the feeling of being submerged in endless blue—a deep, inescapable sadness that had consumed you entirely.

As you sat there lost in thought, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text message.

Happy birthday.

—Wonwoo

Your heart stopped for a moment. Wonwoo.

After a month of silence, he had finally reached out.

You had told yourself not to expect anything from him, but deep down, you had waited. You had hoped. And yet, his simple message brought more pain than comfort. Six years ago, he had disappeared without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

You sighed and set your phone down, determined not to let the message haunt you. But as the hours dragged on, exhaustion eventually overtook you, and you drifted into an uneasy sleep.

You woke with a start, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The image was still vivid in your mind—a shadowy figure looming over you, their weight pressing you down. It felt so real that your skin prickled, and your heart raced as if you had just escaped something dangerous.

Your hands fumbled for the lamp, flooding the room with light. You scanned every corner, your eyes darting to the shadows, but there was no one there. Just your empty room.

Another nightmare.

Your hands shook as you reached for the pills on your nightstand, swallowing one without hesitation. These dreams had been haunting you for years, each one more vivid and terrifying than the last. Sometimes it was a man chasing you, other times a car accident, or the suffocating sensation of being trapped. They felt so real, like memories etched into your subconscious, leaving you trembling long after you woke.

When was the last time you slept peacefully, without pills to dull the edges of your fear? You couldn’t remember.

You wrapped up your morning show with a warm smile, thanking the crew and bowing deeply to the staff before heading backstage to gather your belongings. The long hours and early mornings had become second nature, but today felt slightly different, like something was lingering in the air.

As you walked down the hallway toward your office, your name was called. You turned to see your superior waving you over. "Y/N, come to my office, please."

Without hesitation, you changed direction, your heels clicking against the tiled floor as you made your way to the 6th floor. As you stepped into his office, your eyes immediately landed on a familiar figure sitting comfortably in a sleek suit—Wonwoo.

Beside him sat one of his staff, equally polished and professional. Your superior greeted you warmly, gesturing toward the two men.

"Y/n, this is Mr. Jeon Wonwoo," he said, though you both already knew each other. "He wanted to personally thank you for the interview you conducted. Thanks to your efforts, the student selection process has run smoothly."

Wonwoo's lips curved into a polite smile, and you mirrored it with a carefully practiced business smile of your own.

Your superior, Mr Won, continued, oblivious to the tension. "The program will be broadcast nationally, and Mr. Jeon has specifically requested you to be the presenter."

"Me?" You raised your brows in surprise, masking the irritation bubbling beneath your surface. Of course, Wonwoo would pull something like this—using his influence to drag you into his orbit, all under the guise of professionalism.

You forced a polite response, your tone steady and composed. "If that's your decision, Mr. Won, I’ll follow your instructions. You know what’s best for the me."

Once the meeting concluded, you exited the office, determined to shake off the encounter. But as you walked down the hallway, Wonwoo caught up to you, his voice low and teasing.

"Impressive communication skills," he remarked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You stopped abruptly, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. His staff, preoccupied with a phone call, trailed behind before you motioned for him to go ahead. Wonwoo nodded subtly, dismissing his staff to give you two privacy.

"You’ve really changed, haven’t you?" he said, his tone laced with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. "Who would’ve thought the rebel Ji Y/N would be tamed by work? Following orders, smiling for the cameras—so unlike the opinionated girl I knew."

You froze mid-step, his words hitting a nerve. Slowly, you turned back to him, your voice cool but firm. "What do you mean by that?"

Wonwoo raised his hands slightly, feigning innocence. "I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just… the Y/N I remember wouldn’t have played the corporate game so well. She had a mind of her own."

You glared at him, your patience wearing thin. What did he know about you now? Six years had passed since he left, and he thought he could waltz back into your life with snide comments about who you had become?

"And what about you?" you shot back. "Have you learned this condescending attitude from running family businesses or by charming people at dinner meetings?"

His smirk faltered, but you didn’t care. This wasn’t the time for his petty observations or thinly veiled jabs.

"I do what I need to do to survive," you said, your voice steady but heavy with meaning. "You can think whatever you want, but you don’t have the right to judge me."

You turned to leave, the conversation clearly over in your mind. But just as you walked away, you stopped abruptly and looked back over your shoulder.

"I’ve worked harder than anyone these past six years because I didn’t have the luxury of a family supporting me. I didn’t have someone handing me opportunities or funding my dreams. Everything I have, I earned. So don’t act like you know me, Wonwoo. You don’t."

Back in high school, you and Wonwoo often spent time talking about your dreams, painting pictures of futures that felt so distant yet so vivid in your minds.

"I want to be a successful racer," Wonwoo had declared one afternoon, the confidence in his voice unwavering.

You grinned, leaning back on your elbows. "And I want to be like my mom. You know, get married to someone nice, have a family, maybe work part-time at a cute shop or something. It sounds simple, but it feels fun."

Wonwoo snorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "With your attitude and behavior? Good luck with that."

Your eyes widened as you playfully swung your hand at him, but he dodged, laughing as he hopped out of reach.

"I'm serious, though," you said, letting your hand drop. Then, after a pause, you asked quietly, "Do you still hate your dad a lot, Wonwoo?"

He shrugged, the laughter fading as he glanced at the sky. "I don’t even know what I feel about him anymore. He’s been out of sight for so long that… he’s kind of out of mind."

You nodded thoughtfully. "That’s probably for the best, right? It’s less tiring that way. You don’t have to waste energy hating him." Then, with a teasing grin, you added, "But if you ever need someone to hate him more on your behalf, call me, okay?"

Wonwoo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You’re such a weirdo."

"Sometimes I hate my mom, though," you admitted, your voice softening. "Every time she dotes on you like you’re her real son and I’m just… there. But I don’t hate her all the time. I guess that’s just how emotions work, right? They come and go, like waves."

He laughed at that, nudging you with his shoulder. "Of course, I’m her favorite. Who wouldn’t love me?"

"Shut up!" you shot back, rolling your eyes. "If I hadn’t been so nice to you when we were kids, you and your Pokémon bag would’ve been stranded with nowhere to go. You better thank me for being such a kind-hearted kid back then."

Wonwoo sat at the dining table with Jisoo and his father, the atmosphere heavy with an unspoken irony. At the end of the day, it was just the three of them—Wonwoo and Jisoo, the two sons his father had once abandoned, now seated by his side.

The clinking of cutlery was the only sound for a moment until his father broke the silence. "How’s the production plan for N-Jeen coming along? I heard you’ve decreased the credit allocation." Even outside office hours, his father’s mind never strayed far from work.

Wonwoo leaned back slightly, meeting his father’s gaze. "The reduced allocation is intentional. Most of our budget is spent compensating for inefficiencies caused by a lack of skilled personnel. I’m planning to recruit professionals—people who genuinely know what they’re doing."

Jisoo nodded in agreement, his voice calm but encouraging. "That sounds like a solid plan. Do you have specific candidates in mind?"

"I’ve already extended offers to a few people I know who have proven expertise in their respective fields," Wonwoo replied, his tone confident but measured. "I’ve also been looking into recruiting experienced racers. They’ve used our products firsthand and understand our shortcomings better than anyone else."

His father paused mid-bite, considering the proposal. "It’s good that you’re involving people who understand the industry from the ground up. Make sure the contracts are watertight. We can’t afford any liabilities."

Wonwoo’s lips quirked slightly. Even a compliment from his father was veiled with caution. "Of course, I’ve consulted with the legal team about that already."

Jisoo interjected, his voice lighter, diffusing some of the tension. "It’s interesting how you’re integrating practical experience into production strategies. Maybe we’ll finally see N-Jeen at its full potential."

Wonwoo glanced at Jisoo, appreciating the support. Despite everything, Jisoo had always been the steady bridge between him and his father. It felt strange—almost bittersweet—sitting here now, discussing plans for a company that had been both a family legacy and a source of familial discord.

His father set his fork down and studied Wonwoo for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You’ve come a long way from being the reckless kid who only cared about racing."

Wonwoo didn’t flinch, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. "I'm not the only one who was reckless."

In the quiet ambiance of the restaurant, Wonwoo sat across from Seungcheol, who casually sipped his coffee. As their lunch ended, Wonwoo handed over a proposal, his tone calm but professional.

“This is for the new product launch next year,” Wonwoo explained. “I’d like you to join the production team as part of the assessment division. With your expertise, you’d oversee racer recruitment and have them test our samples.”

Seungcheol glanced at the document and nodded. “Interesting. I’ll need some time to think it over. Is the end of the week okay?”

“Perfect,” Wonwoo replied.

The conversation shifted, and Wonwoo leaned forward slightly. “Do you have any recommendations for racers? Someone with the experience we’re looking for?”

Seungcheol thought for a moment, then nodded. “There are a few people I could suggest. It’s hard to find real talent these days, but I’ll introduce you to some promising names. Drop by when you have time.”

“Sounds good,” Wonwoo said with a faint smile. “By the way, what about Lee Jiseok? He used to be quite skilled.”

At the mention of Jiseok, Seungcheol froze, his brows furrowing. He placed his coffee down carefully, his expression growing serious. “Lee Jiseok?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said, sensing the shift in Seungcheol’s demeanor. “What about him?”

Seungcheol let out a deep breath, leaning closer. “You don’t know, do you? He was jailed a few years ago.”

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed. “Jailed? For what?”

“For a sex crime,” Seungcheol said bluntly, his tone laced with unease.

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in shock. “What? That doesn’t make sense. Jiseok was dating Y/n at the time.”

Seungcheol shook his head, his voice heavy with seriousness. “No, Wonwoo. They weren’t dating. Jiseok made a bet with his crew to sleep with her. When she refused, he forced himself on her.”

Wonwoo’s heart sank, and his fists tightened on the table. “Y/n?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirmed grimly. “It happened not long after her mother passed away. She was vulnerable, and he took advantage of that. I assumed you knew. You and Y/n were close. I can’t believe no one told you.”

Wonwoo sat back, stunned. He hadn’t heard from you in years, and now this revelation was unraveling everything he thought he knew.

“No one told me,” Wonwoo said, his voice trembling with anger and regret.

Seungcheol studied him carefully, his expression softening slightly. “I thought you knew. That’s why I was surprised when you brought up his name.”

Wonwoo stared at the table, a storm of emotions raging within him—anger at Jiseok, guilt for not being there for you and regret for how distant you had become.

“Shit…” he muttered, the word slipping out as the weight of the truth bore down on him. You, his once-close friend, had endured unimaginable pain, and he hadn't been there to support you.

Wonwoo loosened his tie as he sank into the passenger seat of his car, his mind racing. His secretary, seated behind the wheel, glanced at him with concern.

“Sir, are you alright?” the secretary ventured, but Wonwoo waved him off, his jaw clenched.

The ride back to the company felt agonizingly slow. The moment the car stopped in front of the building, Wonwoo threw the door open and strode in with determined steps. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the tumult of emotions threatening to spill over.

He stormed into Mingyu’s office without knocking, startling his friend, who was seated behind his desk.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Mingyu asked, his eyes widening at Wonwoo’s flushed face and labored breathing. “Bro, are you okay? You look... upset.”

Wonwoo ignored the question and closed the door firmly behind him. He turned to Mingyu, his voice low but sharp. “Tell me the truth. Was Y/n a victim of sexual violence?”

Mingyu froze, his mouth opening as though to deny it. But he hesitated, his expression faltering. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

“Wonwoo, listen—”

“Answer me!” Wonwoo bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. His hand clenched into a fist, trembling at his side.

Mingyu swallowed hard, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes... it’s true. But let me explain—”

“Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?” Wonwoo shouted, his voice cracking with anguish. In a fit of frustration, he kicked the sofa beside him, sending a loud thud through the room. He turned away from Mingyu, his back heaving as he tried to control the whirlwind of anger and betrayal consuming him.

“Wonwoo, we didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Mingyu began, his tone pleading. “It wasn’t our decision to hide it from you. You didn’t want you to know. She didn’t want anyone to know.”

Wonwoo spun around, his eyes blazing. “I was her friend! I should’ve been there for her. You all knew, and I was left in the dark like some outsider.”

Mingyu stood, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “And what would you have done, huh? You were in China, handling your own life. She didn’t want to drag you into her pain!”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!” Wonwoo roared, slamming his fist against the wall. His chest heaved as he struggled to process it all—the betrayal he felt, the pain You must have endured, and the guilt clawing at him for not being there.

Mingyu softened, his voice quieter now. “Wonwoo... she didn’t want you to carry this burden. But if you’re this upset, imagine how she felt, going through it alone.”

The words hit Wonwoo like a punch to the gut. He sank onto the sofa he had kicked moments earlier, his head in his hands.

“She didn’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, she didn’t,” Mingyu agreed, sitting across from him. “But she survived. She’s still here, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. “I need to see her.”

Mingyu gave a small nod. “Then do it. But don’t come at her with guilt or anger. Just... be her friend.”

Wonwoo clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He would find you. And this time, he wouldn’t fail you.

Wonwoo drove his own car to your broadcasting company, the hum of the engine a constant reminder of the tension that had been building between the two of you. You were in the middle of your last schedule when he arrived, but as soon as he caught sight of you, he immediately rose from the sofa, his eyes searching yours.

You were caught off guard by his sudden appearance. For a moment, you froze, unsure of how to react. But you quickly regained your composure, as you always did. The years of learning to keep your emotions hidden were not wasted.

"Follow me," Wonwoo said, his tone firm but pleading. You hesitated, instinctively preparing to decline.

"I'm busy," you replied, though the words felt hollow in your mouth.

He didn’t give up. "I know it’s your last schedule. Come with me."

His grip on your arm tightened just enough to remind you that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. The heat of his hand on your skin made it hard to pull away. Reluctantly, you gathered your things and followed him.

As he drove, you tried to break the silence. "Where are we going?"

But he said nothing, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The world outside the window seemed to blur as your thoughts spiraled. You knew he wasn’t the type to drag you around without a reason. Something was clearly bothering him, but you couldn’t make sense of it.

Eventually, the car slowed, and you recognized the familiar stretch of road. The sound of the waves in the distance grew louder.

You were at the beach.

A sense of unease filled you as memories flooded back. This was the same beach where he had brought you years ago, after your father's funeral, when you felt like your world had crumbled around you. You could feel the weight of time, the shifting of your past and present, all converging in this one place.

The car came to a stop, and he stepped out, his movements purposeful, as though he already knew what he needed to do. You sat frozen for a moment before instinct kicked in. You quickly took off your heels and followed him, your steps leaving imprints in the sand.

"Wonwoo!" you called, your voice rising above the sound of the crashing waves. "What’s going on? What are you doing?"

But he didn’t answer, walking farther away, his back turned to you. You couldn’t make sense of it. Why was he acting like this? Why now, after all this time?

You quickened your pace, calling his name again. "Jeon Wonwoo, what’s wrong with you?"

As you reached him, you tried to grab his arm, desperate to get his attention, to force him to explain himself. But before you could, he suddenly turned to face you. His expression was soft but strained, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you into his embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, his voice breaking the silence between you like a cracked dam.

The words were simple, but they carried so much weight. You stood still for a moment, the shock of the gesture leaving you breathless. His arms felt like a refuge, but you couldn’t shake the confusion swirling in your mind.

You stiffened in his arms, the warmth of his embrace both comforting and overwhelming. For a moment, you simply stood there, unsure how to react, your body frozen in his grasp. The familiar scent of him—the cologne you remembered from years ago, the scent that somehow always felt like home—filled your senses. But there was also something else: regret, a deep, aching remorse in the way he held you.

"I'm sorry..." Wonwoo repeated, his voice softer now, as though the weight of his apology had finally found its place in his heart.

You both stood there in the silence, the crashing waves behind you and the setting sun painting the sky with colors of hope.

You saw Wonwoo running through the school corridors toward you during lunch break. You were taken aback when he suddenly pulled you into an embrace, his grip tight on your shoulders, his breath uneven, and his eyes brimming with tears.

"Promise me you'll remain calm," he whispered through his breathless words, his hands trembling as they held you tighter. You were stunned, your heart racing as you looked up at him, confusion flooding your mind. What was happening?

"Father..." His voice cracked, and his gaze flickered with a mix of fear and anguish.

"He had a heart attack," he continued, his voice strained, "and now he's being rushed to the hospital."

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and despite your shock, you immediately nodded, swallowing your panic. You couldn't let yourself crumble in the school cafeteria.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs as Wonwoo took your hand and led you into a run. His steps were hurried, his determination pulling you along with him as he rushed toward the parking lot. The sound of your shoes pounding against the floor seemed to mirror the racing of your thoughts.

In a blur of motion, you both arrived at his bike, and without wasting a second, he revved the engine and sped toward the hospital.

But it was too late. By the time you arrived, the hospital doors felt like an insurmountable distance between you and the unbearable reality. The news hit like a thunderclap. Both you and Wonwoo had lost your fathers that day.

Wonwoo, in the midst of his own grief, stepped into a role you never thought you’d need him to. He became your rock, your father in ways you never imagined. He stayed by your side through the funeral, comforting you and your mother while silently bearing his own pain. He served everyone, trying to keep a stoic face, but you saw the cracks, the weight of the loss bearing down on him. He had seen your father as his own, a mentor, a second father.

And just like him, you buried your grief deep inside, unable to break down in front of your mother. You had lost your father, but she had lost everything. You couldn't bear to add more sorrow to her heart.

Wonwoo, ever the steadfast presence in your life, took you away from the heavy emotions of the funeral. He brought you to a beach near Incheon, one that your father had taken both of you to when you were just six years old. It was the first time either of you had ever seen the sea, a small, secret escape when your parents had fought. You hadn’t been there in years, but the memories flooded back instantly—the sound of the waves, the salty air, and the way your father had held your hand, guiding you along the shore. It was a place you hadn’t even realized you missed.

Standing behind Wonwoo as he faced the sea, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, you felt the weight of everything—your father's absence, your mother’s pain, and your own silent grief.

"Just cry. Mom isn’t here," Wonwoo said softly, his voice low and soothing, his broad shoulders unmoving as he looked toward the horizon.

The permission to break, to let go, was what you needed. Your tears came suddenly, unbidden, falling down your cheeks like a river, each one a memory, a piece of the pain you had held back. You sobbed quietly at first, but soon the floodgates opened. The grief you had kept hidden for so long poured out, carried away by the wind and the sea.

As your sobs became harder, more uncontrollable, you leaned your head against Wonwoo's back. His presence, so solid and unshakable, gave you the comfort you desperately needed. You felt his hand on your shoulder, a silent support, as you cried for everything you had lost—and for everything you were still holding on to.

You woke up to the sound of your own sobs, the remnants of tears still streaking down your cheeks. Blinking, you wiped your face with the back of your hand as you sat up on the edge of your bed. The room was dim, and the weight of the night pressed heavily around you. You hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep—everything felt hazy, as if the moments between waking and dreaming blurred into one.

Wonwoo's words from earlier that afternoon echoed in your mind. "I'm sorry for leaving you..."

The words felt like a haunting whisper, lingering long after he had said them. Despite the years that had passed without any communication between you two, despite the distance that time and silence had created, his apology still had the power to stir something deep within you. The ache that you had buried for so long resurfaced, raw and tender, as if it had never left.

You let out a soft sigh, running a hand through your hair. After all these years, it was strange how much of an effect he still had on you. Even after everything, even after all the distance, he still found a way to worm his way into your heart.

"I like you," you confessed to Wonwoo, just weeks before he disappeared without a trace.

The memory of that night felt sharp—too sharp. You could still remember the heat of the argument, the first time you had seen Wonwoo lose control, shouting at you after days of silence. Whatever sparked the fight, you couldn’t recall. But you did know one thing for sure: he was jealous.

Jealous of Lee Jiseok, who had won the race that day.

At first, you had thought it was childish—until you realized that the jealousy ran deeper. It wasn’t just the race that had sparked his anger. It was the kiss. Jiseok had kissed you in front of everyone, and that’s what really set him off.

The argument escalated, and before you could even process it, you found yourself grabbing his collar, pulling him toward you, and kissing him. For a moment, he froze, but then his lips moved against yours, answering you in the only way he knew how. He pushed you back against the wall of his apartment, lifting you so that your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

"You kissed Jiseok, and now you’re kissing me?" His voice was low, almost dangerous, but there was something else behind it—desire, frustration, longing.

The kiss deepened, and before long, you found yourselves shedding clothes, your breaths coming in quick, heated gasps. But in the midst of it, you stopped.

"I like you, Wonwoo," you said, your voice trembling but steady.

He paused, his lips lingering against yours, searching your eyes. "Yeah?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

"I like you," you repeated, your heart racing. The truth had finally spilled from you, the words you had been holding in for months, or maybe years.

For a moment, you both just stared at each other. And then, without speaking, he closed the distance between you again, pulling you back into the storm of kisses and touches.

But in the middle of it all, as you looked into his eyes with burning desire, your thoughts spoke louder than anything else. "Fuck me," you thought.

Wonwoo pulled back suddenly, his expression unreadable. He grabbed your shirt, hastily putting it back on you, his movements sharp and cold. Before you could even understand what was happening, he was pushing you out of the door. The finality of it hit you hard as he slammed the door in your face without a word.

That night, you waited. But there were no apologies, no explanations, nothing. He didn’t show up the next day—or the day after that. Weeks passed, then months. You started to wonder if something had happened to him. If he had vanished entirely from your life.

Then Jisoo informed you—he had gone to his father's house.

Three months later, you discovered the truth. Everyone knew he had gone abroad, except for you.

The silence, the absence, it stung more than you could have ever imagined. And now, here you were—left with only the memories of a night that had changed everything, wondering if he had ever felt the same.

"What?!" Both Mingyu and Hansol shot up from their seats in surprise as Wonwoo casually dropped the bombshell.

He had invited Mingyu and Hansol over for a warm housewarming gathering—he had just moved into a new apartment. It was spacious, well-lit, and definitely something Wonwoo could afford with all his success. The minimalist decor, the clean lines, the neutral tones—it was a perfect reflection of Jeon Wonwoo himself, according to Hansol’s personal opinion.

Mingyu and Hansol had brought a variety of food and drinks: fried chicken, spicy tteokbokki, beer, soju, and even a bottle of expensive whiskey Mingyu had been saving for a moment like this.

"Should we invite Y/N? She's next door," Wonwoo said, causing Mingyu and Hansol to freeze mid-bite. The words hung in the air like a shockwave.

"You moved next door to her?!" Hansol blurted out, disbelief written all over his face.

"You're crazy, man!" Mingyu groaned, slapping his palm to his face in frustration.

Wonwoo shrugged nonchalantly, refilling his drink with ice from the fridge before taking a seat beside them. "You weren't this surprised when I told you I lived with her until I was 20."

Hansol, still processing the information, shook his head in disbelief. "But you saw her as a sister. What about now, dude?"

Wonwoo nodded, his expression calm, his eyes steady as he sipped his beer. "She's still a sister."

Mingyu snorted, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Sister my ass."

Wonwoo shot Mingyu a knowing glance, his gaze sharp. He knew Mingyu was onto something, but it seemed Hansol, the one who usually got tipsy first, was completely oblivious to the crucial piece of the puzzle—something he had been wondering about for a while now.

The tension hung in the air, and Hansol, now furrowing his brow, leaned back in his chair. He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but whatever it was, it felt like there was more to this story than they were letting on.

"You two are something else," Hansol muttered, still trying to wrap his head around it all. "I thought I knew everything."

The weight of those words lingered in the room, and for a brief moment, all three of them were lost in their own thoughts.

A day before his flight to China for "observation," they had drunk heavily. Hansol passed out first on the couch, leaving Wonwoo, who had definitely overdone it with the soju, still awake. Mingyu, ever the drinker, kept refilling his glass as if there were no alcohol limit for him.

"I kissed Y/N," Wonwoo mumbled, his voice slurred.

Mingyu froze mid-motion, his hand half-raised with the soju glass still hovering in the air. "What?" he asked, disbelief in his tone.

"I kissed Y/N. Twice," Wonwoo continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "We made out. We almost... We almost... I don’t know! I messed up everything!"

Frustration laced Wonwoo’s voice as he threw the squid snack in his hand across the room. Mingyu blinked, processing the words before his lips curved into a smirk.

"You what?" Mingyu laughed in disbelief. "You made out with Y/N? Almost...?" His voice trailed off, then he put his glass down and fully turned to face Wonwoo, his interest piqued. "But you told me she was like a sister to you?"

Wonwoo sighed deeply, slumping back into the chair, clearly lost in his own confusion. Mingyu, on the other hand, was looking at him like a curious child—amused and expecting to hear it all.

Mingyu had never bought into the idea that Y/N was just a sister to Wonwoo. Hansol? He believed whatever he heard, but Mingyu always knew there was something more beneath the surface.

"She was," Wonwoo muttered, his voice barely audible. Mingyu suppressed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"But then—" Wonwoo’s words grew heavier, full of bitterness. "She slept with Jiseok... They kissed that night I lost the race... Fuck, I don’t care about her anymore."

Wonwoo grabbed Mingyu’s glass and downed it in one swift motion, the burn of the alcohol momentarily distracting him from the tangled mess of emotions inside him.

Mingyu’s face fell, no longer amused. The atmosphere shifted, and for the first time that night, the weight of the situation truly sank in. He watched as Wonwoo’s facade of indifference faltered, the frustration and hurt clear in his eyes. Mingyu knew then that this was more than just a drunken confession—it was a broken heart, disguised by anger and too much soju.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Wonwoo and Mingyu struggling to support a completely drunken Hansol as you stepped out of your apartment door. The three of them looked like a chaotic trio, Hansol barely conscious, his head lolling from side to side, while Wonwoo and Mingyu worked together to keep him upright. They must have been drinking together.

Mingyu, ever friendly and cheerful, greeted you with a grin as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Hey, Y/N,” he said casually, as though hauling around a passed-out Hansol was just another day for him. Wonwoo, on the other hand, gave you a nod, his expression calm but tinged with slight annoyance as Hansol slumped more heavily against him.

Your finger instinctively pressed the elevator button, and you stepped aside, allowing the three of them to enter first. Hansol let out a groggy mumble, which made Mingyu chuckle as they maneuvered him inside. Once they were settled, you followed, glancing at Hansol with concern.

“Is he always like this?” you asked, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of worry.

Mingyu nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “Yeah, he’s kind of a lightweight compared to us. This happens a lot, don’t worry. He’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused but still skeptical, as you watched Hansol mumble something incoherent before his head drooped onto Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo sighed, adjusting his grip to keep him from sliding to the floor. Despite his slightly irritated demeanor, you could tell Wonwoo was used to this.

When the elevator doors opened, you followed them outside to the street, where they carefully loaded Hansol into a waiting cab. Mingyu climbed in after him, ensuring he was seated properly. Before the door closed, Mingyu leaned out and waved at you and Wonwoo.

“Goodnight, Y/N! Take care of this grumpy guy,” he teased, jerking a thumb in Wonwoo’s direction.

You chuckled softly, waving back. “Goodnight, Mingyu. Drive safe.”

As the cab pulled away, you turned to Wonwoo, who stood beside you with his hands stuffed into his pockets, watching the car disappear into the night. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Wonwoo let out a sigh before turning to you, his gaze steady. “Where are you going this late?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Where were you going? Nowhere, really. You had stepped out because of all the commotion outside your door, curiosity getting the better of you. But you couldn’t exactly say that, could you?

“Convenience store,” you replied with a casual nod, trying to sound convincing. “To grab some ramyeon. Or beer.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting as he studied you. “You don’t eat ramyeon,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow as if calling your bluff.

Well, that was true. You didn’t. But you weren’t about to explain yourself. “I eat it now,” you retorted, crossing your arms and raising your chin slightly.

Wonwoo stared at you for a beat longer before nodding in quiet acknowledgment. “Fine. I have some at my place. Come on, I’ll cook it for you.”

You stepped into Wonwoo's apartment for the first time in years. It felt oddly familiar—still carrying the same understated charm that mirrored Jeon Wonwoo himself. However, the living room was a bit of a mess, likely remnants of their drinking session earlier. Empty bottles and snack wrappers lay scattered across the coffee table.

"Don’t mind that," Wonwoo said casually, gesturing toward the clutter before leading you toward the kitchen. You followed him, settling on one of the bar stools by his kitchen island.

“It’s past midnight. Don’t you sleep?” he asked, his voice low as he filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove.

You sighed softly. Sleep wasn’t something you got much of these days. “I was awake already.”

Wonwoo glanced over his shoulder at you. “Was it because of us? Sorry if we were too noisy,” he said with a faint look of guilt.

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I woke up about an hour ago.”

“And you’re suddenly craving ramyeon?” His eyebrow quirked slightly, and his tone was teasing.

You nodded with a small, embarrassed smile. “Yes. Craving ramyeon.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly as he opened a cabinet, pulling out a packet of ramyeon. He began preparing it with an easy confidence, adding a few extra ingredients here and there. As the water boiled, he glanced at you. “You never liked ramyeon before. What changed?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. You stayed quiet, watching him cook.

A few minutes later, he placed a steaming bowl of ramyeon in front of you, along with a small plate of kimchi from his fridge. Then he settled beside you on a stool, leaning back slightly.

Tentatively, you picked up your chopsticks and spoon, giving the food a cautious taste. You never liked ramyeon because it was always too salty or heavy for your taste. But the moment the soup touched your lips, you froze, surprised.

“It’s not salty,” you said, looking at him in shock.

Wonwoo smiled knowingly. “I figured. You never liked ramyeon because it’s salty and ruins your diet. So, I adjusted it a bit.”

Your eyes widened further. He remembered. He always remembered the little things about you, even things you had forgotten.

“It’s really good,” you admitted softly before taking another spoonful.

Wonwoo stood up, his hand brushing lightly over the top of your head in a familiar, comforting gesture. “Finish it and go get some sleep,” he said gently. “I’ll clean up the living room.”

You watched him walk away, your chest tightening slightly. For someone so stoic, Wonwoo had always had a way of making you feel seen, even in the smallest moments.

You woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed the next morning. However, the moment you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a groan escaped your lips. Your face looked a little puffier than usual—a direct result of finishing that bowl of ramyeon last night. You made a mental note to stick to your usual late-night snacks moving forward.

Shaking off your regret, you took your time getting ready, thankful you didn’t have a morning show to rush to. After slipping into a work attire, you grabbed an apple from the kitchen and bit into it as you headed out the door.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect—or awkward—as you stepped into the hallway and found yourself face-to-face with Wonwoo. He was already dressed sharply in his work attire, his tie perfectly knotted and his expression calm yet focused.

“Morning,” he greeted you with a warm smile.

You nodded in acknowledgment, the apple still held between your teeth, muffling any verbal response.

Wonwoo glanced at the time on his watch, then back at you. “Running late?” he asked casually as the two of you stepped into the elevator together.

You shook your head, taking another bite of your apple as the elevator descended.

“Good. Let me drive you,” he offered, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “We can grab some proper breakfast on the way.”

You blinked at him, startled by the suggestion. “This is my breakfast,” you replied, holding up the half-eaten apple.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and disapproval. “That’s not breakfast. Come on, I know a good place nearby. My treat.”

Before you could protest, the elevator doors opened, and he stepped out confidently, already heading toward his car. You followed reluctantly, wondering how he managed to convince you so effortlessly.

As Wonwoo navigated the early morning traffic, the soft hum of the car engine filled the silence between the two of you. You sat quietly, gazing out the window, your hands resting on your lap. The city streets blurred past, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“I never really told you what I was doing in China, did I?” Wonwoo suddenly broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with an undertone of vulnerability.

You blinked, startled by his openness, and turned to glance at him. He kept his eyes on the road, but you could see the tension in his jaw.

“I spent the first six months there working on a project my father insisted I take over. It was… exhausting. But it wasn’t just work that kept me there,” he began. “I wanted to find a way to clear my head. To figure out what I really wanted in life.”

You didn’t respond, unsure of what to say, so you simply listened.

“I went back to school,” he continued, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Enrolled in a business program. It was something my father had always pushed for, but I never really considered it until… well, until I left.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I wanted to prove I could handle myself. That I wasn’t just running away. So, I worked during the day at my father’s company, managing operations and learning the ins and outs of the business. And at night, I studied.” He let out a dry laugh. “It was brutal at first, balancing everything. But I needed to do it.”

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before continuing. “I kept thinking about all the things I left behind—what I left unresolved. And when I said I wanted to fix things, I meant it.” His tone was firm now, as though he wanted to leave no room for doubt.

You shifted slightly in your seat, still unsure how to respond. The weight of his words hung in the air, and you could feel your chest tighten. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about him during his absence, but hearing him say it out loud made it all too real.

“I know it might sound selfish,” Wonwoo added after a moment, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, “but I needed that time to sort myself out. To come back and face you—not as the guy who walked away, but someone who could try to make things right.”

You turned back to the window, your reflection staring back at you. The raw sincerity in his voice was undeniable, but the wound he left behind was still there, faint but persistent.

The light turned green, and the car moved forward, but the heaviness of his words stayed between you.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for leaving the way I did,” he added, his voice hesitant. “But I’m serious about fixing things. And I’m starting with myself.”

You didn’t know how to respond. His confession felt like a wave, crashing against the wall you had built over time. So, instead of speaking, you nodded faintly, letting the silence settle.

“I just want you to know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I’m not asking for anything from you. I’m just… trying to do better this time.”

As he pulled into the parking lot of a café, Wonwoo turned to you with a small, hopeful smile. “Breakfast on me,” he said lightly, trying to shift the mood.

You managed a weak smile in return, unsure what to make of everything he had just shared.

Once you stepped out of his car, Wonwoo sat motionless in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The faint sound of the car door shutting echoed in his ears, and an overwhelming sense of failure washed over him. He had messed up everything. Again.

Wonwoo replayed the conversation in his mind, cringing at how he had rambled, explaining and justifying himself like a desperate man trying to prove he wasn’t in the wrong. The realization hit him like a freight train—he had become exactly what he swore he’d never be.

Just like his father.

Your parting question lingered in the air like smoke.

"Do you still hate your dad?"

He had frozen at the sound of it, his mind scrambling for an answer he couldn’t give. Did he still hate his father? No, not anymore. But that realization didn’t bring him peace. If anything, it made him uneasy.

He didn’t hate his father. He disliked him. He resented the ways his father had molded him, the expectations, the cold lectures disguised as wisdom. But the anger that used to burn so fiercely had faded, replaced by something he couldn’t name.

And now, here he was, mimicking the very behaviors he had once despised. He had told himself for years that he would never turn out like his father. That he would live on his own terms, follow his own passions. Yet here he was, no longer a racer, no longer the man you had known. He had left you.

He became the kind of person he hated the most—explaining his mistakes, trying to rationalize them, as if that would make them disappear. He hated it.

But what he hated more was the possibility that you could see it too. That you could see how much he’d changed, and not necessarily for the better.

Wonwoo leaned back in his seat, staring blankly at the dashboard. He was different now, there was no denying that. He had done the opposite of everything he had once vowed to do. The boy who had once been so sure of his dreams, of you, was long gone.

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. What was he now? And was this change something he could ever come back from?

As you disappeared into the distance, Wonwoo sat there, feeling like a stranger in his own skin.

Wonwoo leaned casually against the railing, observing the bustling set of the N-Jeen program shoot. It had been over a month since the icy tension between you two began to thaw. You had started talking to him again, and on occasion, when his schedule allowed, he would drive you to work. It was a small gesture, but it felt like progress—a step toward mending the fractured relationship.

He had arranged a lunch meeting nearby that day and decided to drop by the shoot when he heard it was close. As you stood a few meters away, chatting with one of the students involved in the program, Wonwoo motioned for his assistant to distribute the energy drinks he had brought for the crew. His gaze softened when it landed on you. Though he quickly redirected his attention, the fleeting smile didn’t go unnoticed.

"Mr. Jeon," the producer spoke up cautiously, pulling Wonwoo out of his thoughts. "May I ask you something? I hope you won’t take it the wrong way."

Wonwoo turned to face him, his expression calm and polite. "Of course. Go ahead."

The producer hesitated briefly, glancing at you before continuing. "Are you and our presenter, Ji Y/N, in a relationship? Forgive me if I’m overstepping."

A faint smile tugged at Wonwoo’s lips. "Why do you ask?" he replied, his tone measured, though the question amused him.

The producer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well... some of the crew have noticed you driving her to work pretty often. And, well, you seem... a bit affectionate toward her."

Wonwoo hummed thoughtfully, letting his gaze wander back to you for a moment. You were laughing at something the student said, your eyes sparkling under the afternoon sun. He looked away, his expression unreadable.

"I’ve known her for a long time," he finally said, a small, almost imperceptible smile lingering. "Maybe that explains it."

The producer nodded, though he still seemed curious. Wonwoo, however, didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shifted the conversation back to the shoot logistics, steering it away from personal matters.

"PD, there's something I need to show you," the assistant producer said urgently, stepping closer with an iPad in hand. His face was pale, and his tone carried a weight of concern.

Wonwoo watched as the producer took the device and stared at the screen. At the same moment, Wonwoo's secretary approached, holding out her own phone with a grim expression. "Mr. Jeon, you should see this."

Wonwoo frowned and glanced down at the article. His jaw tightened as he scanned the bold headline splashed across the screen:

"KBC's Presenter, Ji Y/N, Rumored to Be a Call Girl."

His eyes flicked over the details—a damning accusation from the wife of a high-profile broadcasting executive. The article claimed that you had been involved with her husband for years, presenting call logs, text history, and alleged money transfer records as evidence. Though the photo of you was clear, the man in question was conveniently blurred.

The producer let out a heavy sigh as he finished reading. "This is serious. I'll need to speak to the chief about this immediately," he said, his voice laced with urgency.

Wonwoo’s secretary leaned in closer. "What should we do, sir?"

For a moment, Wonwoo said nothing, his eyes fixed on you. You were completely unaware of the storm brewing around you, laughing and chatting with the students during the break. That carefree smile made his stomach twist.

"We’re facing an internal issue," the producer announced suddenly, his voice carrying across the set. "Let’s call it a day. We’ll reschedule once this matter is resolved."

The cast and crew exchanged confused glances, murmurs rippling through the set. You turned to look, your brow furrowing at the sudden decision. But one by one, everyone began to pack up their equipment and bid each other goodbye, leaving the scene scattered with uncertainty.

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched as he stalked toward the exit, his secretary trailing behind him. Anger simmered beneath his composed exterior, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced with an edge of frustration.

"Cancel the rest of my day," he barked at his secretary without looking back.

"Sir—" he began hesitantly, unsure how to proceed.

"Just cancel it," he snapped, his tone sharper than usual.

As he stepped into the car, Wonwoo slammed the door shut, his fists clenching on his lap. The driver cast a wary glance in the rearview mirror before silently starting the engine.

Wonwoo stared straight ahead, his mind swirling with questions and accusations. He didn’t know who to blame—was it you for not telling him about this mess? Was it himself for thinking things between you could finally settle? Or was it the faceless person behind this rumour?

The image of you laughing with the students earlier flashed in his mind, your carefree expression so out of place in the chaos now unfolding. He felt a pang of guilt for walking away without saying anything, but his anger was louder than his regret.

"She didn’t even know," he thought bitterly. "And I still left without a word."

The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the sound of the tires on the road. Wonwoo refused to look at his phone or even acknowledge the world outside the vehicle. For now, he let the anger consume him, unsure of where it would take him next.

You spent the day trapped in a whirlwind of complicated emotions. The producer and his assistant had immediately pulled you aside, sliding the damning article across the table. The moment your eyes skimmed the headline, your heart sank.

So, this is how it ends?

“Is it true, Y/n?” the producer asked, his voice tense but steady.

Your breath hitched as you forced yourself to read the article again—every word, every comment, every accusation. It all stared back at you, cruel and unrelenting. The headline screamed louder in your mind than any voice in the room.

“We can’t continue the show, Y/n. You know how critical this project is for us and for N-Jeen. Having your name associated with this... it’s the last thing we need,” the producer said, his tone tinged with regret but firm.

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words crashing down on you. Of course, you understood. How could you not?

“It’s true,” you murmured, barely audible.

Both men froze, exchanging uneasy glances before focusing on you again.

“It’s true that I received money from him,” you clarified, your voice trembling as you gestured toward the executive mentioned in the article.

The producer let out a weary sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, that’s all we need for now. We’ll discuss this with the production team and let you know how we’re proceeding.”

You nodded again, too numb to respond.

Later, the call from KBC News came, pulling you into yet another interrogation. They asked the same questions—relentless, prying, cold. But no matter how many ways they asked, you couldn’t bring yourself to say more.

They didn’t want the truth. They didn’t care about your side of the story. At the end of the day, they only wanted to see you fall.

By the time they summoned you to the office that afternoon, the thought of stepping inside filled you with dread. Would this meeting be about finding answers, or would it be the final nail in the coffin of everything you had worked so hard to build?

You struggled after everything fell apart. Life had been cruel to you, but the hardest blow came when your mother passed away in a tragic car accident. She was simply passing by when a speeding car lost control and crashed into her. Grieving alone, you felt the crushing weight of loss, with no one to lean on.

In the midst of your sorrow, Jiseok and his crew appeared, trying to make you smile, to pull you out of your misery. For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe they cared. But their kindness came with a hidden motive.

You didn’t realize the truth until that fateful night. You found out they had been betting on who would sleep with you first. The revelation hit you like a punch to the gut, and it didn’t stop there. That night, Jiseok tried to take things further—he got you drunk and pushed you to the edge of your limits.

You tried to escape, head pounding, your senses clouded by the alcohol. You don’t remember how it all unfolded, but you woke up in a hospital bed days later, disoriented and broken. The doctors said you’d been there for a week. The psychological scars, however, would last much longer. They sent you to a psychologist, and for months, you worked to piece yourself back together.

Life took an unexpected turn when you met Mr. Park, a director at EBS. He had noticed you at a university campus event and approached you with an offer. At first, you were skeptical, but when he said he wanted to meet with you, you knew this could be the break you had been praying for—a chance to pursue your dream of becoming a presenter, a dream you had long buried under the weight of your circumstances.

At dinner, Mr. Park offered to pay for your tuition and even helped you secure a spot at KBC. The only condition? Talking. Just talking.

Conversations with him were nothing like what people would imagine. There were no ulterior motives, no inappropriate behavior—just the words of a man who missed his late wife and longed for the daughter he never had. He said you resembled his wife in her youth, and he found comfort in your presence.

But you understood why the rumors spiraled. Who would believe your story? Who would believe that Mr. Park’s intentions were purely paternal? That all he wanted was someone to fill the void of a lost family?

In a world as harsh and unforgiving as the one you lived in, desperation was a language not everyone could understand. You and Mr. Park were kindred souls in your own way—two people who found solace in the simplest connection. Yet, the world would never see it that way.

There were moments when you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself—disgusted with everything you had done to get to this point. No matter how much you tried to justify it, the weight of those choices hung heavy on you. You told yourself it was just you working harder than anyone else, sacrificing more, pushing further. But deep down, you knew the truth: you were desperate.

Not everyone understood what it meant to be this desperate—to fight tooth and nail just to survive, just to carve out a place for yourself in a world that never gave you a chance.

You thought your hard work, your sacrifices, would pay off. That they would see you as a Presenter—a voice, a face, someone who had earned her place. But now?

Now, they called you a Call Girl. Not a Presenter. Not a professional. Just a scandal waiting to be torn apart.

And no matter how much you had fought to rise above, that label felt like it would bury you alive.

Wonwoo realized he shouldn’t have been like this—caught up in legalities and anger. He should have been by your side, supporting you through everything. That thought brought him to your door, hand hovering over the doorbell. He pressed it once and waited, feeling the seconds stretch into an eternity. When no one came, he pressed it again, this time hearing your voice call out, “Wait!”

You opened the door moments later, wrapped in a towel with damp hair and wearing pajamas.

“Come in,” you said hurriedly, disappearing into the kitchen. The warm, aromatic scent of cooking greeted him as he stepped inside.

“You’re cooking? It’s almost midnight,” Wonwoo said, following the smell into the kitchen. He stopped to see a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove, the rich aroma filling the air. It reminded him of the comfort food your mother used to make when times got tough. The thought tightened something in his chest.

“Go dry your hair,” Wonwoo said softly, stepping closer to tap your arm. “I’ll take care of this.”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, leaving the kitchen. Wonwoo turned off the stove and carefully moved the pot to the dining table, preparing the side dishes and scooping out two bowls of rice. Once everything was set, he sat down and texted his lawyer, his phone in hand when you returned to the room.

“I’m fine, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Wonwoo looked up as you sat down, a faint smile crossing your face as you opened the pot. The fragrant steam curled up into the air, and you let out a small sound of delight.

“It smells amazing,” you said, scooping some soup into your bowl.

Wonwoo watched as you took a bite, savoring the taste. For a moment, it felt like everything was normal.

“I’ll help you sue them,” Wonwoo said quietly, placing his arms on the table. “You don’t need to act fine with me.”

You glanced at him but shook your head. “No need. Mr. Park said he’ll handle it.”

Wonwoo frowned, his brows knitting together. “You mean it’s true? The rumors?”

You paused, setting your utensils down. “Yes. I took money from him. This apartment? He paid the down payment.”

Wonwoo stared at you, his mind racing. What could have pushed you to this? You never used to take money from anyone—not even from him. Back then, he had to secretly give money to your mother just to help you. Were you really that desperate?

“What happened to mom?” Wonwoo asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.

You froze, your hand hovering over your bowl. “I thought you were going to ask why I did it.”

“I’m not curious about that,” Wonwoo said firmly. “I know you have your reasons.”

There was a heavy silence before you finally spoke, your voice breaking the stillness. “It was a hit-and-run. I was in the middle of work when I got the call. By the time I reached the hospital… she was gone.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, the weight of your words sinking in. “And after that?” he asked gently.

“I moved,” you said, your tone detached, as if recalling a distant memory. “But Jiseok found me. He was there, but not really there. A lot happened after that—I ended up in the hospital, had regular visits to a psychiatrist, and went through court proceedings. Jiseok was sentenced to ten years.”

You bit your lip, pausing before continuing. “I told Mr. Park everything. He promised to make sure Jiseok wouldn’t bother me again, even after his release. Mr. Park… he cares for me like I’m his daughter.”

Wonwoo sighed, leaning back slightly. “So the rumors aren’t true.”

You chuckled humorlessly. “I told you—I did take the money.”

“But it wasn’t anything like what the media is claiming,” Wonwoo said, his voice tightening with anger.

You shrugged, your tone calm but tinged with bitterness. “It took me years to heal from what Jiseok did. I would never sell my body for money.”

Wonwoo clenched his fists under the table, anger surging through him—not at you, but at the world that had twisted your story into something it wasn’t. He wished he could have been there for you sooner, to stop this from ever happening.

“You have me now,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of emotion.

You glanced at him briefly before turning your eyes back to your food. “But you’ll go,” you murmured. “You’ll have your own family one day.”

Wonwoo frowned, leaning closer. “You’re my family.”

You shook your head with a faint, sad smile. “We’re not kids anymore, Wonwoo. My mom was the one who took care of you, not me.”

“Then I’ll take care of you,” he said, his tone firm, almost defiant.

You chuckled bitterly, a sound devoid of joy. “It’s not as easy as that.”

Wonwoo leaned back slightly, studying you, the flicker of doubt and vulnerability in your eyes. “But you said you liked me,” he said quietly, almost as if testing the waters. “Do you… not like me anymore?”

You froze for a moment, the question hanging heavily in the air. Then, with a deep breath, you looked up at him. “I do,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady.

His heart leapt, but the words that followed stopped him in his tracks.

“Because of that… it’s not as easy as it used to be,” you continued, your eyes dropping to your hands. “Because I still like you. And I don’t know if it’s mutual or not.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken emotions. Wonwoo’s gaze softened as he processed your words, a mix of relief and guilt flashing across his face.

“It is,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s mutual.”

You looked at him, your breath hitching as his words sank in. But the weight of reality kept you grounded.

“Then you know it’s not simple,” you said. “Not after everything. Not with everything that’s happened.”

Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t waver, determination replacing the uncertainty. “It’s not simple,” he agreed. “But nothing worth it ever is.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the air between you heavy with the past and the possibilities of what could come next. For the first time in a long while, the tiniest glimmer of hope began to break through the storm clouds surrounding you.

Two years later, the air was filled with the gentle hum of a string quartet playing a soft melody as guests gathered in the garden of a picturesque villa nestled on a hillside. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the ceremony, making everything feel surreal.

Wonwoo adjusted his cufflinks nervously, standing at the altar. He looked every bit the dashing groom in his tailored navy suit, but his usually calm demeanor was tinged with impatience. Hansol, his best man, nudged him with a grin.

“She’s coming, relax,” Hansol teased. “You’ve waited for years; you can handle a few more minutes.”

Wonwoo glanced at him, rolling his eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one getting married.”

Hansol chuckled but didn’t push further. Wonwoo’s gaze returned to the aisle, where the chatter of the guests softened into a hush as the first notes of the wedding march played.

And then, you appeared.

The world seemed to stop for Wonwoo. You walked down the aisle in a simple yet elegant gown, its soft fabric flowing effortlessly with each step. Your veil framed your face, but it was your smile—radiant and genuine—that captivated him most.

You caught his gaze, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. Memories of the past flashed in your mind: the struggles, the heartbreak, the nights spent wondering if happiness was meant for you. But now, here you were, walking toward the man who had stood by you through it all.

Jisoo, Wonwoo's half brother, walked you down the aisle, his arm steady as he whispered, “You’ll be happy.” You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

When you reached the altar, Wonwoo stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. He extended a hand, and when you placed yours in his, it felt like everything in the world had fallen into place.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“And you look nervous,” you teased softly, earning a quiet laugh from him.

The officiant began, but neither of you could focus on the words. Your eyes were locked on each other, the vows exchanged feeling like an extension of the promises you’d made to each other in the quiet moments of the past two years.

“I promise to love you, protect you, and stand by your side no matter what,” Wonwoo said, his voice steady despite the tears glistening in his eyes.

“And I promise to trust you, support you, and never let the past define our future,” you replied, your voice trembling but firm.

When the officiant declared you husband and wife, the cheers from the guests were drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding as Wonwoo leaned in to kiss you. It was a kiss filled with relief, joy, and the promise of a new beginning.

As you walked back down the aisle hand in hand, laughter and petals filling the air, Wonwoo whispered, “See? Not simple, but worth it.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Worth it.”

The reception that followed was a lively celebration of your love, with speeches that had everyone laughing and crying in equal measure. Wonwoo danced with you under the stars, the twinkling lights above mirroring the warmth in his eyes as he held you close.

“Here’s to the rest of our lives,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, tears of happiness brimming in your eyes. “And to never giving up.”

The past may have shaped you, but together, you were ready to create a future filled with love, trust, and endless possibilities.

The soft evening light filtered through the living room windows as you sat cross-legged on the carpet, your small hands fiddling with one of Wonwoo's toy cars. Your mother was seated nearby, knitting a scarf while humming a soft tune. The atmosphere was warm, though a certain sadness lingered as you asked, “Why did Wonwoo’s parents leave him?”

Your mother paused for a moment, her knitting needles coming to a gentle halt. She looked at you with a thoughtful expression, carefully choosing her words. “It’s because adults sometimes have problems they don’t know how to fix. They get overwhelmed, and instead of solving things together, they make decisions that affect everyone. That’s why they left Wonwoo with us.”

You furrowed your brows, your small mind trying to understand something so complex. “But don’t you and Dad have problems too?”

Your mother smiled softly, nodding. “We do, Sweetheart. Every family has challenges. But having you helps us solve them in a better way. You remind us of what’s most important.”

You huffed in frustration, your tiny fists gripping the toy. “Wonwoo is a good kid, though! He even lets me borrow his toys. Why are his parents so mean to him?”

Your mother reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s why you should always be kind to Wonwoo. What do you think about him? Don’t you think he’d make a good brother?”

At that, your face lit up with excitement. “I like him! He’s like Dad! I want to marry him when I grow up!”

Your mother laughed, the sound light and melodic. “That’s sweet, my love, but marrying him will take a very long time. You have plenty of time to decide.”

Before you could protest, the front door swung open, and your father’s voice called out cheerfully, “We’re home!”

Wonwoo’s small voice chimed in, excitement evident in his tone. “Y/N! I got your strawberry milk!” He dashed into the room, his little legs carrying him swiftly as he held the carton out to you, his grin wide and proud.

You gasped in delight, jumping to your feet to accept it. “Thank you, Wonwoo! You’re the best!”

Your mother watched the two of you, her heart swelling at the sight. As she exchanged a warm glance with your father, who had followed Wonwoo into the room carrying grocery bags, she whispered to herself, “Maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong.”

Wonwoo beamed at you as you took a sip of the milk, your happiness evident. “See? I told Dad to get this one for you.”

“Wonwoo, you’re my favorite person ever!” you declared, earning a bashful smile from him.

Your mother chuckled, resuming her knitting. She couldn’t help but wonder if, years from now, you’d look back on this moment and smile, the seeds of a bond already deeply rooted.

The end.

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