mysticaljiminie

[mysticaljiminie]

I’LL BE YOUR BABYDOLL !!

Pairing: SliceofLifeYoutuber!Jay x FamilyYoutuber reader

Synopsis: when a clip of your daughter asking you to marry Jay from youtube goes viral, you can’t help the new feelings that came with the publicity.

Note: i loveee mommy readers i cant lie i had a jake fic likee 4 years ago where he was the baby daddy and he found out years later lmk if i should bring that back or make a part 2… no angst just fluff and a lovely family dynamic— enha masterlist

You didn’t mean to film today. You really didn’t. The plan was to sleep in, maybe do pancakes if you could talk yourself into it, and let the rain do the heavy lifting when it came to entertainment.

But, of course, your daughter had other ideas.

“Can we make a video?” she asked, already dragging the tripod out from the corner like she owned the place. “Please, please, please! I wanna show everyone my doll and my sparkly rock and my dance moves!”

You blinked at her from the couch, still in the hoodie you’d slept in and cradling a half-full mug of lukewarm coffee. Her hair was sticking out in about five different directions, her pajama top was on inside-out, and she looked like she hadn’t blinked since the idea entered her brain.

“…You didn’t even brush your teeth.”

“I did it yesterday.”

You sighed and set the mug down. “Fine, but I’m not putting on makeup.”

“You look pretty already, mommy,” she said, already winning.

Fifteen minutes later, the camera was rolling.

“Hi friends,” you said, tugging your knees up to your chest as you sat cross-legged on the floor. The living room behind you looked semi-tolerable — toy baskets tucked into corners, pillows fluffed just enough to pass.

Next to you, your daughter waved a sparkly pink hairbrush like a wand.

“I’m back with the star of the channel—”

“It’s me,” she whispered to the camera, wide-eyed.

“Yes, yes it is. It’s a rainy day today, so we’re doing a cozy little video. No makeup, no fancy lights. Just us, some snacks, and probably five too many stuffed animals.”

“Six,” she corrected, already building a mountain of plushies behind her.

“Right. My bad.”

The vlog flowed like a stream of consciousness — soft, silly, and totally unplanned. She showed off her favorite items one by one: a plastic butterfly ring, a tiny glitter jar she insisted was “fairy dust,” and the rock. The rock she found two weeks ago on the sidewalk and now kept in a special box like it was a diamond.

“This is Rocco,” she said proudly, holding it up to the lens. “He’s magic but only on Tuesdays.”

You tried not to laugh as you nodded. “Naturally.”

Then came the dance break, the “Guess the Animal” game., and a very passionate performance of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star into the hairbrush mic, complete with dramatic bowing.

You leaned back against the couch, watching her with tired eyes and a full heart.

She was chaos, glitter, and warmth wrapped into one tiny body. And even though your head ached and your inbox was full and the laundry was judging you from the hallway, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

Later, when the camera was off and she was curled up on your lap with her arms loosely around your waist, you ran your fingers through her hair and whispered, “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

“I know,” she mumbled into your sweatshirt, already half-asleep.

“You’re gonna be so mad when I show this video to your future partner.”

She smiled against your chest. “Only if they’re weird.”

You laughed.

She didn’t even realize that she’d just captured something special — not for the algorithm, not for followers, but for you. A little snapshot of who she was at this exact age. Her silly stories. Her soft voice. Her wide eyes. Her everything.

You kissed the top of her head and pulled the blanket over both of you.

Tomorrow, maybe you’d edit the video or maybe you’d just keep this one for yourself.

You didn’t mean to post it.

Well, you did, but not in the way that mattered.

It was almost midnight, and you were curled up in bed with your laptop heating your thighs and a bowl of half-melted ice cream on the nightstand. Naelle had knocked out hours ago, her unicorn tucked under her arm and one sock halfway off. The rain was still tapping gently against the window, the apartment humming with that rare, end-of-day stillness.

You’d started editing just to wind down.

You were halfway through the video when it happened: you hit play on a random, barely lit clip and there it was—Naelle’s tiny voice clear as day:

“Can you marry him now?”

You paused. Rewound.

“Jay from YouTube. He cooks pancakes and he has a plant named Potato.”

You stared at the screen, eyebrows lifting so high they practically left your face.

“…What.”

You hadn’t even heard her say that while filming. You must’ve been too busy laughing at her chicken nugget meltdown or trying to stop her from gluing googly eyes to the cat toy bin. But there it was—spoken with full toddler conviction.

Your face in the background was priceless. Stunned. Speechless. Slightly offended that she’d made the decision without you.

You started laughing. Actual belly-laughing into your throw blanket. You dragged the clip into a separate timeline and trimmed it down to fifteen seconds. A little caption. A little music. Just for fun.

Just for you and the 43 people who consistently watched your Stories.

“My daughter has a type, apparently. Should I be concerned?? #momlife #chaoskid #toddlertalk”

You hit “post to TikTok,” shut your laptop, turned off the light, and fell asleep with a smile still tugging at your lips.

You woke up to your phone screaming.

Buzz after buzz after buzz, your screen lighting up like it was fighting for its life.

Messages. Notifications. Mentions. DMs. A missed call from Megan.

Megs 🍓: WHY IS YOUR FACE ON MY FYP AND WHY DOES YOUR KID WANT U TO MARRY JAY

HeeseungReacts: not the toddler having more confidence than me 😭

sunoo.glow: this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen I’m sobbing

Your eyes widened as you tapped open the TikTok app.

And then you froze.

463.7k likes.

Over 2.1 million views.

“DUETED BY: JayDoesLife”

You blinked. Refreshed. Blinked again.

“WHAT.”

You scrambled upright in bed, covers flying, heart hammering in your chest like it was trying to burst out and sprint into the hallway. You opened the duetted video with shaking hands.

The split screen began.

Left side: Naelle, proudly declaring Jay as your future husband.

Right side: Jay himself — messy-haired, hoodie-wearing, sitting cross-legged in what looked like a sunlit kitchen, watching the video with a slow-building smile.

When Naelle finished her declaration, he tilted his head and smirked.

“She’s got taste. And apparently a plan.” He held up a juice box like a toast. “Tell her I’ll bring the snacks.”

The video ended with him laughing into his sleeve, eyes crinkling like he’d just witnessed the best thing all week.

You screamed into your pillow.

Not metaphorically at the happiness, but literally at the stress of this newfound fame.

You stumbled into the kitchen on autopilot, phone still in your hand, Naelle’s sock half-stuck to your pajama pants. You opened the fridge, stared at the oat milk like it held answers, then slowly turned back to your phone.

The comments were blowing up.

This child is my new favorite matchmaker 😭

Jay and Y/N better collab. For the sake of the child. And also my sanity.

You better wife him up for all of us.

WAIT HE KNOWS YOU??? WHAT’S GOING ON????

You groaned, flopping face-first onto the kitchen table.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to go viral. You were a mom. You made simple, unedited vlogs with soft music and bad lighting and the occasional existential monologue while folding baby socks. You weren’t someone who had celebrities responding to your daughter like they were taking her seriously.

Naelle wandered in half-asleep, hair fluffed and eyes squinting against the kitchen light.

“Mommy?”

You sat up fast. “Hey, baby. Want breakfast?”

She nodded, yawning dramatically. “Did you marry Jay yet?”

You dropped your forehead back onto the table.

You weren’t sure what kind of morning it was supposed to be, only that your stomach felt half-full of butterflies and half-full of dread. There was something about the way the air sat in the apartment — heavy with anticipation and faintly smelling like lemon cleaner — that made you feel like the walls themselves were waiting for something, too.

Naelle was sitting in the corner of the living room, cross-legged in her too-small ballerina tutu, gently humming a tune she was clearly making up on the spot. She cradled her plush unicorn in her lap like a sleeping baby, brushing its tangled pink mane with the tiny plastic fork from last night’s takeout box.

Her cereal sat untouched on the coffee table, milk slowly turning warm in the bowl while the marshmallow shapes dissolved into colorless clouds. You couldn’t blame her. Your own mug of coffee had been reheated three times and was still going cold beside your laptop.

Your phone, however, refused to be ignored.

Every ten minutes — sometimes less — it buzzed with another ping, another notification, another message from someone who’d seen the video. They were strangers, acquaintances, even people from high school you hadn’t spoken to in years, all asking the same question in varying degrees of shock:

“Was that really Jay from YouTube?”

The answer, maddeningly, was yes.

You hadn’t expected it. Not the duet. Not the numbers. And certainly not the spiral it triggered inside your chest every time you checked your notifications.

It had been cute at first — the way people reacted to Naelle’s voice, the way they replayed her words like she was a tiny oracle. But then came the edits, the tweets, the mutuals messaging you things like “YOU’RE LIVING MY DREAM,” and the comment threads analyzing your laugh and trying to match your kitchen backsplash to your exact address.

What started as funny quickly became overwhelming, and what was once overwhelming soon felt like being caught in a wave you weren’t ready to ride.

So, when your inbox pinged with a new message titled “jaydoeslife.collab@gmail.com,” your hands went cold before you even clicked.

✉️ From: imnayeon@jaydoeslife.net

Subject: Let’s talk — Jay x Y/N Collab?

Hi Y/N,

I’m Nayeon — Jay Park’s manager. Jay saw your video (as you probably already guessed), and to say he was charmed would be an understatement. He hasn’t stopped talking about your daughter or the phrase “pancakes and babysitting” since it went up. We were wondering if you’d be open to filming a casual, family-friendly collaboration. Something like “YouTuber Babysits for a Day” or “Toddler Teaches the YouTuber Life.” Very relaxed. Very wholesome. We’ll keep it simple and easy.

Of course, no pressure at all — if it doesn’t feel right, we completely understand. But Jay would love the chance to meet you both, and I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly.

xo,

Im Nayeon

You read the message three times, then a fourth just to make sure it hadn’t somehow changed while you were blinking.

The first time, your eyes skimmed it in disbelief, your brain unable to process the words in any meaningful order. The second time, you clutched your mug like it might anchor you to the earth while reading it aloud under your breath. The third time, you paced the kitchen like a CEO preparing for a scandal press release, whispering, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” even though it was clearly not fine.

Naelle, who had been watching you from her booster seat with growing suspicion, finally asked the obvious.

“Is something happening?”

You paused mid-step, your voice pitched too high. “…Maybe.”

Her spoon hung frozen in the air, a soggy star-shaped marshmallow dripping from its edge. “Are we famous now?”

You stared at her, equal parts horrified and impressed. “What would you even do with fame?”

She shrugged with the exaggerated nonchalance only a four-year-old could pull off. “Make everyone wear matching pajamas forever.”

You pressed a hand to your chest and let out a quiet laugh, half-choked and entirely overwhelmed. Of course that would be her plan.

You typed out a reply with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking. You read it seven times before sending it, then stared at your outbox like the message might crawl back out and bite you.

Nayeon responded within an hour, bubbly and to-the-point, as if this was the easiest thing in the world and you weren’t currently spiraling in a hoodie that had toothpaste on the sleeve. She confirmed that Jay was free this weekend and proposed a filming date — this Saturday, at your place.

The reasoning was sound: “Naelle seems most comfortable in her home environment,” Nayeon had written, followed by a winking emoji and the phrase “We want this to be fun, not a production.”

But when you read the part that said “Saturday”, your whole body tensed.

That was two days away. You may have actually gasped — a sharp, small sound that echoed against the fridge door.

What followed could only be described as panic-fueled preparation. You didn’t just clean the house. You purged it. You reorganized toy bins and folded couch blankets like your life depended on it. You vacuumed in corners that hadn’t seen daylight in months. You mopped under furniture you forgot you owned.

You even Febrezed the ceiling.

“Mommy,” Naelle asked gently from the couch, surrounded by a pile of stuffed animals she’d arranged like a medieval council. “Why are you cleaning the air?”

You paused mid-spray, caught with your arm extended toward the light fixture.

“I’m not.”

“You’re vacuuming the ceiling.”

You looked down at the hose in your hand. “…Okay, maybe a little.”

By Friday evening, the anxiety had softened into a strange, itchy hum beneath your skin — something between dread and excitement, like your body couldn’t quite decide which it preferred. Jay wasn’t a stranger anymore, not really, not after watching hours of his soft-spoken baking vlogs and plant updates and chaotic Q&As.

But it wasn’t just about Jay anymore.

The internet had been let in. The curtain had been pulled back. And you were starting to realize your quiet, safe, slow-moving world had been shifted ever so slightly out of orbit — all because your daughter had declared you were destined to marry a pancake-making YouTuber.

You stared at the outfit you’d picked out and hated it.

Then stared at the backup outfit and hated that too.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Megan right as you were mid-spiral.

you: what if he’s weird

megs🍒: babe he’s literally famous for talking to plants and baking banana bread. ur fine.

megs🍒: also pls wear the cream tank top it makes you look hot

You made a strangled sound, threw your phone onto the bed, and yanked the sweater off the hanger.

At 10:14 a.m. on the dot, your doorbell rang.

Naelle let out a squeal that could’ve shattered glass and launched herself off the couch before you could catch her. Her socks slid across the hardwood as she ran full-speed toward the door, shouting, “I GOT IT!!” like it was the most important moment of her life.

You panicked.

“No no no — wait, Naelle, don’t—!”

But she had already flung the door open with both hands, no hesitation, no filter.

And there he was.

Jay. Standing in your doorway. Holding two coffee cups in one hand and a juice box in the other. His hair was slightly tousled like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times, and his hoodie was just oversized enough to make him look unfairly approachable.

Slung over his shoulder was a tote bag that said “This Bag Contains Crumbs” in tiny font. His smile was soft and almost bashful.

“Hey,” he said, looking from your wide-eyed face to your daughter’s radiant one. “I brought caffeine… and juice for the little.”

He held out the juice box like a peace offering.

Naelle snatched it with a delighted gasp and ran off without another word.

You just stood there, blinking.

“…Hi,” you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

And then, as if the moment wasn’t already surreal enough, another figure stepped forward into the doorway.

Nayeon.

She looked like a magazine ad in human form — hair in soft waves, makeup delicate but perfect, outfit pressed without a single wrinkle. She carried a tablet in one hand and a matcha latte in the other, and somehow managed to make standing in your hallway feel like an entrance.

“You must be Y/N,” she said with a warm smile, her tone light but unmistakably polished. “Thank you so much for letting us invade your Saturday. Jay’s been very excited.”

You swallowed.

“Of course,” you said, stepping aside as they entered. “Come in.”

It dropped at exactly 7:32 p.m.

Jay didn’t even warn you.

You had just finished cleaning up from dinner — a lazy post-collab meal of boxed mac and cheese and frozen peas Naelle insisted on arranging into the shape of a flower — when your phone lit up with three notifications at once.

jaydoeslife just posted: “the best pancakes i’ve ever had (ft. the real boss)”

megs🍒: OH MY GOD YOU’RE IN IT

megs🍒: U LOOK SO HOT STOP IT

You blinked at the screen for a full ten seconds before unlocking it with trembling fingers. You didn’t even hesitate — you tapped Jay’s thumbnail, heart pounding, and the video bloomed across your phone.

There it was. Your living room. Your couch.

Your daughter — front and center, wearing her princess tiara and a syrup stain on her cheek, beaming at the camera like she was born to be adored by strangers.

And Jay, beside her, soft and charming and very clearly letting her lead.

“Today, I’m here with the one, the only—”

“NAELLE!! And he’s the assistant.”

You covered your face with one hand. “Oh my God,” you whispered.

The video was chaos in the most charming way.

Naelle narrating the entire recipe in a tone that alternated between fairy queen and exhausted teacher. Jay obediently following every instruction, even when she made him twirl before flipping the pancakes. You, visible in the background once or twice, mug in hand and surprisingly nonchalant despite falling apart internally.

Nayeon had edited it with surgical precision — cutting just enough to keep the pace, but leaving in every unfiltered, heart-tugging, wildly chaotic moment. The lighting was soft. The sound was crisp. The whole thing felt like a rom-com scene you didn’t realize you were starring in until the credits rolled.

And then came the part you’d secretly dreaded.

“I want you to marry Mommy.”

You closed your eyes. You could hear your own breath catch in the background. You could see Jay’s blush in high definition.

“I didn’t know this was a hostage situation,” he joked.

But something in his voice, in the way his eyes flicked toward where you stood just offscreen — it didn’t sound like he hated the idea.

Naelle watched the video twice on the iPad, laughing louder each time she heard her own voice. She asked to watch it again, and you only said no because the comments were already flooding in and your stomach was twisting into unfamiliar shapes.

i’d trust naelle with my life

this is giving SINGLE MOM LOVE STORY ENERGY???!!!

naelle: iconic. jay: soft. y/n: nonchalant dreadhead. me: crying.😭😭❤️

i didn’t come here to catch FEELINGS but here we are.

naelle’s right. marry her. pancakes are serious.

You refreshed the page again. The views were rising so fast it felt unreal. Thousands. Then tens of thousands. Then more. Your face — your home — was in front of the entire internet.

And somehow, instead of panic, there was something warm blooming in your chest. Like maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all.

At 8:04 p.m., your phone buzzed again.

jay

okay confession

i’ve rewatched the last minute like five times

naelle is the star

but i think you stole the scene

You stared at the message for so long the screen dimmed.

Then lit up again.

if this is too much too fast, tell me

but i’d really like to see you again

even if there’s no pancake making involved

You didn’t answer right away. Not because you didn’t know what to say, but because you wanted to hold onto the moment. That quiet flutter. The way your cheeks felt flushed for reasons that had nothing to do with the trending tab.

In the hallway, Naelle had fallen asleep on the beanbag chair, still wearing her tiara.

The apartment smelled like pancakes and shampoo and something new you didn’t quite have words for yet.

At 8:11 p.m., you finally texted back.

you:

maybe next time, i’ll make the pancakes

you just bring yourself

And just like that, it wasn’t just a collab anymore.

It was the beginning of something real.

The knock came just as you were finishing dinner — the kind of knock that was too deliberate to be a delivery or a neighbor dropping by. You peeked through the peephole, and there he was: Jay, standing on your doorstep, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking like he’d rehearsed what to say a thousand times but still wasn’t sure.

You swallowed the rush of nerves and opened the door.

“Hey,” he said softly, offering a small smile that made your heart skip in the most inconvenient way. “I thought I’d drop by. No cameras. No plans. Just me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You came back.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping inside like he belonged. “I wanted to see you… and Naelle. Maybe bring that pancake recipe back for round two.”

Naelle, who had been playing quietly with her dolls in the living room, suddenly appeared at your side, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Are we having pancakes again? Can I put the tiara on you?”

Jay crouched down, grinning. “Only if you promise to let me be the prince this time.”

You watched them, their easy laughter filling the room like a melody you didn’t want to end.

From the kitchen, Nayeon appeared, clipboard in hand, her expression softer than usual.

“Looks like the collaboration’s turned into something a little more,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

You nodded, feeling the warmth spread through you — the kind that comes from realizing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

You weren’t sure what you expected when Jay returned without a camera crew, without Nayeon, and without any kind of structured plan — but it wasn’t this.

It wasn’t him sitting barefoot on your floor, cross-legged on the rug, helping Naelle build a cardboard castle with a roll of tape and two empty paper towel tubes. It wasn’t him showing up with a tote bag that was his own merch and pulling out not just snacks, but a miniature potted plant he said he “couldn’t bear to leave alone.”

It wasn’t how easy it was. Or how quiet it felt, in the most dangerous way.

There was something about having him here — without the internet watching, without the performance — that made the walls of your apartment feel closer, warmer. Like your space had expanded to make room for someone new, and your heart had followed suit without your permission.

Naelle had declared it a “pajamas-only evening,” and you hadn’t fought her on it. You’d changed into an old crewneck and leggings. Jay had dutifully accepted the Hello Kitty pajama pants she offered him — they barely reached his ankles, but he wore them anyway.

“I look like a cursed sleepover,” he’d said, deadpan.

Naelle laughed so hard she fell backward onto a pillow.

The hours passed slowly, but comfortably.

At one point, Jay was reading a picture book aloud, doing ridiculous voices for each character while Naelle giggled into your shoulder. At another, he helped her draw a stick-figure comic strip titled “JAY GETS ATTACKED BY PANCAKES”, which she said was based on a true story.

And then, around 8:43 p.m., she yawned.

The kind of yawn that meant it was time.

She fought sleep with every ounce of her dramatic flair, claiming she had “emails to write” and “royal princess meetings” to attend. But you scooped her up anyway, carried her to her room while she mumbled about syrup kingdoms and declared that “Jay needs to come every Friday or else.”

You kissed her goodnight. She was out before the door clicked shut.

When you returned to the living room, the cardboard castle was still mid-construction, but Jay had cleaned up the stray crayons and gathered the glitter into a neat pile like he’d lived here for years.

He looked up when you entered — eyes soft, posture easy, that familiar warmth radiating from him like he didn’t know how not to give it.

And just like that, the silence felt different.

Not awkward. Not heavy.

But charged.

You sat beside him on the floor, your legs stretched out next to his, your knees almost — but not quite — brushing.

“She really likes you,” you said, your voice quiet and unguarded.

Jay glanced toward the hallway where her nightlight glowed faintly through the cracked door. “I really like her,” he said, then added, softer, “I really like you too.”

You didn’t answer right away.

You let the words hang there — heavy but not unwelcome, like rainclouds you weren’t afraid of.

“I wasn’t looking for this,” you finally said, truth resting in every syllable. “Not with a kid. Not online. Not with someone who has… a million people watching.”

Jay nodded. “Me neither. But then you posted that video. And she said that thing about pancakes. And suddenly everything else felt… smaller.”

He wasn’t looking at you when he said it. He was staring at the edge of the cardboard tower, fingers absentmindedly smoothing a wrinkle in the paper like he needed something to ground him.

You looked at him.

Really looked.

And saw not the curated YouTube version of Jay, not the viral softness or camera-ready charm, but the quiet steadiness beneath it all. The patience. The kindness. The part of him that didn’t just show up, but stayed.

So you reached over slowly, carefully, and placed your hand over his.

It was small. Barely a touch.

But it was real.

And when he turned to you, gaze full of something tentative and open and terrifyingly honest, you didn’t pull away.

“I’m not good at letting people in,” you said, barely above a whisper. “But she already let you in. And I think… maybe I want to, too.”

Jay swallowed, his eyes locked on yours. “Then let me in.”

You ended up on the couch, shoulder to shoulder under a fleece blanket, the credits of a movie neither of you had really watched rolling in the background. At some point, Jay had fallen asleep, his head tilted toward yours, breath soft and even.

You should’ve moved.

But you didn’t.

Because for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone. And more than that — you didn’t want to be.

It started small.

A tweet here, a blurry photo there, a comment under one of Jay’s older videos, timestamped and laced with a quiet kind of suspicion.

That couch looks familiar.

Wait… is that the same hoodie from the pancake video??

Not me matching the floor lamp to Y/N’s apartment tour two years ago???

It hadn’t even been 24 hours since Jay had left your place — hoodie rumpled, hair a mess, a faint outline of Naelle’s glitter sticker still stuck to his cheek. He hadn’t filmed anything. He hadn’t posted. But still, they knew.

The internet always knows.

You didn’t notice the full storm until you woke up to 17 texts from Megan.

megs🍒

babe you’re trending

again.

i repeat. AGAIN!!!!!

“mommy’s friend jay” is a THING now

like people are shipping it.

people are writing headcanons.

i think someone’s writing fanfiction. i hate this. i also love this?

AND HE POSTED A PICTURE

You blinked blearily at the screen, one eye open, thumb trembling as you tapped Jay’s account. His newest post was simple:

A blurry shot of a stack of child-sized pancakes on a plastic princess plate.

With the caption: “love looks like syrup and glitter these days.”

Your stomach dropped in the most ridiculous, fluttering kind of way. He hadn’t tagged you. He hadn’t said your name. But the internet didn’t need names to connect dots.

Naelle was humming in the bathroom, brushing her teeth with the door wide open and one sock on, completely unbothered by her sudden viral fame.

You, however, were pacing your kitchen barefoot, scrolling through tagged posts and trying not to panic.

There were clips of the collab spliced with dramatic music. Edits of you and Jay with fake wedding captions. Tweets that read:

I don’t believe in love but I believe in Jay falling for a single mom.

Y/N is the new mother of the internet. Respectfully.

If he doesn’t look at me like Jay looks at her mid-pancake flip, I don’t want it.

📞 nayeon im is calling…

You stared at the screen for two full rings before you answered, voice tight with nerves.

“Hi.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Nayeon said smoothly, her tone clipped but not cold. “Don’t worry — I’m not here to lecture you.”

That was somehow worse.

You sank into the kitchen chair, rubbing your forehead. “How bad is it?”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by the soft sound of her sipping something expensive.

“Let’s just say… Jay trending with the word mommy isn’t exactly what I had in this month’s content plan.”

You let out a strangled laugh.

“I knew this might happen,” you said, quieter now. “But I didn’t think it would happen this fast.”

“Well,” Nayeon replied, “you made the mistake of being emotionally available and extremely pretty on camera. That’s on you.”

You groaned into your hands. “What do we do?”

Another pause. Then her voice softened just a little.

“Jay’s an adult. You’re not under contract. This isn’t a scandal. It’s just… complicated. If it makes you feel any better, he hasn’t stopped talking about you since he got back.”

You froze.

“What?”

“I’m not repeating it,” Nayeon said quickly, but her smile was obvious in her voice. “Just… take a breath, Y/N. If this is something real, then it’ll hold. Whether the internet’s watching or not.”

You let the words settle around you like warm tea — comforting and slightly dangerous.

That night, after Naelle had fallen asleep under a mountain of stuffed animals and you were curled up on the couch with your laptop closed and your phone silenced, you received one last message.

jay

if this gets too loud, i’ll turn it down

i like you in the quiet too

And that was when you knew.

It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just a viral moment. You were falling. Slowly, steadily. Quietly. But absolutely.

Saturday came faster than you thought it would. The morning began with a glitter explosion. Not metaphorically, literally. Naelle had somehow gotten into her craft bin before breakfast and decided that the only way to properly honor “the ceremony of true love and sparkles” was by tossing an entire packet of pink and silver glitter across the hallway carpet. You found her kneeling in the middle of it, like a priestess summoning something sacred.

“I’m making a magical aisle,” she said solemnly. “You’re not allowed to vacuum it until after the vows.”

You didn’t argue because somehow — this was happening.

Jay showed up just before noon, holding a bouquet of sunflowers wrapped in brown paper and a pack of apple juice boxes he called “offering gifts.” He wore a crown Naelle had made out of pipe cleaners and construction paper, perched crookedly on his head, and a button-down that was just wrinkled enough to prove he hadn’t tried too hard… but had definitely tried.

“You look,” you said, pausing in the doorway as he entered, “like someone who got roped into a royal toddler wedding and is pretending not to love it.”

Jay smiled at you, eyes warm. “I do love it.”

And somehow, he wasn’t talking about the glitter.

The living room had been transformed — pillow aisles, stuffed animals lined up like guests, and a tiara-clad Naelle officiating with a plastic microphone that didn’t work. There were vows, of course. Hers.

“Do you promise to make pancakes and not forget syrup ever again?”

“Do you promise to share all your blankies and hug when she looks sad?”

“Do you promise to like her even when she’s grumpy and says bad words quietly in the kitchen?”

You laughed. Jay nodded, solemn and sure.

“I do,” he said, looking only at you.

When it was your turn, you expected to stumble — to laugh it off or overthink every word.

But Jay leaned in, gently taking your hands in his, and whispered, “You don’t have to say anything rehearsed. Just say what’s real.”

So you did.

You looked at him — this sweet, slightly awkward, thoughtful man who’d stumbled into your world like a misdelivered letter — and said, voice quieter than it should’ve been,

“I didn’t think anyone would ever want all of this. The mess, the mornings, the tiny human, the glitter. But you showed up. Again and again. And you made it feel like… I’m not just surviving anymore. I’m allowed to want things. And I want this.”

Jay didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you — really looked — like he was memorizing every word. Every curve of your mouth. Every inch of the space between you that didn’t feel so wide anymore.

Naelle clapped.

“And now you KISS!”

You froze.

Jay blinked.

Naelle tilted her head. “You have to. Or it’s not official.”

You let out a soft laugh, but something in your chest tightened. You looked back at Jay, unsure whether to lean in or laugh it off — until you saw him swallow, saw his hand twitch once like he wanted to reach for your face.

So you nodded.

Just once.

And that was enough.

He leaned in slowly, almost carefully, like he was asking every second if you still wanted this. His hand brushed your cheek, fingers warm and steady, and when your eyes fluttered shut, he closed the space.

The kiss was gentle. Unrushed. Real.

It wasn’t fireworks — it was softer than that. It was a sigh into warm skin. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for more, just promised that this moment, this connection, was safe.

Jay pulled back first, only by a breath, and looked at you like he couldn’t believe he’d just done that and also like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done it sooner.

You couldn’t help smiling.

Neither could he.

Naelle threw confetti.

You ended up on the floor later — tangled in blankets, plastic rings on your fingers, Jay’s head resting against your shoulder while Naelle drew hearts all over his arm in washable marker.

Nayeon showed up an hour later with coffee and a camera, pausing in the doorway when she saw you like that. Like a family.

She didn’t say anything, only smiled and snapped a picture. Jay didn’t blink and you didn’t flinch because this wasn’t pretend anymore.

This was how it started.

[mysticaljiminie]

TO MY FIRST 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

⭑.ᐟ A rainy Highschool reunion trip with Exes Med Student!Y/N and Lawyer!Sunghoon You knew Sunghoon would be there. Of course he would be. You had made your peace with it. You’re friends now, kind of. It’s fine. Really. Seeing him at your Highschool reunion was kind of a given. That you agreeded going onto a trip with your friends later that year, however surprised yourself. Sunghoon can somehow still read you like an open book. Of course he could. He was the person you once planned to marry...until life got in the way. You buried yourself in work, in reaching your goals. Between helping out with Jay's toddler, pretending you're not running on empty, and trying to avoid old feelings during the trip , you start to realize something: Somewhere along the way, you stopped living the life you actually wanted. And maybe, just maybe, there’s still time to fix it.

⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆

ᝰ genre. exes to lovers, fluff, angst (just a tiny bit tho) and loads of yearning, heavily inspired by the kdrama 'Love Next Door' ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warning. stress at work and uni , mention of burnout, insomnia, mentions of death, Y/N is lowkey unhappy with some life choices she made .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 31.5 k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ reading time. approximately 1h 40min .ᐟ₊ ⊹

“Y/N. You have to come”, Yunjin whined into the phone loud enough for you to lower the volume of your phone with your free hand. 

“I don’t know Yu”, the emart you were in was fuller than you expected it to be on a Thursday morning at 9 am. “I really don’t see the point in going. We are still in contact, aren’t we? All the people that I want to see, I do, and there are way too many I am glad to not see ever again.”

“Y/N that's the whole point! What about Chaehyun? Or Jake and Jay? Or, oh I don't know, Gaeul? You haven’t met up with her in months?”  You signed and walked towards the frozen section in the supermarket. Lately you didn’t really feel like cooking nor had the time to do so. Jaemin did cook sometimes but most of the time the two of you just got takeout or cooked ready to eat meals. Ramen was your top contender. You’ve tried probably every flavour on the market.  “I called her pretty recently? And I know I haven’t really caught up with the boys. Don’t you think it would be weird to be close to my exes best friends?” “First of all you called Gaeul like two months ago, that's not recent,” Yujin huffed. “And I don't think it would be weird? We were all friends, even after the two of you broke up, remember?” “I know. I just…”, you really didn’t know why the thought of meeting everyone made you feel so queasy, Yunjin was right, they were your friends, or at least close acquaintances. “I don’t know Yu, I feel like it would be weird. I mean I am really a shit friend. I don’t keep up with everyone's life and I never have much to talk about except work or uni right now. That's all my life is.” “Oh, I know. I’ve never seen a worse texter than you, Y/N. But I don’t think the others would mind, they would probably all be excited to see you. It’s been a while and you really deserve a break Y/N. Even if it’s just one evening. Working yourself to the ground only to get your licence won’t make you graduate faster or a better doctor. I am worried you’re working yourself into a burnout”, she said softly. 

You swallowed and stopped in front of the big freezers, looking at the rows after rows of frozen products. She was right. In the last few years your focus has fully been on your studies, your residency or your Board Certification Exam and you didn’t have much time or mental space for other things. Right now work took up most of your awake hours, but somehow it was really fulfilling. Most of the time at least. You loved being a doctor, a gynecologist to be exact. You loved your job, helping people, healing people, bringing new life to the world. Of course there were the shadow sides like the almost 100 hour work week or the days you lose patients. Losing a life is never easy, and would never get easier. You hated shifts in the NICU. “I know. I know.”, you sighed again. “Look Yu, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe someone can switch shift with me, don’t get your hopes too high tho.”  “Yes! I knew I could convince you! You absolutely will be there!”, Yunjin cheered loudly again.  “I just said don’t get your hopes up?”, you shook your head and threw three packets of frozen vegetable mixes into your basket. “Nah uh! You’ll come. I’ll personally call the hospital to ask them to give you that day off, I swear.” You chuckled, “Please do. I would love to see that happen.” 

────────────────────────

You stood in your old room at your parents house, looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked so different to the girl you were 10 years ago when you graduated high school. Your face looked pale in the reflection and your eyes lost the spark they once had. In the pictures glued to your mirror they were so full of life, of ambition. You were so excited for the future that was to come, not fully realizing that the path you choose to take will be harder than you and anyone else back then could have imagined. Nonetheless, you were proud of yourself and still excited to do what you do. You just wanted to finally be done studying, work in an office outside the hospital until you had enough to open your own, give care to mothers and young girls and whoever else has to go to a Gyno. The way to get there would be hard but so worth it. It was your dream after all. You opened your bag and fished for your makeup pouch, applying generous amounts all over your face. The blush you stole from your mother gave you a bit of color back.  You were staying at your parents house, since it was a lot closer to the event location where the 10 year reunion was taking place. It was weird to sleep in your childhood bedroom. Not much has changed in the last 10 years here. Your parents had enough rooms in the house to not really have a purpose for your room anymore. So they just left it be. All your pictures and trinkets in the places you left them. It was like walking into a different world. 

The picture of Sunghoon and you at your high school graduation that was glued to your mirror was fading in the sunlight, the colors slowly losing their vibrance. You reached up and straightened the corners, where the paper lifted from the tape and smiled. Sunghoon was really handsome back then. The way he looked at you instead of the camera made you feel so bittersweet. You always thought he would be the one you would marry, that you would have your first and only love for ever. But life was weird sometimes and it didn’t work out.  With the breakup and your life at uni getting more stressful you never really had much time for anyone but yourself and your friends maybe. Dating wasn’t really on your mind for a long time after you’ve overcome the heartbreak. You hoped he did. That today he would come to the reunion telling you about his wife, his kids, how great his life was. He deserved nothing more.

You sighed when the paper curled into itself again and turned around to get dressed. You and Jaemin, and Jeno, who had no choice, spent almost an hour trying to figure out what you should wear and the final verdict was a black pair of dress pants, the only pair of heels you owned for occasions like this, and a red wrap around top with rather delicate silver jewelry. You loved living with Jaemin, it was a lot of fun. The two of you met on your first day of uni and have been inseparable since then. When you and Sunghoon decided to end your relationship he immediately suggested moving together. He was living in the student dorm and was sick of it. 

So for the last almost 3 years now, you and Jaemin have been living in a rather beautiful apartment near the Seoul National Hospital. Last year he decided to adopt 3 cats, so now there was almost always a bit of chaos in your home. He got together with Jeno, a student, well back then a student a semester higher than the two of you almost 3 years ago now. They were super cute together, but Jeno decided to do his residency in Gangwon hospital, which meant the two of them didn’t really get to move together until Jeno is done and hopefully gets a job in Seoul. 

“Y/N?”, your mother startled you out of your thoughts, “Are you ready yet darling? If you want to be on time we have to go now.”  “Oh”, you turned around and looked at your mother, who was standing in the doorway to your room. She herself was attending a dinner with her colleague and an important client from overseas and offered to take you with her. She was styled impeccable, her gray hair in a strict bun and she was wearing a stunning one piece. You could gladly say you inherited her beauty and grace and annoyingly her work ethic. „I‘m done, mom.“, you nodded and grabbed your purse. „Oh look how pretty you look!“, your mom rubbed her hands up and down your arms when you passed her in the doorway. „My beautiful beautiful daughter. Let’s hurry! I don’t want you to be late!“  She ushered you towards the entryway, where both of you changed from slippers into your heels.

────────────────────────

The restaurant that was picked out for the reunion was an expensive looking one. The tables were all covered in thick white cloth, decked with wine glasses and multiple plates. Classical music was gently playing in the background when you made your way inside. The place was already buzzing with laughter coming from various groups at the entrance to the main room, enjoying champagne and the small appetizers displayed on various high tables.  You spotted Yunjin pretty quickly. She was talking to Heeseung and Jay, laughing at something she said. You didn’t really keep in touch with either of them after you and Sunghoon broke up three years ago. You all did grow up together but you didn’t want to make it awkward for them by still meeting up with them. And you honestly just didn’t want to know how Sunghoon was doing and you know you would have asked. Which wouldn’t have helped you getting over him.  Heeseung spotted you first, waving at you and smiling in your direction. You gave him a small wave back and continued your way through the crowd.  “Y/N!” Chaehyun, who was standing a few feet next to them, lit up the moment she saw you, standing to hug you tight. “You look so good! You cut your hair!” “Oh. Yeah. A few months ago,” you mumbled, glancing at your hair. 

“It looks fantastic, right? Do you know how long I had to endure her going back and forth about cutting it? Horrible!”, Yunjin whined and wrapped her arms around yours.  “I wanted to cut enough to donate it, but it wasn’t long enough, but I also desperately wanted to get rid of the hair”, you grumbled and shoved her away gently.  “Did you have enough to donate in the end?”, Chaehyun asked and passed you a flute of champagne from the table you were standing around.  “Yeah. I cut around 25 cm off.”  “Oh shit thats a lot”, Jake whistled and threw his arm around your shoulder, “Hi Y/N.”  “Hi Jake”, you laughed and boxed him into his side to get off you. You and Jake were going back to kindergarten days. Together with Sunghoon you attended kindergarten and elementary school until Jake went to Australia for a few years. The three of you were inseparable up until you and Sunghoon ended things.  “My mom told me you're almost done with your residency, will we be calling you Dr. Y/L/N soon?”, he asked and stole the flute out of your hand.  You took a deep breath in, “I already am Dr. Y/L/N if I might correct you. I’m done with my residency in a few months and then I have to study for the board certification exam. So some time next year I’ll be done with everything, yeah.” 

Just the thought of having to study for that exam made you want to curl into a corner and cry. The amount of stress that came with that exam and working at the same time was nothing anyone looked forward to.  “It’s so crazy you are pulling this through. You’ve got my deepest respect for that, Y/N.”, Jake tutted and shook his head.  “I’ve always wanted to be a doctor”, you shrugged and smiled at him.  “Everyone!”, Daewhi, your former class president, was standing on a stage further into the event location, “It’s lovely to see you all. Please take a seat, as we would like to start with ordering food. You’ll have enough time to mingle later on.” “Let’s go,” Jake pulled you with him toward one of the tables in the middle of the room, where your friends were already walking towards.  You settled down next to Jake and smiled at Ningning, who was seated opposite of you.  “I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we graduated,” Yujin said, glancing around. “When was the last time we were all together?” Jay answered without looking up. “The funeral.”

Ah. Right. You averted your gaze to look at your hands. “Yeah,” she murmured. “That wasn’t exactly the best time to catch up.” A suspicious looking ring on Ningning's ring finger caught your attention. But before saying anything you let your gaze wander towards Heeseung's hand. He was also wearing a suspicious looking ring. You weren't sure if you just missed it, or if they just didn’t tell you they got engaged, but your heart dropped a bit.  “Hey Jake,” you lowered your voice, to not raise suspicion if you just simply haven’t been told, “did Hee and Ningning get engaged?” His head snapped into your direction and then towards the couple, “What?”

“Look at the rings,” you said, having trouble suppressing your smile. Apparently they didn’t tell anyone.  “Heeseung what the fuck? You got engaged?”, Jake said excitedly.  Heeseung looked up mid-sip of water, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. “Huh?”.  “You are wearing a ring!” Yujin leaned in from the other side, eyes wide. “Wait, are you serious?!” Heeseung scratched the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. “Well... yeah. We wanted to tell you all tonight.” “You got engaged and didn’t tell me?” Jay looked personally offended. “We wanted to tell everyone at the same time,” Ningning said quickly. “We only told our parents. It’s been, like, three days.” The table erupted in noise, demanding details. You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. You felt pure relief, knowing that you weren’t the only one who didn’t know. You were never really close with Heeseung and Ningning joined your friendgroup a year after you graduated Highschool, when she and Heeseung got together, so you weren’t as offended as the rest.  “Okay, but where did he propose?” Yujin was practically bouncing in her seat. “Yeah, Hee, if it wasn’t romantic I’m gonna be mad,” Jake added with mock severity. Heeseung shot Ningning a sheepish smile before answering. “Her apartment. I brought flowers, cooked dinner, and then... just kind of asked.” Jay snorted. “Classic. That’s the most Heeseung thing I’ve ever heard.” “It was perfect,” Ningning said softly, and the way she looked at him made your chest ache just a little. You smiled again, this time more to yourself, and leaned back in your chair. The second you glanced away from your friends you noticed a very familiar figure making its way towards your table. 

Sunghoon looked immaculate.  He was wearing a navy suit, with his hair styled neatly and a bag slung over his shoulder. Your eyes met for a second and he gave you a small smile. You returned it almost automatically and then looked back at Ningning who was talking about her parents' reactions, but you weren’t really listening.  He made his way over, greeting Jake with a handshake and Yunjin with a hug, then slid into the empty seat next to you without hesitation.  “Sorry I’m late,” he said lightly, reaching for a glass of water. “Client wouldn’t stop talking.” “Do they ever?” Heeseung offered. Sunghoon laughed, low and tired. “I don’t mind as long as they keep on paying.” He was immediately informed about the engagement and his eyes lit up excited as he started asking the same questions the couple already answered.  You had to almost physically fight the urge to stare at Sunghoon. The last time you saw him was at Jay’s girlfriend's funeral a few months after your break up.  A few minutes of excited chatting later, the waiter brought the menus. The whole table quieted down for a few minutes while everyone was deciding on what to eat. 

You were flipping back and forth not sure what you wanted to eat when Sunghoon leaned a little closer. “Take the fish,” he said quietly. “You’ll like it.” You glanced at him, surprised. “The fish?” “I’ve been here before. It’s good. Not too heavy either. You’ll like it.” You gave a small nod, lips twitching. “You always did like telling me what to eat.” “You always needed help deciding,” he replied easily, looking at his menu again. A moment passed before he gently closed it and turned towards you again.  “So…” he said, “how’s work? Are you still at SN?” You nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t think changing hospital would have changed my workload after all.” “Do you still like it?” he asked with a small hum. You hesitated. Your residence was one of the main reasons why you and Sunghoon broke up. It felt like a touchy topic. “Most days, yes. Some days are just hard. But every job is like that, right?” “Mhm. That’s true”, he turned aback towards the table, reaching for the wine card. “Are you still living with Jaemin?”  “Yeah.”, you nodded. “He adopted three cats a few months ago.” He laughed, eyes flicking back to you. “Three?” “Yep. And of course, Kai’s allergic, so I have to deep clean everything whenever he visits.”

That made Sunghoon pause, his brow ticking up slightly. “Kai?” “Yeah, you probably remember him. Tall, really soft-spoken, kinda chaotic. We study together sometimes.”, you shrugged.  Sunghoon didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded a little. You tapped the edge of your napkin and glanced sideways. “So… how have you been? With work and everything.” Sunghoon leaned back slightly in his chair, resting an arm casually along the back of yours. “It’s been good. I made partner this year.” You blinked. “Already?” He gave a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, it’s brutal hours, constant travel, and my phone might actually be fused to my hand now, but… I like it. Most days.” You nodded slowly. “That’s… impressive.” There was something oddly comforting about that echo of your own answer. “You started studying for the board already?”, he tilted his head a little toward you.  You blinked. “Yeah. I mean yes, I am. How did you…?” “My mom,” he said with a small grin, not even pretending to be subtle. “She keeps me updated. Involuntarily.” “Oh.” You paused, a little surprised. “Right.”

Your mother and his mother were close friends. You forbade your parents to talk about Sunghoon and they have never said anything about him to you. Your mother surely knew he was a partner, with how much his mother flexed with her golden son.  “She said you basically live in the hospital.” You huffed a soft laugh. “Oh lord. That comes from my mom. But yeah, she is kinda right. But, what can I say, night shifts pay better.” “Didn’t think she was wrong,” he said, glancing sideways. “After all, these ladies are the heart of the gossip mill in our neighborhood.” “That is right.”, you nodded slightly.  The waiter came and took your orders, interrupting your conversation. You ordered the fish.  Once the waiter stepped away, Sunghoon leaned in slightly, fingers idly tracing the stem of his champagne flute.

“And your parents?” he asked. “Still working?” You smiled a little. “Yeah. My mom’s been talking about retiring for three years now, but we both know she’d go crazy without it. She seriously has to find a hobby. My dad is still working in the hospital but not as chief physician anymore. He said he was too old for that amount off stress.” Sunghoon laughed quietly. “Sounds about right.” You glanced down at your hands. “I try to visit when I can or go on holidays with them, but it’s... not often. Last time I came down with a fever halfway through and spent most of the weekend in bed. My mom still complains about not having someone who actually takes good pictures around in Venice." “Didn’t know med students were allowed to get sick.” “We’re not. It’s humiliating,” you deadpanned, and he laughed again. You let yourself look at him, really look. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, styled neatly. There was a soft crease between his brows you hadn’t noticed when he first walked in. Tiredness, maybe" “Do you still live around Gangnam?” you asked. “Or did you move for work?” “I moved.” He hesitated. “Actually, I moved back in with my parents. Just a couple months ago.” You blinked. “Didn’t your sister move back in as well?"

“She did,” he said, then glanced down at his watch for a beat too long. “She and her husband divorced last year. But she’s back in Busan now.” “Oh.” You paused, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Sunghoon never really liked his brother-in-law, claiming he wasn’t good for his baby sister. They fought really hard when she told him she would marry him. SUnghoon and Yeji didn’t talk for months afterwards and he was devastated by it.  He shrugged lightly, but didn’t meet your eyes. “It’s alright. She’s doing better now.” There was a small silence.  “Why did you move back?”, you asked softly. He tilted his head slightly. “Mhm. I was living with my girlfriend. For about a year. We broke up in the spring and I moved into her apartment when we got together.” You felt a soft pang in your heart. As much as you wished for him to be happy, to have found love, it hurt a bit to hear that he actually did, while you were distracting yourself with work instead of tackling your feelings. “Oh. I’m sorry, Sunghoon.” “It’s fine. I am over her, she was nice but…it just… wasn’t working. I was always gone. And when I wasn’t, I wasn’t really there, you know?” He looked at you then, and you knew exactly what he meant. “We were both too tired to argue about it. It felt like a dejavu.” He chuckled softly at that and took a sip of his champagne. A beat passed. “And you? Any boyfriends in sight?”

You glanced toward where Ningning was showing off her engagement ring to Yujin, her hands gesturing animatedly. “Not really,” you said. “I thought about it. Dated here and there. But it’s hard when you fall asleep with your face on a chart at 2 a.m.” “That does sound romantic,” he said dryly. You grinned, a little ruefully. “I’m told I snore.” “I can confirm.” You laughed, eyes crinkling and slightly shoved him. “Hey! You snore way worse than I do.” Before he could say anything else, the lights dimmed slightly and Daewhi stepped back onto the small stage at the front of the room. “Alright everyone! Before the food comes out, we’d like to say a few words...” You both turned toward the front, Sunghoon’s arm brushing yours lightly as he shifted in his seat.  As the speeches started, you leaned in a little, voice low. “So… partner, huh? What are you working on currently?”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath. “Right now? A cross-border IP case. A Korean company’s suing a European firm over design plagiarism, branding, packaging, whole lineup. My team’s handling compliance and preparing expert reports. It’s mostly just emails at 2 a.m. and arguing over clauses in licensing agreements.” You blinked. “That sounds miserable.” He shrugged with a half-smile. “It is. But weirdly satisfying. I kind of like picking apart their statements line by line, figuring out where they copied, what we can use." You tilted your head. “You always did like arguing.” “I prefer ‘debating.’ But yeah. The job’s a lot of drafting, negotiations, risk assessment. We do corporate governance stuff, too! Restructuring, audits, employee protection frameworks. Internal messes that execs don’t want to touch.” He smiled, lifting his glass. “And you?” You groaned. “Don’t even get me started.I honestly do too much in one day to summarize it all. Lots of rotation, many many crying babies and many many grandmas and grandpas that tell me I am doing my job wrong at 3 am when I just helped deliver their grandchild for like 4 hours.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You still don’t sleep much then?” “Not unless it’s at a nurse’s station in an empty hallway,” you said, trying to laugh. “But yeah… third year’s a step up. More decision-making, more pressure. I scrub in way more now. Still supervised, but I’m technically managing my own cases.” “Jesus.” He shook his head, then looked at you. “Also,” you added, leaning back a little, “I have become frighteningly good at drawing blood. I could probably even handle a crybaby like Jake.” Sunghoon gave a theatrical shudder. “Remind me to never pass out near you.” You grinned. “Too late. I already have a target vein.” He lifted his glass in a mock toast. “To poor life choices and me never fainting near you.”

You clinked it lightly. “And to knowing exactly what we signed up for.” “You know…” He ran a finger along the stem of his glass after setting it down again. “I still think it’s kind of insane, what you do.” You blinked at him, head tilting slightly. “What do you mean?” “I mean, yeah, my job’s intense. But I don’t have people’s lives in my hands. No one's bleeding out during a client pitch,” he said, his tone light but eyes sincere.  That caught you off guard. You opened your mouth, but he was already continuing. “And…” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing back at you. “I never got to say it, but, thank you. For what you did for Jay. And you helped with Haneul after.” Your fingers stilled on your napkin. “I just did my job.” “Maybe,” Sunghoon said quietly, “but it was important. To him. And to her.” You looked away for a moment, your throat tightening. “I still think about it sometimes. About whether I could’ve done more. Maybe she would have survived” “There wasn’t more to do,” he said, firm. “You know that." “I do,” you murmured. “But that doesn’t really make it easier.” Silence settled briefly between you. “Jay said you were really good at doing what you do,” Sunghoon added, his voice lower now. “And kind. That you didn’t panic.”

You huffed a small laugh. “That’s because I did the panicking in the locker room after.” He smiled faintly at that. “Still.” Sunghoon shifted slightly in his seat, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. “Wanna see pictures? Jay sends way too many, and I’m not strong enough to delete them.” You gave a small laugh and nodded. “Yeah. I’d love to.” He unlocked his phone, thumb moving swiftly through albums until he turned the screen toward you. “Here, this was last month. She dressed up as a tangerine for kindergarten.” You leaned in, your smile slowly growing. “Oh my god… she’s huge already. And her hair’s gotten so long." “Right?” He grinned, flicking to the next picture. “This one’s my favorite.”

You let out a soft laugh, one hand subconsciously lifting to your mouth. “Wow. She looks so much like her mom.”

Sunghoon’s smile faded just a little, more fond now. “Yeah.”

You were quiet for a second, watching his screen as he kept scrolling, birthday parties, park visits, messy dinner selfies. Her in a doctor costume, holding a stethoscope upside down.

“She’s really cute,” you said, smile tugging at your lips as Sunghoon tapped through another photo. “She looks like trouble.”

“She is,” Sunghoon said, clearly proud. “But only when she doesn’t get her strawberry milk.”

You gave a small laugh and leaned back a little.

You didn’t say much else, but something in your chest tightened. You were happy for them, you really were. For Jay. For Sunghoon. For this whole, messy, beautiful life they had grown into. You’d just forgotten how far away you’d placed yourself from it all. The waiter brought your drinks and before you even took a sip Sunghoon tsked next to you.

“No Coke Zero?” Sunghoon asked, tilting his head. “Who are you and what have you done with Y/N?”

Your rolled our eyes. “I had three cans this morning.”

“There she is.”

You scowled and hit hid foot under the table. “I had to stay awake. We had a five-hour surgery and the scrub nurse kept humming the same damn trot song.”

Sunghoon snorted into his drink. “Still addicted, I see.”

“You know what?” You raised a finger at him, fighting a smile. “If you mock my Coke Zero consumption one more time, I will curse you out.”

“Oh, have fun with that. I’ll probably enjoy it,” he said with mock gravity. “I’ve heard you curse. It’s like poetry. Angry, caffeine-fueled poetry.”

You leaned in, smiling sweetly. “Park Sunghoon.”

“Yes?”

“I hope your protein shaker leaks in your work bag.”

He gasped, hand to chest. “You take that back.”

“Never.”

“You’re still evil,” he muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

“And you’re still annoying,” you replied, sipping your water, resting, giving him your middle finger like you did when you were sixteen.

“I am actually not drinking too many protein shakes anymore. I’ve switched to actually eating  healthy and protein rich meals.”, he said, sounding almost proudly. 

Yunjin snickered from across the table. “Now you do. I clearly remember a time where the only thing you all ate was chicken, unseasoned chicken, and protein shakes.”

Jay groaned, slumping back in his chair. “Don’t remind me. I was protein-shaking my soul away for like six months straight.”

“Six months?” Jake snorted. “Heeseung tried to bulk for a year. He was eating boiled eggs between classes.”

Heeseung shrugged, totally unfazed. “And I looked great.”

“You also smelled like eggs,” Ningning added flatly, reaching for her water.

You were shaking your head, your head gesturing accusingly towards Sunghoon. “You were the worst of all of them. I swear to god, if you’d asked me to meal prep plain chicken breast one more time I would have used my anatomical knowledge for some illegal activities.”

He gave a sheepish grin. “I was trying to hit macros. And you yourself claimed to appreciate my biceps.”

“I still have nightmares about our air fryer,” you deadpanned. “There were weeks the entire apartment smelled like chicken and eggs.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Sunghoon said, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“I am not,” you insisted. “You once brought chicken breast to brunch with our parents cause you were afraid they wouldn’t prep anything with proteins in it.”

Sunghoon shrugged, unbothered. “Gains don’t rest.”

“You were unbearable,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you gave him a narrowed look.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. “I was bulking.”

“You were insane,” you shot back. “Do you remember the protein powder in your coffee?”

“It tasted fine.”

“You mixed it with my expensive vanilla almond milk. And you made the entire kitchen smell like dirty socks.”

He grinned. “And yet you still ate my chicken.”

“Because I was too tired to cook my own, you menace”, you said flatly. 

You took a sip of your water, the conversation around you dissolving into background noise as Sunghoon leaned a little closer, resting one arm on the back of your chair again.

“I still don’t get how you survived my meal prep,” he said casually, eyes flicking to yours.

You gave him a look. “Oh, I didn’t survive. I suffered.”

He grinned. “That dramatic streak of yours hasn’t changed, huh?" “Park Sunghoon,” you warned, narrowing your eyes slightly, “I swear, if you say one more thing about me being dramatic, I will curse you out so thoroughly you’ll have flashbacks to every anatomy study session I ever made you suffer through.” “Oh, jeez please not. I don’t think I would survive that. You were so mean.” “I was under a lot of pressure!” you said, biting back a smile. “Do you know what it’s like to come home after a 28-hour shift just to find someone boiling chicken again at midnight?” He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “I said I’d do the dishes.” “You never did the dishes.” “I did them… eventually.” “Exactly my point.” He just smiled at you, warm and unhurried.

You exhaled, tipping your head slightly toward him. “Do you still eat like that? Like are you still obsessing over your calories and everything.”

“Sometimes,” he said. “But my mom doesn’t curse me out if I stink up the kitchen.”

You hummed. “Tragic. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

He smirked. “Ah you and your endless compassion.”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, lips twitching. “I’m about to be compassionate all over your fancy suit.”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and nudged your knee under the table.

“Still so scary,” he murmured.

────────────────────────

Since the reunion, Sunghoon somehow slithered his way back into your life. You’ve seen him at least 3 times in the last month, which is more than the last three years. Probably due to the new outbound clinic you were transferred to being close to your parents house, which caused you, much to your parents delightment, to sleep at home. And considering Sunghoon is living just over the street, meeting him after work was somehow something that happened now. 

Today though, you were prepared. You were standing in the kitchen of the venue your and Sunghoons mother rented out to celebrate their birthdays, cutting up a watermelon into bitesize pieces. Your mothers turned 60 last week, yours on Tuesday and his on Thursday and decided to celebrate together, renting out a small hall and inviting a ton of people. Sunghoon was currently carrying boxes of wine to put into the kitchen's cooler. Both of your mothers roped you in to help out preparing the celebration and who were you to say no. 

“That’s the last one,” he said, breath short. “The cooler’s full now.”

You huffed a strand of hair out of your face.

“Good. We still need to plate the sandwiches, preslice the cake, move the drink station out front and deck the tables.”

He gave you a sidelong look. “Should we demand hourly payment for all of this?”

“We’re being paid in love, you dumbass.”

He chuckled, stepping around your dad and his, who were currently wrangling a caterer sized metal food warmer. It took both of them to maneuver it through the narrow doorway without crashing into the counter.

You leaned away instinctively to avoid the chaos, and Sunghoon did the same, which brought him just a bit closer to your side of the counter.

“Remind me why we agreed to this again?” he asked, settling beside you and propping one elbow against the metal surface.

“Because your mom is scary,” you muttered, fighting with the watermelon rind. “And because mine is lovely and we love helping her.”

“They could have asked our siblings to come earlier.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t act like you weren’t the one who volunteered to organize the drinks as if you didn't know it meant carrying twelve crates of wine.”

“I thought that was the easier job,” he said, rubbing his shoulder with a wince. “I didn’t want to get my hands dirty.”

Just as he said that a watermelon slice slipped in your hands, leaving a pink stain on your white shirt and arm, when you caught it out of reflex. You hissed and leaned over the sink to rinse off quickly.

“You know we have, like, an hour left for everything? Including changing, right?” Sunghoon said, tossing you a towel as you returned from the sink.

You caught it, half-heartedly drying your hands, looking at the watch hanging on the kitchen wall. “Fifty-five now.”

He groaned. “Perfect. I sweat like a pig carrying those wines inside. I still have to shower.”

You wrinkled your nose, pretending to lean closer. “You should. You kind of stink.”

“Thank you, Y/N. Such lovely compliments you give,” he deadpanned.

You grinned, just a little. A piece of your bun came loose and a strand of hair slipped forward again.

He reached out and brushed it gently behind your ear. His fingers warm against the skin on your cheek.

Sunghoon and you both froze.

His hand dropped the moment it registered what he’d done.

“Sorry–uh. Reflex,” he said quickly, stepping half a breath back.

You blinked, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah, well… I guess I give great compliments.”

You cleared your throat before he could say anything else.

“Anyway,” you said, turning slightly so he couldn’t read your face. “Let’s just carry the rest of the stuff out so we can go shower. Whatever we don’t finish, someone else can do.”

“Yeah. Okay,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Before either of you could move toward the trays, the kitchen door swung open.

“Sunghoon,” his mother snapped, stepping inside with her arms crossed. “Why are you standing around while poor Y/N is doing everything? You were supposed to be helping, not loitering.”

You blinked, startled, still holding the towel.

“Oh, no, no,” you said quickly, straightening up and pasting on your best polite smile, you reserved for his mom specifically. “He was just about to carry the platter outside, Aunty. I was making sure he didn’t grab the wrong one.”

Sunghoon blinked at you, seemingly caught off guard for a second. His mom narrowed her eyes.

“Well, don’t dawdle,” she muttered, brushing past him to hover over the nearest table. “We still have to set the cakes out.”

Sunghoon mouthed thank you as he picked up the platter.

You just winked at him and turned back to your watermelon.

────────────────────────

You locked your front door with your clutch tucked under one arm, heels clicking against the pavement. The sun had just started to dip behind the trees, casting a golden wash over the quiet neighborhood. When you stepped onto the sidewalk, you saw Sungoon. 

He was walking a few feet ahead of you, dressed in a dark navy suit. One of his hands was smoothing his hair and while the other typed something on his phone. He seemed tense.

You cleared your throat loud enough to make him glance up.

He blinked in surprise, then gave you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, look at that. Fancy seeing you here.”

You stepped toward him slowly, eyeing the suit. “You still wear suits every day?”

“Sure.”

“You’re rumpled,” you said, frowning. You reached forward, tugging at the slightly crooked collar with practiced fingers. “God, how do you wear a suit every day and still not know how to wear one properly?”

His breath caught just slightly as you straightened the fold, your knuckles brushing his jaw for a split second. 

“Your mom would eat you alive if she saw this,” you added, trying to justify why you were suddenly in his personal bubble.

“Thanks for the save. Again,” Sunghoon huffed. “Ever since I moved back, she’s been on my ass non-stop.”

Your brows shot up. “How long are you planning on staying here?”

“Just temporarily,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My lease ended and I figured I’d take a break from paying Seoul rent. Mistake.”, he huffed, “She’s like: ‘You should be saving. You should get married. You should eat more. You should work less. You should stop slouching.”

You laughed, full and unfiltered. “Your mom is so intense. No offense, but she’s kind of terrifying. Like, how did your sweet dad end up with her?”

He laughed. “Everyone wonders. I think he just blinked and thirty-five years passed.”

You both chuckled as your steps fell into sync.

“She was grilling me earlier,” you said. “Asked if I had any ‘good eggs left.’ I thought she meant for the deviled platter, but nope she meant my ovaries. She told my how my job is so hard and asked whether I plan to freeze my eggs, because she would love me to have some precious kids. I think it came from the right place, but it was still kinda weird.”

Sunghoon winced. “That sounds about right. She still talks about us sometimes. Complains that I let you go.”

You looked at him sideways. “Seriously?”

“She always liked you more than she liked me,” he muttered. “Back when we were together, she used to ask at least twice a week if we were thinking about marriage. Said we’d have ‘sturdy’ children.”

You burst out laughing. “Sturdy? What does that even mean?”

“I think she meant athletic? Or that you wouldn’t let them do the stuff we did as a kid. YOu know sturdy kids. Clever and not trouble maker kids? "I dont know.”

“I probably wouldn’t. We did a lot of shit when unsupervised,” you said, grinning. “But she really did ask you that?”

“Repeatedly. Said she knows if you had my kids, she could more or less flex with her beautiful and clever daughter in law and even prettier kids, since you bring your moms genetics.”

You snorted. “Oh my god. I don’t know if that’s horrifying or flattering.”

“Both,” he said. “Mostly horrifying.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m no longer your ticket to high-functioning offsprings.”

“Tragic,” he said, with a dry smile.

────────────────────────

You hadn’t even made it ten minutes into the party, standing near the table with the drinks, waiting for Sunghoon to finish pouring himself a glass of wine when one of your moms coworkers came up. You recognized her but couldn’t put a name to her face, she certainly has been kinda friends with your mother for a while.

“Oh, Y/N!” she beamed. “Your mom never mentioned you had a boyfriend and such a handsome one!”

You blinked. “Oh no. No, no, that’s not–he’s not my–”

“Sunghoon,” Sunghoon offered, stepping beside you with a polite smile, holding his glass of wine and your glass of juice. “Just a friend. My mom is the other one celebrating.”

“Ahhh,” the woman said, "I was so sure you were. You are in so many of those pictures together.”

You gave your best awkward laugh. “Yeah, I guess we’ve known each other forever.”

“Oh, I can tell,” she said, waving her wine glass toward the giant photo collage near the dessert table. “Look at that one,” She pointed at a photo from your family trip to Oahu. Your two moms beaming in flower leis, both of your dads awkwardly squinting into the sun… and in the middle, on a striped beach towel, were the two of you. You were in a sundress sitting sideways in Sunghoon’s lap, laughing at something he was whispering in your ear. His arms were loosely wrapped around your waist, while your hand rested comfortably on his knee.

"Yeah…” you said weakly, stomach dropping. “Those were… taken a while ago.”

Sunghoon stayed quiet. Just sipping his drink. You could feel the heat rising up your neck.

“We… used to date,” you offered, forcing a smile. “Our moms are best friends. So, you know…”

She nodded. “You don't have much choice to stay friendly with each other?”

You nodded mutely. Sunghoon gave a vague hum of agreement, and then someone called her name from across the room.

“It was nice talking to the two of you.”, she patted your shoulder, winked at Sunghoon, and wandered off.

You exhaled sharply.

Sunghoon tilted his head toward you. “You good?”

You nodded, eyes flicking toward the photo wall. “Yeah. Why did they have to choose that picture.”

He smiled faintly. “Because my mom is still hoping you freeze your eggs so I can give you some sturdy kids someday.”

You bumped his elbow. “Shut up.”────────────────────────

You were lying in your bed, your blanket pulled up to your chin, one arm shielding your eyes from the light bleeding through your half closed blinds. Everything was either too bright or too loud. And the cats kept taking turns climbing onto your chest or pawing at your face in demand of affection.

It was almost 1 a.m. and you were acutely aware that in just under four hours, your alarm would go off. You really, really needed to sleep.

But you hadn’t been able to, not properly, for a few nights now.

Ever since that dinner a few months ago, the old Kakao group chat had burst back to life. The others were texting and sending pictures what felt like nonstop. For a few weeks now they were talking about going on a trip in the mountains in the South, to relax and just hang out with each other again before the winter started. They were thinking about renting out a house with enough rooms for everyone and their partners. It sounded... really nice, if you were being honest.

But you weren’t sure.

You didn’t know if you could get the time off. You were still in residency, and vacation days weren’t exactly handed out like candy. And at that point you should probably be studying for your board certification like a maniac. 

Eventually, you gave up. Tossing your blanket aside, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled out of your room. You were somehow too tired to sleep and too restless to stay still.

The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the kitchen. You padded in barefoot and found Jaemin hunched over the microwave, heating up leftover curry. He was still wearing his scrubs and his hair was a mess.

You stood there for a moment, just watching him. Then, without a word, you stepped forward and dropped your forehead onto his back.

“Jesus,” he jolted slightly, startled. “You scared me.”

You didn’t say anything, just stayed there, your face pressed between his shoulder blades. He let out a breath, softening immediately.

“Long day?” he asked, turning around and opening his arms automatically.

You nodded and stepped into the hug, arms wrapping around his middle. He smelled faintly like antiseptic.

He held you for a moment, rubbing a slow hand up and down your back. “You’re warm,” he mumbled. 

You nodded into his shirt. 

“Can’t sleep again?” he asked after a beat, his voice gentle now. 

You pulled back slightly but didn’t let go. “My friends from school are planning. In October.”

Jaemin leaned back just enough to look at your face. “That sounds fun.”

“It does,” you admitted. “But I don’t know if I can get the time off. And even if I do... I should probably be studying.”

“You’ve been studying since July,” he said, deadpan. 

You sighed. “I just… don’t know if I can justify it.”

He gave you a look.

“Take your books with you. Study there. Wake up early and do your flashcards while everyone else is making pancakes or whatever. I am sure no one would be mad if you did a bit of revising.”

You pressed your forehead against his collarbone again, muttering, “I’ll think about it.”

He smiled into your hair. “You always say that.”

“Because I always do,” you mumbled.

The microwave beeped, and the smell of curry wafted up between you. He reached behind you blindly to open it, still holding you with one arm.

“I’ll warm you some up too,” he said, already grabbing a second bowl.

You just hummed and just closed your eyes not moving from where your arms were wrapped around his torso. He set the curry down on the counter with one hand and petted your hair softly with the other one.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you were so excited when you came back from the reunion. You kept talking about how good it was to see them again, how you missed this version of yourself. How you didn’t realize how much time had passed until you were sitting next to them.”

You blinked, but stayed silent.

“So don’t pretend like you don’t want to go,” he added, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You do. You just feel guilty about it.”

Your silence must’ve been answer enough, because Jaemin gently pushed you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes properly.

“You’re allowed to miss people,” he said, softer now. “And you’re allowed to want something that isn’t hospital walls and emergency pages and OB rounds at 3 a.m. You can take your books. You can wake up early and study. Hell, you’ll probably shame everyone into feeling productive.”

That earned a small, reluctant laugh from you.

“But you can also sit on a porch with your friends and a cup of tea and just be for a few days,” he said. “You’re burning yourself out againat this rate, Y/N. You deserve a break.”

You looked down, chewing on your bottom lip. The idea of a break sounded so nice it almost hurt.

He tilted his head and gave you a knowing smile. “And don't pretend like you're not already halfway convinced. You wouldn’t be standing here with your head on my spine at 1 a.m. if you weren’t.”

“Traitor,” you muttered.

He grinned. “Guilty.”

You huffed, then finally gave a slow nod. 

Jaemin slid a bowl across the counter toward you and sat down beside you, spoon clinking lazily in his curry.

“I mean,” he said between bites, “if I play my cards right, pull a few strings here and there… maybe sweet-talk your boss…”

You snorted. “You’ve never even met my boss.”

“I’ve seen him once. He looks like the type who caves when someone brings good snacks and compliments his hairline.”

You gave him a look. “He’s bald.”

“Exactly. Low bar.”

You rolled your eyes, but the edge of your lips tugged upward despite yourself.

Jaemin shrugged. “Just use like… two vacation days. Plan your night shift compensation properly. Worst case, you stack five NICU shifts and hate yourself for a week?”

“But wouldn’t I hate myself during the trip then? You know, the week after five NICU shifts?”, you asked, blowing the curry on your spoon, to cool it down slightly. 

He grinned into his food. “When don’t you hate yourself tho? I’m just saying: go. Take the trip. Drag your flashcards along, torture everyone with study sessions if you must. But don’t skip it. You’ll regret it.”

He was right. You would regret it. You would regret missing out again. But you couldn’t let that be a distraction. You didn’t look up, but your voice came out a little smaller. “What if I get behind?”

“You’re already ahead. You’re always ahead. For God's sake I haven't even bought the books I’ll need Y/N. You started two months ago. And you still have 7 to go.”

There was a long pause.

Then you murmured, “Okay. I’ll ask.”

Jaemin smiled, finishing his last bite. “Good girl.”

You lifted your head just to smack his arm with your spoon.

He winced dramatically. “Are you assaulting your emotional support roommate? Unbelievable.”

“Three cats are my emotional support. You just do the dishes.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then let me earn my keep and make sure you don’t work yourself into an early grave.”

────────────────────────

You were taking your time walking home from work a few weeks later. You were stationed at an outbound clinic near your parents house this week again. Half of that clinic's staff was sick with Covid and the hospital stationed some of their residents there. So you decided to stay over at your parents house, sleeping in your old room and helping your mom babysit your niece for the weekend. You'd been spoiled with warm dinners and unsolicited affection all week as well. Honestly, you weren’t complaining.

You were walking slowly, enjoying the last beams of sunshine when you noticed Sunghoon walking past you. His jacket was slung over his arm and he was typing furiously on his phone. 

You accelerated your speed, stepping in sync next to him: “Sir, do you perhaps live in this neighborhood? I'm in dire need of directions, I might be a bit lost here.”

He flinched and his head snapped into your direction. 

“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me, Y/N.”, he said, breathless, holding his phone against his chest. 

“Sorry Sunghoon,” you laughed and padded his shoulder. 

“I am afraid I can't offer you directions though. I might be equally lost right now. It seems like we are in dire need of a guide, that guides us towards a certain gs25 to buy some ice cream, perhaps?" he said, raising his shoulders in faux confusion. 

“Oh! I think I saw a particular gs25 on my way here, but I am afraid I really want to get home! It appears like my niece has been brought to my mothers and I really want to cuddle my very adorable niece, perhaps an ice to go?”, you nodded and walked backwards up the hill. 

“That’s a noble excuse,” he said, adjusting his bag and shifting his jacket to the other arm. “But would you accept delivery instead? My mom’s in a bad mood today and if I stay home any longer I might spontaneously combust.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. I suppose if you’re fleeing maternal wrath, I can offer sanctuary. My mom will probably force-feed you soup the second you walk through the door.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said, grinning as he fell into step beside you.

────────────────────────

The second you stepped through the door, your mom peeked around the corner from the kitchen, eyes lighting up.

“Y/N-ah! Oh, you brought a surprise with you!” she said, hands still dusted with flour. “How lovely!”

You sighed dramatically, kicking off your shoes. “I found Sunghoon on the street and had to rescue him.”

Your mom tutted but looked pleased. “Come in, come in. Look at you! So skinny! You need to eat something.”

She reached up without warning and patted his cheek affectionately, like she used to when you were teenagers. Sunghoon just blinked and let it happen, offering a half-bow and a sheepish smile.

“Hi, Aunty. Sorry to show up uninvited.”

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Sit, sit! I just made some jeon. Do you still like that?”

"Sure, Aunty!", Sunghoon said and took off his shoes.

You followed her into the kitchen. “Is Gaeun awake?”

Your dad’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Fell asleep about an hour ago. She’s still out cold.”

You groaned, deflating and turning back to walk to the living room, where she usually slept and played when she was over. “Ugh. I wanted to shower her with kisses. Telepathically tho. I am not about to get her sick.”

Sunghoon followed you. “Didn’t spend enough time with babies today?”

You shot him a look. “Not the cuddly kind.”

He raised a brow as you crossed to the blanket pile on the couch and gently peeked in at the sleeping baby. “Weren’t you at the clinic today?”

“Outbound rotation,” you said. “Lots of prenatal consults. It’s mostly OB-GYN. So yeah technically babies but unborn babies.”

“Ah,” he said. “Makes sense.”

You knelt beside Gaeun and ran your fingers softly through her hair. “She’s my one and only baby though.”

Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Do you have another niece I missed out on?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Just Gaeun. Which is why she’s getting spoiled for life. Everything she wants she will get from her cool aunt Y/Nie.”

“She’s lucky.”

Gaeun shifted in her sleep, one chubby fist curled near her cheek.

“She’s literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you whispered, doing your best to not wake her up.

Sunghoon crouched beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “You say that every time you see a baby or a dog.”

“Because it’s true every time,” you said, gently pulling her blanket up. “Look at her cheeks. I want to bite them. Is that weird?”

“A little.”

You gave him a side-eye. “She smells so good as well. I would die for her.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love, Sunghoon. You wouldn’t understand.”

He just shook his head, smiling. “You’re completely gone.”

“She’s going to grow up thinking I’m the cool aunt who brings stickers and inappropriate snacks and teaches her to lie about bedtime.”

“Which… would be accurate.”

“Exactly.”

You watched her for another long beat, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily.

“She’s going to be such a menace,” you whispered fondly.

Sunghoon’s voice was quieter now. “With you as her guide? No doubt.”

"Hey I am not that bad of an influence," you protested, brushing one finger over the babies soft cheek. 

"Yeah. Jake and I totally didn't have to cover for you whenever you did something stupid at school. You were always a lawful student," Sunghoon chuckled. 

You rolled your eyes and huffed. "Looser. At least I had fun." 

From the kitchen, the smell of jeon drifted in, followed by your mom’s distant voice calling your name.

You sighed, standing up and stretching. “Alright. Let’s go eat before she decides we’re both too skinny and starts force-feeding us.”

Sunghoon followed you out of the room, glancing once more at the sleeping toddler. 

────────────────────────

The four of you sat around the small kitchen table, your dad pouring more makgeolli into his cup, while your mom fussed over whether Sunghoon had eaten enough rice. The overhead light cast a golden hue over everything. 

“So, Sunghoon,” your dad began, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Are you still working yourself to death?”

Sunghoon let out a small laugh. “Trying not to. But yeah, it’s still busy.”

“Busy is good,” your mom chimed in, but she gave him a narrow look. “But are you eating? Sleeping? The two of you never did when you moved out and were left to your own devices.”

“Mom,” you groaned.

“Don't tell me I am wrong. And now look at the two of you. So skinny and overworked. You should eat another serving Sunghoon, you have to stay strong.”

“I go to the gym 4 days a week, Aunty. I am strong," Sunghoon said, deadpan.

Your parents started grilling him with questions you were pretty sure they already knew the answers to. It was coming from a good place and very lighthearted though. After all, Sunghoon had practically grown up in this kitchen so it was a given they wanted to hear from the man himself where he was now in life. You couldn’t count how many times he’d skipped out on dinners at his own house to crash yours instead.

He answered patiently, a bit sheepish but not uncomfortable. You could tell he didn’t mind it, really. Not here.

By the time your dad had moved on from work questions to retelling the same story about your high school prank war for the third time, Sunghoon had finally settled deeper into his seat.

His sleeves were rumpled now. He’d unfastened the top button of his shirt at some point and rolled his shoulders back, laughing at something your mom had said about his childhood appetite. The tight line at the edge of his jaw had softened. His posture was less perfect. He looked younger.

You couldn’t stop watching him.

It wasn’t intentional, you weren’t even sure what had pulled your gaze back to him in the first place. You couldn’t stop thinking how familiar it all felt.

How natural it still was to have him here.

Like nothing had changed at all in the last ten years.

And maybe, in some ways, nothing had. Your parents still looked at him like he was the son they never had. Your mom still offered him second servings before anyone else. He still used the honorifics around your dad even though he’d been told not to twenty years ago. He still looked like the same boy who had come over three or four nights a week in high school, when his own house, despite being spotless and felt… cold. Unforgiving.

Sunghoon had always been the golden boy: top grades, varsity athlete, polite to a fault. Your teachers loved him, which was why he was able to get you and Jake out of sticky situations almost easily back when you were in highschool. He was admired by everyone. You couldn't remember a single person that didn't like him. But at home, he had never been enough.

You’d seen it yourself, how tense he got when his mother called. How he flinched slightly at praise, like it was a test he had to pass again. How he learned to be charming because being himself was never quite the right answer. You hated his mother for doing that.

He could’ve brought home the moon and his mom still would’ve asked why it had craters.

And yet your mom loved him the second you brought him home at age 5. She gave him as much food as he wanted, gave him all the attention he needed, and came to every skating event, even if his parents couldn’t make the time. She somehow managed to get off work, every time, sitting in the bleachers of those ice rinks cheering for SUnghoon together with you. She had treated him like a teenage boy deserved to be treated: not perfectly, just kindly.

He was laughing at something your dad said, his hands working though the perfectly styled hair, messing it up in the progress.

That was the version of him you fell in love with so many years back.

Not the one in suits. Not the one fielding client calls at eleven. Not the one sitting in meeting rooms with the weight of a multi-million euro deal in his jaw.

But this Sunghoon.

The one who grinned with his whole face. Who passed side dishes to your dad before being asked. Who muttered sarcastic little asides only you would catch. The one who used to steal bites from your plate and fall asleep on the living room floor with his head resting against your knee.

The version of him you thought you knew forever. The version you thought you would always have.

You were different now too, older, sharper. Always tried and always rushing. Every time you saw him now, which was admittedly only 7 or 8 times over the last months, he seemed stressed and tired. 

Sunghoon looked over, just briefly, catching your eye mid-laugh.

“What?” he asked, mouth still curled into a smile.

You blinked, startled. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m digesting.”

He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion, but let it go.

You glanced down at your plate, heart suddenly too full and too tired at once.

So much had changed.

And yet sitting here, in your moms kitchen, her ugly table cloth spread under your dishes and you wondered if maybe not everything had.

Just then a sharp wail echoed from the living room.

You were already halfway out of your chair. “It’s okay, I got her–”

“Y/N, sit–” your mom began, but you were already waving her off.

“I got her,” you said again, grinning as you darted out of the kitchen. “My favorite niece is calling for me!”

Sunghoon chuckled as you practically sprinted down the hallway.

In the living room, Gaeun’s face was red and scrunched, tiny fists balled up near her cheeks, her cry high-pitched and frantic.

You knelt beside her, scooping her up in one smooth motion, pressing soft kisses to her temple.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, rocking her gently as you reached for the bottle your mom had prepped earlier. “You’re hungry, huh?”

She latched on instantly, her cries quieting between gulps.

You sat down with her in your lap, humming softly under your breath as she fed, your hand gently stroking her soft hair.

From the hallway, Sunghoon leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Impressive diagnosis, Dr. Auntie,” he said softly.

You turned to look at him, bouncing Gaeun gently. “Years of clinical experience. And also I just… really love her.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you cradle the tiny baby. “I can tell.”

You smirked. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I’m not,” he said, but his voice had gone quieter. Softer. “You’re just… good at this.”

You glanced down at Gaeun, who had started to calm a little, blinking up at you with watery eyes.

Sunghoon didn’t speak for a moment, he came over and lowered himself onto the sofa next to you. When he did speak again, his voice was softer than before. “You’ve always loved kids.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Still do.”

He nodded slowly. Then, without looking at you: “You used to say you wanted three.”

You laughed under your breath. “I did. I also said I wanted a dog that talks and a husband who bakes soufflés.”

He smiled at that but didn’t respond.

After a moment, you added, quieter: “I don’t know. The older I get, the more it feels… unreachable. Like even if I wanted a kid right now, I couldn’t.​ I’ve spent so long working toward this career… I’m just now getting to the part where all of it might pay off.” You took a breath. “Having a baby would derail everything.”

“That’s so sad,” he said quietly. “You always wanted this.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just rocked the baby gently and let the silence stretch between you.

After a few beats you glanced at him sideways. “How was your day?”

He groaned lightly and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Oh, you know. Same circus, different set of clowns.”

You raised a brow. “That bad?”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Not even surprising anymore. I spent my whole morning fixing a report someone else screwed up, then got blamed for responding ‘too bluntly’ in an email. And someone scheduled a meeting over lunch. Again.”

“That’s cruel.”

“It should be illegal,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t mind the job. Honestly, I like it. I worked my ass off to get here. It’s just…some of these people make me question humanity.”

You laughed. “That bad, huh?”

He turned to you with a dry smile. “If natural selection applied to PowerPoint formatting, I’d have peace.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I wrong though?”

You shook your head, a little smile playing on your lips. “No. Just dramatic.”

His tone softened then. “But really... I’m lucky. I know that. I’ve got a solid team, good salary, stability. I just wish I didn’t have to babysit full-grown adults while pretending to care about their feelings.”

You nodded slowly, gaze dropping to the baby in your lap. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is. But…” he paused, voice dipping into something more honest. “You kinda just accept it. Like, this is what it looks like. Being a grown-up.”

You were quiet for a second.

“Yeah,” you murmured. 

You both sat in silence for a bit, the baby sleeping peacefully in your arms now. 

“You know,” Sunghoon said after a long moment, still gazing at the crib, “your mom… she really did take me in like a son.”

You turned to look at him.

“I don’t think I ever said it out loud, but I’m so grateful for her. And for your dad too. They’re such–” He paused, trying to find the right word. “They’re just… really good people.”

Your heart tightened a little. He wasn’t the kind of person to say things like that unless he truly meant them.

A beat passed before he added, more quietly, “And you… you’re turning out just like them, you know?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but before you could respond, your mom’s voice came from the hallway.

“Sunghoon-ah, my son,” she called warmly, stepping into the room in her worn slippers and a floral apron still tied around her waist. “I’m heading to bed. You should go home too, it’s getting late, you look tired.”

Sunghoon stood, his posture straightening instinctively. “Yes, of course. Thank you for having me.”

She waved him off, already moving to turn off lights and tidy a stray cushion. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! Come over more often, please, even if Y/N isn’t here.”

She paused in the doorway, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re getting too skinny again. Tell your mother to feed you properly.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll let her know.”

With a soft goodnight, your mom disappeared down the hallway, the floor creaking familiarly under her steps.

The room was quiet again, save for Gaeun’s slow breathing.

Sunghoon turned to you, his smile lopsided, softer than before. “Guess I better go before she packs me leftovers for the whole week.”

You grinned, standing to walk him to the door. “You know she probably already did.”

At the door, he slipped on his shoes and turned back toward you.

“Thanks for letting me crash dinner.”

“No worries,” you said, leaning against the frame. “You apparently needed it.”

He nodded, then paused, as if he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

Instead, he gave you a little wave. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Sunghoon.”

The door closed with a quiet click.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway.

You looked down at Gaeun, now snuggled against your chest, fast asleep. Her tiny breaths warmed the fabric of your shirt.

After a few minutes, you brought her into your childhood room, gently lowering her into the crib your mom had set up earlier. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

You stood there for a moment, just watching her, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the little sigh she gave as her fingers curled near her cheek.

Then, slowly, you turned and climbed into bed.

The ceiling hadn’t changed. Neither had the faint sound of cicadas outside the window or the way the floor creaked when someone walked down the hallway.

But you had.

And lying there, in the same room you used to stay up in texting Sunghoon under the covers, you felt the quiet ache of time slipping past.

So many things had changed.

And yet tonight, for just a few moments, it had felt like nothing had.

You turned onto your side, pulling the blanket up over your shoulder, your gaze drifting toward the crib in the corner.

“Night, Gaeun,” you whispered

────────────────────────

You were sniffling slightly when you stepped into your apartment two months later. It was quiet except for the soft clicking of claws on the hardwood floor when Luna wandered to the door to greet you. Her fur was soft against your hand, when you squatted down to pet her. “Hi love.”,you whispered and nudged her head against your palms, purring loudly. You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath before standing up again. You dropped your bag in the door, only taking out your water bottle and empty bento box. The hallway mirror catched your attention when you looked up again. Your eyes were puffy, skin pale, your once neat braid now slipping out of its tie and clinging to the back of your neck.

Jaemin was right, you did get 4 days off, but you did hate yourself a bit. Five nightshifts in a row was almost as bad as it got, but you got to spend your time in the NICU so it was even worse. You were used to the intensity of the NICU, as it was one of the stations you worked most frequently, but today had just been a horrible shift. You lost two babies. Both were premature and it was almost clear from the start that their tiny bodies were too weak to fight for long. You had been the one to talk with the parents. 

You hated that part most. Hated the way their faces crumbled when they realized what you were about to say, how it somehow had gotten to be so normal for you that the words weren’t stuck in your throat anymore, how you now had enough experience with grieving families to stay professional.  

Your stomach growled loudly and you groaned because you knew you wouldn’t have time to eat anything. Jay would be here in less than thirty minutes and you still had to shower and finish up packing the rest of your clothing. You figured you could ask him to stop at a rest area on the way and get something to eat and a coffee there. Afterall, the others wanted to hike today so kaffeein sounded reasonable to keep you awake. 

You rolled your shoulders back and padded to the bathroom. Setting the water to the coldest temperature you could bear, you quickly washed off the hospital. You didn’t even bother applying makeup or properly styling your hair, only blowdrying it. You said yes to this trip because everyone kept telling you it would be good for you. A break. A reset. But right now, standing barefoot and with wet hair in your bedroom, the idea of spending four days around people felt more overwhelming than comforting and refreshing.

You got dressed anyway. Jay would be there soon, and he was punctual to a fault, even at 7:30 am.

You pulled on a random hoodie that was draped over your chair and sank down on your bed for a second. The hoodie still faintly smelled like Kai, who had borrowed it to you after you forgot to bring a jacket to the library and he had insisted you wear it on your way home to avoid getting sick. You really should text him again. 

For a second you thought about calling your mom, telling her how or anyone you were just tired and wanted to sleep, how you wanted to come home to her having cooked lunch, how you just wanted to spend time with her but it was early and she always rushed through morning phone calls with too many things on her plate. Your dad would probably be mid-surgery prep, he was the one who understood you the best at the moment, having gone through this exact process already. Yunjin would understand, or pretend to, but you’d see her in a few hours. You didn’t want to drop all of this on her before the trip even started. 

And Jaemin had been running on empty lately too. He and Jeno were going through a rough patch at the moment, with Jaemin spending his time working or studying, just like you were. It was hard for other people to understand, the constant pressure to be working perfectly and Jeno wanted to get at least a bit of his boyfriend's attention and time, which Jaemin just couldn’t offer right now. 

At least the cats were here.

Lucy had followed you from the bathroom. The second you laid back, she jumped onto the bed and curled up beside your hip like a small, warm stone. The other two weren’t far behind, hopping onto the foot of the bed and stretching out without a care in the world.

You reached out and gently scratched behind Luks ears. The silence of the apartment settled around you, soft and heavy. You closed your eyes for a second, trying not to think about the hospital or the certification. Just anything else. 

You stayed there, curled up with your cats, waiting for your body to gather just enough energy to stand again. You still had to pack. Jay would be here soon. You’d feel better once you hit the road and were under people again. Being alone never did you any good. 

A few minutes after you finished packing the rest of your clothing and fed the cats. You grabbed a mask and a cap, anything to make your puffy face feel a little less exposed, slung your laptop bag over one shoulder and wheeled your small suitcase out the door. 

The elevator was empty on your way down. 

Jay’s car pulled up a few minutes later. You straightened a little as he stepped out, smiling that big, comforting Jay-smile that hadn't changed since high school. His girlfriend was in the passenger seat, stretching backwards to hand Haneul, who was sitting in a booster seat, a piece of apple. Sunghoon sat next to her in the middle seat. He waved at you and you plastered on a tired smile. 

“Hey,” Jay said as he popped the trunk. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, lifting your suitcase in before he could. “I came straight from the hospital.”

He blinked. “You serious?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Did you work a night shift?”, he asked while closing the trunk door. 

“Man, I worked five nightshifts in a row for this trip. Just to see all of you losers.”, you joked as you followed him around the car, sliding into the seat next to Sunghoon. Before you could greet any of the others Haneul screeched: “Kitty!”

“Kitty?”, you said, blinking at her and then Sunghoon, who was looking at the toddler with an equally confused face.

“Kitty!”, she just said again and pointed at you. 

“Oh.”, Sunghoon laughed lowly, “On your hoodie.” He gestured to the two cats that were printed on the front of your hoodie. “She really loves cats.”

“Oh.”, you said and smiled at the child, “Yeah kitties, you’re right Haneul.” 

Sunghoons whole side was pressed into yours in the tight space of the backseat of the car. 

“Good morning Y/N,” he said softly.

“Hi,” you answered just as softly as you adjusted your bag in your lap. 

“Y/N, this is Seol,” Jay’s girlfriend turned around from the front, a warm smile on her face. 

“Nice to meet you,” you said quickly. 

“Yeah! It’s so nice to finally meet you as well! I’ve been told a lot about you by the rest.”, she said and laughed gently.

“Only good stuff I hope!”, you nudged Sunghoons shoulder with yours. 

“Nah I exclusively told her about how you are an awful cook and are obsessive about cleaning and hate chicken.”, he shrugged and smirked. 

“Okay Seol. Those are lies and he is exaggerating. I can cook decently and he is just as obsessive with cleanliness!", you exclaimed and punched him this time. 

Everyone laughed and Jay threaded the car into the morning traffic. 

“Is it okay with you if I sleep a bit? I just came from a nightshift and I am really tired.”, you asked shyly after a while. 

“Oh no no. Just sleep, we will wake you when we are there.”, Jay said and lowered the volume of the radio, which was currently playing kids songs. 

“Okay, thank you,” you nodded and rested your head against the cold window. 

────────────────────────

You stirred as the car slowed to a stop, the rumble of the tires on gravel pulling you halfway out of sleep. A moment later, a hand brushed your shoulder and gently nudged you awake. You blinked one eye open.

“Y/N,” Sunghoon said softly. “We’re at a rest stop. Do you wanna stretch, pee, get something to eat?”

You squinted at him, brain lagging behind. “Mhm,” you mumbled, not even sure what you were agreeing to.

He huffed a quiet laugh, and the sound made you smile for a split second before your eyelids slid shut again.

“I’ll get you something,” he said under his breath, already maneuvering himself out of the car. You caught a glimpse of him awkwardly twisting his long legs past Haneul’s booster seat on the other side before the door shut with a thud.

The warmth of his body left with him.

You must’ve dozed off again, because the next thing you knew, the door creaked open, cool air slipping inside. Then something cool and plastic pressed lightly against your arm.

“Hey.” His voice was closer this time. “Here.”

You blinked up at him, disoriented. Sunghoon was standing just outside the car, holding out a plastic container and a bottle of water. His hair was a little messy from the wind, his sleeves pushed up.

“Will you let me in? I really don’t feel like climbing over Haneuls seat again”, he said, shaking his head. 

You groaned. “Ugh. Yeah. Gimme a sec.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt and made your way outside of the car, taking the bowls and the bottles Sunghoon was holding. He climbed in and waited for you to hand him your breakfast back before returning to your original position. 

He handed over the lower plastic container. The lid was already cracked open slightly. It was an acai bowl. The same one you used to get back in med school when you had early study mornings. He bought them every time he went grocery shopping, picking out the bananas for you, because he knew you didn’t like them. You glanced down. No banana slices, not a single one. His bowl had what looked like an excessive amount of bananas inside.

You didn’t say anything. Just swallowed quietly and dug the spoon in.

The car started rolling again, Jay humming along to some pop song on the radio, and Haneul giggled as Sunghoon tried to open her triangle gimbap without tearing the nori apart. You ate slowly. The fruit was tart and cold, the granola soft but still sweet. It settled your stomach a little. When you were done, you capped the empty container and leaned forward, slipping it down onto the floor near your feet. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, eyes half-lidded again.

Sunghoon gave a small hum of acknowledgment, still focused on cleaning sticky rice off Haneul’s fingers with a napkin.

You let your head fall back against the seat, eyes drifting shut again. You didn’t notice when your head tilted to the side, bumping softly against the firm line of Sunghoon’s shoulder.

────────────────────────

“Y/N,” a voice said softly near your ear. “We’re here.”

You blinked awake, your vision was slow to adjust as you realized your head was resting on something warm.

Oh no.

You jerked upright, barely catching yourself with your hand against the door. Sunghoon’s shoulder was right there, where your cheek had been. Heat rose fast in your chest and flushed up your neck.

“I- ” you stammered, brushing hair out of your face, “sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

He just laughed quietly, unclipping his seatbelt. “You were dead asleep. It’s fine.”

“But I-seriously, I didn’t realize I-”

“Y/N.” He looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Shut up and get out. We both know you needed the sleep and I was not about to wake you because you used me as a pillow. ” He slid out of the seat with practiced grace and stretched his arms out. “I would have if you drooled on me tho.”

You nodded, flustered and still not fully awake, but you managed a muttered, “Right. Okay. Thanks.”

Outside, the mountain air was noticeably cooler than the air in Seoul. The morning fog hadn’t lifted completely yet, and the gravel crunched as you all moved toward the house you rented. Haneul was skipping ahead to Seol, her tiny backpack bouncing with every step.

The house was bigger than you expected. It was a two-level cabin-style place with warm wooden siding and wide windows. 

The house had enough rooms for each couple…and one for you and Sunghoon. Yunjin and Ningning both offered to room with you while Sunghoon slept in their room with Heeseung or Taesung. You declined, not wanting them to be forced to sleep in a room with you when they could be spending time with their partners just because you might feel a bit awkward. For the record you were feeling a bit awkward but this was also the ninth or tenth time you saw Sunghoon after breaking up. But not awkward enough to switch rooms, that's for sure. 

You followed, a step behind Jay and Sunghoon, your own suitcase rolling quietly over the gravel. At the base of the staircase, Sunghoon paused again and turned halfway to you. His voice was lower this time, not as even. “Um. You want me to carry yours up?”

You blinked. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”

He nodded once and started up the stairs with your suitcase anyway, the quiet creaking under his steps the only sound for a moment. The hallway upstairs was lined with doors, the floorboards creaking softly under your steps. Sunghoon led the way, peeking into rooms, mumbling under his breath about finding the one with two beds. When he finally found it at the end of the hall, he stepped aside so you could see inside.

"Looks like this is us," he said, nudging the door open.

Two single beds, pushed against opposite walls, faced each other. A shared dresser stood between them, and soft afternoon light filtered in through gauzy curtains. You stepped in and dropped your backpack on the closest bed with a sigh.

“Man,” you mumbled, kicking off your shoes and letting yourself fall face-first into the mattress, “I’m so tired I might actually cry.”

Sunghoon let out a low chuckle behind you, the familiar sound making your shoulders unclench just a little.

“Then sleep,” he said, dropping your suitcase beside the dresser and his own against the far wall. “No one’s gonna judge. We’ve all been in the car for hours, and you came straight from work.”

You rolled onto your back with a groan, one arm over your eyes. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll just power through.”

“Y/N,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Sleep. I am not dealing with a grumpy you just because you want to prove a point.”

You cracked one eye open and squinted at him. “I’m not grumpy.”

He gave you a look. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Sleep.”

You huffed and repeated yourself. “I’m not grumpy.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Right. You’re worse than a toddler.”

Your jaw dropped. “Liar.”

“I’ve dealt with an actual toddler. Extensively. Believe me. I know the signs.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his head. “You absolute menace.”

He caught it midair, smug as ever. “I lived with you for almost seven years. You were sleep-deprived for at least four of them.”

“Exactly, and I was very pleasant.”

“You were a hazard.”

You squinted at him. “Say that again and I’ll smother you with your pillow tonight.”

He just laughed, tossing the pillow back at the foot of your bed. “If you don’t sleep, I swear I’ll lock you in this room and take your phone and laptop with me.”

You stared at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

He raised a brow. You narrowed your eyes. Then flopped back down dramatically with a heavy sigh. “Fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You rolled onto your side, hugging the pillow. “Maybe I was a toddler. But you still loved me.”

There was a pause. 

“Shut up and sleep.”, he threw the pillow back at you and it hit your back with a dull thud. 

You smiled into the blanket, smug despite the exhaustion. “That’s what I thought.”

“Seriously, Y/N. If you don’t pass out in the next five minutes, I’m calling your attending and request sedation.”

But you didn’t argue further. You curled up properly, pulling the blanket over your shoulder and tucking your legs in. The bed was soft and smelled faintly of laundry detergent and cedarwood. The last thing you registered before sleep pulled you under was the quiet creak of the door as Sunghoon stepped back out. ──────────────────────── You had no idea how much time had passed when you felt the full weight of another person slam onto you. “Wakey wakey sleeping beauty.”, Jake whispered in your ear. “Jake,” you groaned, voice muffled into the pillow. “Get off me.” “I missed you too,” he said cheerfully, wiggling around on top of the blanket and fully ignoring your attempt to shove him off. “Congrats, you’ve been selected for a special mission.” “What,” you grunted, “the hell are you talking about?” “Grocery run,” he said, as if this was the most exciting thing ever. “You, me, and our favorite law nerd.” You pried your eyes open. “Jake. Move your fat ass.” “No can do,” he sang, “not until you confirm your participation.” You growled something unintelligible and tried to sit up anyway, managing to half-shove him off as you groggily blinked around the room. It was brighter now, early afternoon, probably. You felt puffy-eyed, warm, and absolutely not ready to deal with Sunghoon or Jake or any decision-making. Still, you sighed, stretched, and got up. “We were picked in a fair game of rok paper and scissors and Yunjin lost for you. So we’re going to emart.”, Jake grinned and watched how you tried to shake yourself awake. “Fine. Whatever.”

Jake grinned and clapped like a seal. “Let’s go, Sleeping Beauty.”

────────────────────────

The glass doors slid open with a cheerful chime, and you immediately veered off to grab a shopping cart.

"Okay, let’s be efficient and quick," you began, only to slow down as you reached the ramen aisle. "Actually… should we grab some for Heeseung?"

Jake perked up immediately. “Oh yeah, let’s goooo.”

Sunghoon groaned behind you. “God, not again. This is gonna be just like that trip to Sokcho, isn’t it? Where you and Heeseung lived off Shin Ramyeon and triangle kimbap for three straight days?”

Jake grinned. “Those were elite meals.”

You snorted, grabbing a couple packs. “You two are actual menaces. There’s a toddler on this trip now. No one’s living off processed soup. I will feed her and anyone else who might want to participate healthy and nutritious meals.”

Sunghoon nodded solemnly. “Y/N is right. We have to be responsible adults now.”

Jake blinked. “You literally bought Haneul cereal with marshmallows inside.”

“Okay, and?” Sunghoon raised a brow. “I was totally planning on having an overly excited two year old running through my flat.”

You whacked the handle of the cart gently with your hand. “I swear to god, if either of you tries to feed Haneul overly processed sweet cereal on this trip i will murder.”

“She liked it!” Jake argued.

“She’s two!” you shot back, exasperated. “of course she would like Lucky charms!” 

The three of you kept bickering your way through the aisles, Sunghoon and Jake tossing in snacks and frozen dumplings while you tried your best to balance out their food choices with fresh produce and at least two kinds of leafy greens.

Eventually, as you neared the checkout, Sunghoon slowed near a display stacked with colorful plushies and plastic toys.

“Ha-neul would love this,” he said, reaching for a giant bubble wand shaped like a bunny, which apparently made fairy noises when used.

“Nope,” you warned, grabbing the cart tighter. “Absolutely not. Put it down.”

“But–”

“Sunghoon.”

“She’d be so happy–”

“She’d also swing that thing like a sword and decapitate one of us.”

“Honestly, I’d accept it,” Jake said, nodding solemnly. “I’ve lived a full life.”

You sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Sunghoon, completely ignoring your scolding, tossed the wand back dramatically like a child denied his favorite toy. “You’re no fun.”

“And you,” you said, pointing at him with a cucumber, “want us to not be able to sleep cause Jay's already very loud and energetic toddler has a very loud and annoying toy, Sunghoon.”

Jake just laughed, loading the conveyor belt with ramen packs.

────────────────────────

“You holding up okay?”

You were slumped a little in the back seat, elbow propped against the window only paying half paying attention to their conversation. “Dude,” you said, rubbing at your eye, “I am so tired. I’ll probably go to bed before Haneul tonight.”

Jake laughed a little and Sunghoon piped in: “She fell asleep in the car and snored.”

You shot him a look so sharp he should’ve bled. “Okay, stop.”

He raised his hands in faux innocence, grinning. “Just saying.”

You groaned and pointed accusingly at both of them. “Sunghoon snores like a fucking chainsaw and Jake, you do too. So if I might have quietly snored a little after crying my eyes out because I had to tell two parents their baby died–” Your voice cracked for half a second, and then you snapped your mouth shut, looking out the window. “I get a pass. Okay?”

It was silent for a long moment. 

“Yo, what the fuck,” Jake said softly.

You didn’t look back at them. “Let’s just not talk about it, yeah?”

There was another beat of silence, filled only by the soft sound of the radio playing another overplayed song. You really wanted to change the topic, Jake and Sunghoon would definitely never not talk about it so you had to distract them somehow. 

“You know what,” you said, reaching for Sunghoon's phone, which was resting on the middle console, “This radio channel is shit I will now be the DJ of our ride.” 

Sunghoon gave you a side glance. “I won’t listen to any of your musical songs right now. I can’t handle Hamlet while driving a car full of idiots.”

“That’s because you have zero taste,” you shot back, unlocking his phone. His pin hasn’t changed since high school, it was his sister's birthday. “We’re going full nostalgia today.”

Jake perked up. “Like, high school bangers?”

“Exactly.”

You scrolled through your old shared playlist, the one you all made back in your second year. A beat later, the opening notes of Hello by Joy filled the car, and you couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face as you cranked the volume up.

“Oh no,” Sunghoon muttered. “Turn it down before you break a window.”

You ignored him and immediately began singing along.

“You’re throwing off my depth perception,” Sunghoon complained over the music. “I can’t see with you murdering the melody like that.”

“Oh really?” you leaned forward slightly, singing  louder now and way off-key on purpose “Hellooooo~”

Jake wheezed but joined in.

“I’m pulling over,” Sunghoon threatened, though there was an unmistakable smile tugging at his lips. “You’re going to get us arrested for noise pollution. Turn the music down at least a bit Y/N.”

“I can’t do that,” you said and shook your head, “but I can switch to the next song!”

The moment Jake heard Twenty-three start playing, he perked up.

“No way,” he grinned, mouth still full of seaweed chips. “Turn that up even more.”

You obliged. Sunghoon groaned audibly. “Absolutely not.”

Too late. You and Jake launched into the chorus at full volume, harmonizing terribly on purpose.

“I’m twenty-three, I’m a riddle~” you sang, leaning toward Sunghoon with a smug grin. “Try to figure me out, boy~”

Jake chimed in with a falsetto, “But you still won’t get itttt~!”

Sunghoon had his head resting against the steering wheel at a red light. “I’m going to crash this car on purpose.”

“Oh, come on,” Jake laughed. “You love us.”

“I used to,” Sunghoon muttered. “Before you both decided to assault me with IU.”

You turned around in your seat, eyes squinting like a grandma. “You used to like this song. You said it was genius lyricism, remember?”

“I was young and stupid.” ──────────────────────── The house was buzzing when the three of you returned. Everyone had already changed into hiking gear, sneakers laced and backpacks slung over shoulders.

“You’ve got ten minutes to change, my loves!”, Yunjin said instead of a greeting when the three of you arrived back. 

You groaned playfully. “We’re not even allowed to sit down first?”

“Nope,” Heeseung said, tossing a protein bar at you. “Fuel up and get moving, we don’t wanna miss the sunset.”

Jake was already halfway up the stairs, so you trudged up behind him with Sunghoon following suit. When you pushed into your room, you headed straight for your suitcase, searching for the leggings and the hoodie you brought for going on a hike.

Sunghoon stood awkwardly near the door for a second, “Uh, I’ll just use the bathroom, give you a minute to–”

You cut him off without even looking up. “Sunghoon, you’ve seen me naked like… many, many times.”

He froze.

You tugged out a hoodie and looked up with a raised brow. “In the last two years, not much changed aside from maybe me gaining some weight. Just turn around and change. Even if you peek, I don’t really care.”

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, already pulling off Kai's hoodie over your shoulders.

Sunghoon turned around and reached for his suitcase. 

You both changed in mostly silence. Mostly, because you started muttering curses under your breath when your sock got stuck in the corner of the suitcase and Sunghoon, still facing the wall, chuckled.

“I heard that,” he said.

“Great. I am glad your ears haven’t lost their function in the last ten minutes.” ──────────────────────── This was a mistake.

You were maybe thirty minutes into the hike and already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment. The incline was steeper than you remembered from Yunjin’s very casual description of the hike, and your thighs were burning. Your hoodie stuck uncomfortably to your back, your water bottle was nearly empty and you still had almost an hour to go, if not more.

You tugged your cap down further, wiping your sweat-slicked forehead with the back of your hand. You were never really a athletic person and considering you’re spending your time studying or working, this ‘small hike up the hill’ was a bigger workout than you anticipated.  “Who the hell thought walking uphill for two hours to eat dinner was a good idea?” you muttered mostly to yourself.

Sunghoon glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. He was only a few steps ahead, walking backwards now with infuriating ease.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to see more green.”

“I meant, like. Spinach in my rice. Not trees around me.”

You huffed and slowed a bit more. Your calves were screaming. This was not what people with four night shifts behind them should be doing. You should be home sleeping or studying, not sweating through your hoodie and trying not to trip over exposed roots.

Sunghoon waited at a bend in the path, hands on his hips. “You okay?”

You gave him a flat look. “Do I look okay?”

“Honestly?” He tilted his head. “You look like you’re about to just lie down on the floor and wait until someone is going to pick you up, like Haneul just did.”

You snorted. “I’m wasting precious study time to walk around trees, Park. I have fetal monitoring notes to memorize. Placenta slides to cry over. Meanwhile, I’m out here, climbing hills.”

He laughed. A real, full laugh that pulled his shoulders up and crinkled his eyes.

“Want me to carry you like the toddler you are?” he offered, already half-turning like he might actually mean it. You knew he could and would if you asked. 

You waved him off. “Absolutely not. If I’m dying, I’m dying with dignity.”

“Noted.” But he slowed down anyway, matching your pace without a word as the rest of the group drifted further ahead. ──────────────────────── The hike was worth it. The view was ridiculous.

Golden light spilled over the horizon, washing the mountains in soft warmth and making the little patio of the restaurant glow like something out of a movie. The food was incredible, grilled meat, fresh vegetables, jjigae bubbling in the middle of the table.

You leaned back in your chair, a half-full bowl cradled in your hands, and watched the others laugh.

Heeseung and Ningning were teasing Yujin’s boyfriend, who looked overwhelmed but pleased. Jake was narrating a story about a ski trip you did a few years ago to Seol, while Jay kept adjusting the tiny blanket wrapped around Haneul’s shoulders where she was now curled up asleep in his lap, her tiny face smushed against his chest. You felt something crack a little inside your chest.

This was the sort of evening you used to dream about. Group trips with the people you loved most.

You used to think… you’d bring your kid along. You always dreamed of having kids early, to raise them with your chaotic group of friends, just like Jay had.

You blinked slowly, staring down into your bowl of rice. 

You really should have been there. You should have taken the time out of your schedule when it wasn’t as stressful as it was now to stay in contact with your friends, to see Haneul grow up. To help Jay whenever he struggled. For god sake if someone knew how to handle kids, or well new borns, it was you. But you felt so guilty that you couldn’t even look Jay in the eyes. 

You hadn’t meant to drift so far away. You just… kept choosing work. Kept telling yourself there’d be time later. That after the internship, after year one, after the shift change, after this week of nightshifts… But the weeks had somehow stretched into years. 

You looked up, eyes flicking across the table. Jay was murmuring something to his girlfriend, brushing a bit of rice off Haneul’s cheek. He looked happy. 

You cleared your throat and reached for the water pitcher, blinking hard. ──────────────────────── Back at the house, everyone slowly said goodnight one after another, apparently drained from the hike up to the restaurant. You moved on autopilot, brushing your teeth, tying your hair up in a sloppy braid, pulling a hoodie over your tank top. Sunghoon was already in bed when you slipped back into the room. 

The air in the room was warm, a little stuffy, but somehow very familiar. A faint mix of detergent and something you couldn’t name but had always been his. Just... him.

“Goodnight,” you mumbled, tugging your phone charger to your side of the room.

“Night,” he said, his voice already thick with sleep. And not five minutes later, his soft, uneven snore rumbled gently through the quiet.

You laughed under your breath. He always snored when he was dead tired.

But somehow you weren’t even close to being dead tired.

You laid there, eyes open, staring at the slats in the ceiling. Your blanket was bunched at your waist, legs too warm to be under it, arms too cold to be free. The soft rise and fall of Sunghoons breath should have been comforting, it always was when you couldn’t sleep, but all it did today was echo in your chest. Usually if you couldn’t sleep and Jaemin was home you would have slithered into his bed and tried to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat or his breathing, but you really didn’t want to ask your ex to cuddle you because you couldn't sleep. 

God, the whole room smelled like him. That was unfair.

You gave up just before 2am.

Silently, carefully, you slid out of bed, grabbed your iPad from the tote near the door, and crept into the hallway.

The house was quiet. Not the hospital quiet you were used to, filled with beeping and heavy footsteps, but real quiet.

You made your way into the main room and curled up in the corner of the couch, dragging your hoodie sleeve over your hands to warm them. With a sign you opened anki and tried to focus. 

Somewhere around half an hour later, your phone buzzed.

Jaemin: The restaurant looks really good. How did they get you to hike up there tho?

You huffed out a soundless laugh.

You: It’s 2:37.  Why are you alive.

Jaemin: Nightshift.  And I’m on break. Why are YOU alive.

You: Can’t sleep.  Again. Brain won’t turn off. So i am studying. 

Jaemin: Of course you are. You absolute gremlin. If you are still active on anki when i take my next break ill come to that house and steal your electric devices! 

You in fact were still active on anik when Jaemin had another break at 4:30 am but decided not only because he was scolding you, but also because you finally felt exhausted, to sleep.  ──────────────────────── The floor creaked under your weight when you tiptoed back into your room. Sunghoon stirred as you slid into your bed again, but didn’t wake up. 

You weren’t sure what woke you, the creak of the door, maybe, or the sudden burst of cold air against your legs when the blanket shifted, but the next thing you registered was a high-pitched squeal:

“Uncle Sunghoon!”

You heard the thud of a small weight launching itself onto Sunghoons bed, followed by the sound of tiny feet thumping against the mattress and Sunghoon’s very quick, very groggy, “Shhh, hey. Haneul, not so loud. Shhh.”

You blinked your eyes open slowly. The light in the room was already too bright for how little sleep you’d gotten. Your head ached dully behind your eyes and your limbs felt like lead, every cell protesting the idea of being awake.

Still, a part of you couldn’t help the soft pull at your mouth when you saw Haneul crawling over the covers, tugging at Sunghoon’s sleeve.

“Aunt Y/N is still very sleepy so we have to be very quiet, okay?”, he asked her while sitting up and pulling the giggling toddler into a hug. 

“Breakfast”, she said with a bit too much enthusiasm into her pacifier, only to be sushed by Sunghoon again. 

“Let’s get some breakfast for you and let Aunt Y/N sleep, huh Haneul? Is that fine for you?”

The toddler nodded enthusiastically and clinged to Sunghoon's upper body when he untangled himself from his blankets.  

You didn’t say anything, just pressed your cheek into the pillow and let your eyes close again, heart catching strangely at the sound of Sunghoon’s voice speaking for you. 

The door clicked softly shut behind them. ──────────────────────── When you woke up again, it was well past ten.

It was quiet. You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes harshly before making your way into the bathroom on the hallway. It was cold inside, someone left the window open after showering. Soft morning light filtered into the room while you washed your face and brushed your teeth.

The floor creaked faintly when you shuffled into the kitchen. It smelled like food and your stomach grumbled loudly when you saw the plate of fried egg and toast on the counter. A stickynote was glued to the waterbottle next to it: “We took Haneul to the petting zoo! Didn’t want to wake you, you looked exhausted. We’ll be back around lunch. Text if you need anything ♡”

You stared at the note for a moment, rubbing at the sleep still clinging to your face. They left without you. You reached for the note. Somehow you were glad that they let you sleep in but you were missing out. Again. Even though you finally had the time to actually come along. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts quickly, they meant well. And them not being there until lunch meant you could maybe be a bit more productive than last night. After a long warm shower you actually styled your hair for once, curling the edges slightly and bundled yourself up to go down to the city. The air outside was crisp and smelled like rain when you took a deep breath through your nose. You wandered without much direction, letting your feet carry you past a few small shops before finding a little cafe tucked between two houses. Its windows were fogged up and it seemed like half of the town was squeezed into the little space. The bell above the door chimed quietly when you made your way in. A couple sitting near the window stood up the moment you entered so you settled into their seat as soon as they gathered their used cutlery. You ordered a coffee and one cookie and pulled out your Ipad. You almost didn’t notice the waitress returning with your order, already flipping through your notes. It was almost embarrassing how much comfort you found in pharmacology charts. 

Almost an hour later you took a toilet break and used the chance to look at your phone.

Yujin: where u at?? we're back!!! 

You smiled a little and typed back a short reply: Y/N At a café. I didn’t feel like staying in the house alone.  Thanks for letting me sleep in

Yujin: No worries. It was boring anyway. There were like 3 sheeps and a fuck ton of mud. Haneul was excited tho so it’s whatever She is napping rn and we’re gonna nap as well. She woke the whole house up at 7 am.  What do you wanna eat for Lunch later? Jay is cooking 

Y/N Yikes. I don’t really care.  Text me when you wake up, I’ll come back to the house <3

Yujin:Will do <3 

Fifteen minutes passed, maybe twenty, before someone tapped your shoulder. You glanced up, expecting it to be the waitress. But when you turned around it wasn’t the waitress, it was Sunghoon. 

His hair was slightly tousled from the wind and he was holding up two cups, wearing that same quiet smile you’d seen on him a hundred times before. One that was more eyes than mouth.

"Hey," he said, setting the drinks down before sliding into the seat across from you. 

You blinked. “Hi Sunghoon. What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t feel like sleeping,” he said shrugging. “And I have to work a bit. One of my clients has been sending me emails nonstop. So I figured I could join you.”

“I-uhm- sure,” your gaze dropped to the cup he placed in front of you. It was Yuja tea. Your favorite.

He leaned back in his chair, unzipping his laptop bag. “I swear this client is causing me to grow gray hair prematurely,” he said casually. 

You huffed a soft laugh, watching as he opened his laptop. “I know a good hair dresser that could help out with that.”

“Thank you Y/N. I’ll come back to that in a few years.”, he just chuckled.

You stared at him for a second longer than you should’ve before shaking yourself out of it and turning back to your tablet. “I’m sure it will be sooner than later if you can’t catch a break even on a vacation day,” you murmured without thinking.

He glanced at you, eyes crinkling. “Look at who’s talking.”

You didn’t reply, just hummed and pouted at him. 

You were halfway through your second set of flashcards when Sunghoon asked, voice soft but curious, “Did you sleep alright?”

You leaned back a little. “Yeah. Thanks for saving me from the Haneul alarm clock, by the way.”

That made him laugh quietly. “You owe me big. She was already so energetic at 6 am, I barely managed to keep her from waking up the whole house. Jay the traitor sent her to us cause he wanted to continue sleeping.”

You raised your brows. “He sent her to us? Why that? How did you manage to keep her quiet?”

“Bribery,” he said immediately. “I promised her the chocolate bread Yujin brought if she let you sleep. And that kid loves me. I am officially the favourite uncle so it's just logical.”

You smiled behind your cup. “You’re a real hero.”

“I know,” he said dramatically, then lowered his voice. “Honestly though, I don’t get how she has that much energy.”

You snorted. “Probably from her mom. Minhee was a morning person afterall. And I mean don’t complain you used to wake me up at the crack of dawn when you went out for a run.”

He gave you a look. “Please. Just cause you’re lazy and an evening person, I don’t have to be.”

“Still am,” you said with a grin. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” he said, mock-serious. “I’m just saying I’ve seen you do night shifts on nothing but Coke Zero and mint gum. And suffer when having to go to a morning shift even though you slept a whole 8 hours.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh. “I function just fine, thanks.”

He hummed like he didn’t believe you, then went back to typing something into his laptop.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the tapping of keys and the soft hum of conversation around you. 

It was strangely… familiar. The two of you, sitting in this calm pocket of the afternoon, sharing space again. Studying or working together in silence. ──────────────────────── Almost two hours later Jake called Sunghoon to come back to the house. Everyone, including the actual toddler, had woken up from their nap and they were about to start cooking. 

You looked up from your Ipad to look outside. Streams of rain were streaking down the foggy windows. 

“Mhm,” you said, wiping the condensation from the window with your sleeve. “Looks like we are going to get a free shower.” 

Sunghoon's gaze followed yours. “I think I have an umbrella in my bag. Wait a second.” 

He leaned down to lift his laptop bag onto his lap. A small teddy plush was dangling from its handle. 

You chuckled and reached forward to turn it into a front facing position while Sunghoon was searching around in his bag. “This is cute. Where did you get that?” 

“A colleague gifted it to me for my birthday last year,” he said absentmindedly, “ah ha! Look at that. An umbrella.”

You laughed at him when he triumphantly held it up into the air. “Now nothing is stopping us from eating whatever Jay cooked!” 

You both slipped your shoes on and stepped out into the drizzle. The umbrella opened with a snap, and Sunghoon tilted it slightly toward you as you huddled close, bags clutched to your chests.

After five steps, your shoulder was already soaked.

“Can you hold it higher?” you asked, trying to wedge in under the tiny canopy.

“I am holding it higher. You’re just hoarding the dry space,” he shot back, elbowing you lightly.

“Oh, please. I’m sacrificing my entire back right now.”

A gust of wind caught the umbrella from underneath, flipping it slightly and splashing a cold stream of water down both your necks. You shrieked.

You shoved him gently with your shoulder, nearly knocking him into a puddle. “Maybe if you worked out less, there’d be more room under here.”

He snorted. “Don’t blame the broad shoulders. You yourself said my arms are delectable, if i might remind you.”

“I did!”, you said, pressing your side closer into his, “but I didn’t know the consequences of you having a beautiful back and arms would be me being drenched in rain.”

By the time you made it back to the house, your jeans were clinging to your legs, your hair was stuck to your cheeks, and the only dry things were your laptop bags. 

You both stopped in front of the door and stared at it.

“Please tell me you have a key,” you said, already knowing the answer.

Sunghoon patted his soaked pockets uselessly. “It’s inside. I didn’t think we’d get locked out in the wilderness.”

You rolled your eyes and reached up to jab the doorbell. From inside, you heard the muffled sound of footsteps and then the click of the lock.

The door swung open and Ningning blinked at you both, horrified.

“Jesus Christ, what did you do?”

Without missing a beat, you shrugged. “Sunghoon and I decided to share a free shower.”

Ningning took one look at the sad excuse for an umbrella dripping on the porch and stepped aside. “You two are a cautionary tale.”

You walked past her with your bag clutched to your chest like a lifeline. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ning, I called dibs on being the first one in the proper shower.”

“I didn’t hear anything about dibs,” Sunghoon protested behind you.

“I made it spiritual,” you called over your shoulder. “Go dry your pretty arms somewhere else.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, kicking his shoes off. ──────────────────────── Jay had cooked enough to feed an army. The whole table was filled with plates and drinks, most of them non-alcoholic, to your surprise. Hanuel had claimed Sunghoons to be her chair of choice for the dinner. 

You’d ended up on the far end of the table, half-listening to a conversation between Heeseung and Jake about whether or not a smart fridge was a worthy investment, but your gaze kept drifting. You weren’t even trying to be subtle about it.

Sunghoon had one arm loosely wrapped around Haneul to steady her, the other wielding a spoon with exaggerated precision.

“Here comes the airplane,” he said, swooping the spoon in mid-air. “It’s approaching the hangar! Landing initiated in three… two… one!”

Haneul squealed and opened her mouth wide, clapping her hands when he made a whooshing sound as the spoon “landed.”

You smiled. You just couldn’t help it.

He did it again. And again. Each time with a new variation. Rocket ship. Puppy taxi. Bubble boat. Her tiny body rocked with laughter, head thrown back as he played along, utterly unbothered by the food smeared across her cheek or the rice sticking to his sleeve.

You watched the scene unfold with something warm and gentle blooming in your chest.

It felt a bit bittersweet at the same time. You were a stranger in a room full of uncles and aunties, despite knowing all the uncles and aunties for years, god forbid you even helped her being born, but you were never there. You never gave her a chance to know you as auntie Y/N.

Your eyes stayed on them.

He was so at ease. Smiling, shoulders relaxed, wearing a oversized hoodie, his hair still slightly damp from his shower.

He glanced up once, catching you watching. He gave you a little wave with the spoon before turning back to Haneul.

You looked down at your plate, cheeks flushed, fingers suddenly fidgety.

Jake nudged your elbow. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Jake hummed and you knew he didn’t believe you. You didn’t believe yourself either.  ──────────────────────── After you finished eating and cleaning the dining room, the group gathered in the living room. Haneul had asked if you could watch Cinderella so the whole group decided that, ten adults should somehow squeeze onto the two sofas in front of the TV to watch Cinderella. 

Someone had dimmed the lights, and you ended up tucked into one corner of the couch, knees bent, feet slipped under Yunjin’s thighs for warmth. She didn’t even blink, just handed you the end of the blanket.

Sunghoon was on the floor, his back against the couch, Haneul wrapped around him. Her small body had gone lax with exhaustion, one cheek pressed to his chest, her breathing deepening slowly halfway through the movie.

You had your kindle on your lap. You were reading one of the books you downloaded a while ago. It was something sweet and uncomplicated, the kind of story that usually soothed your overworked brain. But tonight, you couldn’t concentrate on the story at all. You signed and closed the book. Your gaze wandered through the room until it was stuck on Sunghoon again. 

He wasn’t watching the movie either. His eyes were half-lidded, head tilted slightly toward the toddler, arms looped protectively around her. The flickering light from the screen caught on his lashes and jawline.

Your stomach twisted. Not sharply. Just a soft, odd pull, warm and aching all at once.

He looked good like this. You had such a weak spot for kids and seeing him holding her like that just did something to you.

You ducked your head, trying to focus on your book again. But somehow, your hands wandered. You scrolled past your current novel and opened a medical textbook.

Prenatal Cardiac Anomalies: A Diagnostic Overview.

Somehow the thought of continuing reading through your textbook felt easier than reading a romance novel right now.  ──────────────────────── You were tired.

God, you were tired.

But your brain… your brain was still ticking. It didn’t matter how warm the blanket was, how silent the house had gone once everyone scattered to bed. It didn’t matter that Sunghoon was across the room, already passed out, snoring softly into his pillow.

Your eyes stayed open.

You lay there staring at the ceiling for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then maybe thirty. And still, your thoughts didn’t quiet down. 

So you slipped out of bed and crept down the stairs to curl up in the armchair in the wintergarden. You told yourself you’d just review a bit more.

Just enough to stop your brain from chewing itself alive.

But ten minutes in, you were still reading the same sentence.

Something about estrogen receptor profiles.

It might as well have been written in Greek. You read it. Then reread it. Then again. 

Your fingers clenched around the edges of your iPad, frustration was simmering somewhere between your sternum and your throat. You knew this topic. You’d studied it three times already. Why wasn’t it sticking? Why did your eyes feel too dry, your brain too foggy and your heart too tight all at once?

You didn’t even hear his footsteps until a voice broke through your haze.

“Y/N?”

You flinched so hard you nearly dropped the iPad.

“Jesus,” you gasped, clutching your chest. “What the fuck, Sunghoon.”

He stepped inside, hoodie tugged over his hair, barefoot. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You gave him a look and pouted. “Maybe don't sneak on at me then.”

“Sorry,” he said, coming closer to peer onto the glowing screen. “You coming back to bed?”

You shook your head quickly. “I’m fine. I just…couldn’t sleep.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed gently. “So you decided to study?”

“I had to,” you mumbled. “I didn’t finish everything I wanted to finish today.”

“You studied like 4 hours in that cafe today, Y/N.”

“I know, but I am still behind on my plan, since I didn't do enough yesterday.”

He didn’t say anything to that just let himself sink down on the chair opposite to yours, watching you. 

You tried to go back to the flashcards, but your fingers were trembling slightly now. You felt stupid. Weak. Like no amount of time would ever be enough to catch up. Like your worth was balancing on how much you crammed into your already overflowing brain. You did study for hours today, but it felt like nothing stuck. Everything you revised was gone.

“You do this often?” he asked after a while, voice quieter.

You hesitated. “Sometimes.”

“Do you always study when you can’t sleep?”

“Not always,” you murmured. “Sometimes I just… go to Jaemin’s room. Or he comes to mine. It helps. Being around someone. You know.”

He nodded slowly, eyes soft. “I get that.”

There was a long pause.

Then, wordlessly, he leaned forward and gently pulled the iPad from your hand. Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t stop him.

“You’re done for today,” he said.

“Sunghoon–”

“You’re done,” he repeated. “Come on.”

You blinked at him, heart thudding. “But I haven’t finished–”

“I know you haven’t.” His voice stayed calm. “But you look like you’re about to cry and that’s when it stops being useful.”

You stared at him for a second longer. Then finally, with a tiny exhale, you let him take your hand and pull you up. He was right, this was just a waste of time at this point. 

Neither of you said anything as you padded through the hallway together. He didn’t say a word as you crawled back into your bed and turned to face the wall and finally let your eyes close.

But you knew he was still awake, laying in the bed across from you. You heard him shifting across the room, rustling his blanket in the process.

After a few moments he softly said your name. 

“Y/N?” 

He moved again and his bed creaked. “Would it help… if we shared one bed?”

You blinked against the darkness of the room but didn’t answer him.  ──────────────────────── You came down later than usual the next morning.

The floorboards creaked under your socks as you descended the stairs, the scent of toasted bread and instant coffee already filling the air. 

When you turned the corner, Sunghoon was sitting at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him. His hair was slightly damp and unstyled and he looked just as tired as you felt. His laptop was in front of him, the light reflecting in his glasses and he was frowning at the screen. 

“Morning,” Jake offered cheerfully, mouth half-full of toast.

You smiled faintly at him, tearing your gaze away from Sunghoon's figure. He shouldn’t be working right now, he was on vacation. “Morning.”

You moved around the kitchen on autopilot, pouring yourself a cup of coffee and grabbing a plate. 

You sat down diagonally across from Sunghoon, not quite opposite, since you knew he didn’t like it when drinks stood behind his laptop. He didn’t look at you, but his foot nudged the table leg once, just enough to make the water in your glass ripple slightly and you look up. He smiled and winked at you. You just rolled your eyes and went back to your slice of toast.

Maybe you should have just said yes yesterday. You knew he didn’t sleep until he was sure you’ve fallen asleep, he never did. He was always too afraid that you would go back to studying if he slept before you did. You did your best and fell asleep shortly after laying down, your body was apparently exhausted enough to just sleep and overpower your ever running brain in the comfort of knowing someone, of knowing Sunghoon, was there.  ──────────────────────── The small market Yunjin made you go to was filled with noise and way too many people. 

The air was sticky and warm in the alleyway the market was located in, thick with the scent of frying oil and sweet batter, fresh fruit and grilled meat. You weaved your way past a stall selling steamed buns, following your friends. They were trying to  find the small samgyeopsal restaurant Ningning found on Naver yesterday. You slowed down a bit to ask Sunghoon if he would like to get some tangerines for his mom. She loved tangerines, especially those from the South of the country, claiming they taste sweeter and better. Whenever you were on trips, Sunghoon and you always brought some for her. You stopped walking when you realized he wasn't behind you anymore, and turned around to scan over the crowd of people. He was a few meters behind you, by the fish tanks, big plastic tubs filled with live octopus and silver fish darting through shallow water.

Sunghoon stood just behind the crowd, Haneul slumped against his shoulder, pacifier in her mouth, red-eyed and sniffly.

She must’ve cried recently, her face was blotchy and her nose was slightly runny. It was pressed against Sunghoon's shoulder, little hands fisted in the back of his shirt. His free hand was gently supporting her back, rocking her ever so slightly as they watched the fish dart around in the shallow water. 

You frowned. Haneul had been off all morning, a bit clingier, a bit paler, her usual chatter reduced to sleepy murmurs. The market noise and heat couldn’t have been helping.

“She didn’t want to be set down,” he said when you approached, his voice quiet. “She started crying again when I tried. We even had to get out her pacifier," he grumbled, seemingly unhappy about that fact.

You stepped closer and softly reached out to stroke her cheek with the back of your finger. “Oh no, Haneulie. Don’t cry, pretty girl,” you murmured.

The toddler blinked at you, her lower lip wobbling around the pink piece of plastic in her mouth.

You turned to Sunghoon. “Do you think she’d be okay with a little sugar?”

He glanced down at Haneul, then up at you. “Sure. I’m not her dad. Why would I say no to sugar? We will just give her back to Jay if she has a sugar high.”

You laughed under your breath. “Good point. I'll be back in a second. Don't move.”

With that, you turned on your heel and started weaving through the crowd again, dodging a group of elderly women with shopping trolleys to reach the fried snack stall. You came back with three twisted dough sticks wrapped in parchment, still warm in your hands.

"Here," you said already in motion to hand Sunghoon one of the kwwaebggis, when you realized he had his hands full of a toddler, "I thought you'd like one aswell."

"Thank you, Y/N", he said and tried to lower Haneul to the ground. She made an unhappy noise and strengthened her grip on Sunghoon's Shirt.

He paused mid-motion. “Okay, okay, I got you,” he murmured, adjusting her on his hip again. “No setting you down today.”

Her head dropped against his shoulder with an exaggerated sigh through her pacifier.

“She’s really attached to you, huh?” you asked, watching them both with an amused smile as you tore off a piece of the warm kwabaegi.

Sunghoon gave a helpless little shrug. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this loyalty, but I’m too scared to test it.”

You laughed softly and stepped a bit closer to the two of them. “Look what I got you,” you said softly, holding out a piece of the kwabaegi to the toddler.

She looked at it and shook her head, burying it more in Sunghoon's shoulder.

"Would you like to give me your pacifier to try? I promise it's very yummy, Haneul.", you said, offering the piece again, but she pushed it away with her tiny palm.

You ate the piece to demonstrate to her that it really is yummy. "Mhm. I really like kwabaegi, Haneul. Uncle Sunghoon does too."

He nodded and adjusted her in his arms. "You should really try one, baby. I am sure you'll feel better afterwards."

She just whined a ‘no’ again.

“Look, Haneul-ah,” you cooed, exaggerating your tone, ripping a piece of kwabaegi off and making an airplane motion towards Sunghoons mouth. “Uncle Hoonie says this is soooo yummy. Right, Uncle?”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened for a beat before he caught on. “Oh, yes. Delicious.” He leaned forward slightly and opened his mouth like a child, eyes wide and dramatic. “Mmm! So yummy!” he moaned, chewing the tiny piece you gave him like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. 

You snorted and ate a piece as well. “See? ”

Then you held out a small piece toward Haneul, who’d lifted her head just a little, eyes watching closely.

“Wanna try, baby?” you asked softly.

She hesitated… then grabbed her pacifier, let it fall to her shirt and opened her mouth.

You placed the kwabaegi gently on her tongue, and she blinked, chewed slowly and then reached for another piece from your hand, a clear sign of approval.

Sunghoon chuckled. “I see how it is. You trust Y/N, but not me.”

“She just knows I am the cooler one between the two of us,” you replied sweetly.

“Thats unfair and a lie. I did the dramatic chewing and everything!”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face as you broke off another bit and handed it to her. Haneul leaned forward eagerly this time, her little fingers brushing yours as she took it.

You fished a small pack of tissues out of your bag and started gently wiping the powdered sugar from the corner of Haneul’s mouth, when the three of you finished your twists. Then you handed Sunghoon the tissue while reaching for her water bottle.

“Here, have a sip,” you said, coaxing the toddler into taking a few careful gulps. She wriggled on his hip but didn’t protest much. She was already visibly more content, cheeks flushed from the heat and her earlier tears, but she was neither pouting nor asking for her pacifier so you took that as a win.

Sunghoon stood still, holding the pack of tissues in one hand and watching you quietly.

You glanced up and caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice as you dabbed Haneul’s sticky fingers.

He blinked, then immediately looked away, letting out a small laugh, the awkward kind he did when he was trying to downplay something.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, taking a step back only to bump into a lady browsing dried squid behind him.

“Ah, sorry!” he murmured, half-bowing in apology, before shuffling back toward you with a sheepish wince.

You raised a brow. “Sunghoon. What was that?”

“Nothing,” he repeated, but his ears were turning red.

You didn’t drop it. “Seriously. What?”

He hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug, eyes darting to the toddler in his arms and back to you.

“It’s just… I don’t know.” His voice dipped lower. “That was really cute. You, with her.”

You blinked.

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, clearly regretting saying it out loud. “I mean…seeing you with kids. Your whole face just lights up. It’s…yeah. That.”

For a moment, all the noise of the market faded.

You swallowed, caught off guard by the softness of his tone, by how gently he was looking at you now.

You cleared your throat, quickly turning back to fish another tissue out of your bag, trying not to read too much into what he just said.

“Well, good thing I’m not completely useless,” you said, half under your breath.

Sunghoon smiled at that and Haneul reached forward again, tugging on your sleeve.

“Aunt Y/N… carry me?” she asked softly, rubbing her cheek against Sunghoon’s shirt.

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “Me?” you asked gently. “Oh sweetheart, I’m not nearly as strong as your uncle. I think he’s better for the job.”

Haneul frowned in protest, her bottom lip wobbling.

“But,” you added quickly, holding out your hand, “I can hold your hand while Uncle Honnie carries you, if that’s okay with you.”

She sniffled once, then nodded solemnly, her tiny fingers curling around yours.

You nodded and smiled at Haneul, who slumped back down onto Sunghoon's shoulder, again, her hand clasped in yours between you.

And when you glanced up, Sunghoon was already looking at you.

Not at the toddler, not at the path ahead. At you.

With a look so full of fondness it nearly knocked the breath from your chest.

You knew that expression. It was the same one he used to wear during study sessions in your kitchen. When you were half-asleep in your shared bed in the morning. When you’d laugh too hard at something dumb and he’d just… stare. Quietly. 

Your stomach flipped, and you looked away with a soft smile

Together, with Haneul nestled between you, the three of you made your way back toward the group. And for just a second, your brain jumped to a version of you and Sunghoon where you weren’t carrying your friend's daughter, but your own.  ──────────────────────── By the time you got back to the house, everyone was exhausted from hiking all day.

Haneul had refused to let go of either of you since the market. She clung to Sunghoon during the cable car ride, her tiny fingers twisted into his jacket. And when the buggy proved too slow and bumpy, she’d whined until you picked her up, only to eventually find her way right back into Sunghoon’s arms, where she dozed off on his chest for most of the walk back from the skywalk.

Now, sprawled out across the largest sofa, she lay curled into Sunghoon’s chest, half-asleep again, one small hand still gripping yours with determined force. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks pink from the sun, and her other fist clutched the sleeve of Sunghoon’s hoodie like a lifeline.

The rest of the group had put on Knowing Bros, half-watching while chatting quietly, half-dozing through the comfortable hum of the evening.

A heavy weight pressed into your side suddenly and you heard Heeseung grunt, while he tried to get comfortable in the small space between you and Ningning.

“Heeseung,” you groaned, cracking one eye open as you felt your entire side get squashed into the person on your right.

"Just continue sleeping Y/N. I'll just get comfortable here," he mumbled curling around his fiance and stealing part of your blanket you were sharing with her.

“You're stealing my space and my blanket,” you muttered, elbowing Heeseung without much force. There was nowhere to go, except closer to Sunghoon, who didn’t seem to mind when you shifted closer, pressed shoulder to shoulder now.

He didn’t say anything, just adjusted the blanket around Haneul’s little body to cover you as well and let her keep dozing on his chest.

The movie played on, and you decided you’d just keep your eyes closed. Not asleep, just letting yourself rest. You didn't want to fall asleep and miss out. You loved being with your friends, you loved how clingy Haneul was to 'Aunt Y/N' so you were simply resting your eyes a bit.

“Wow,” Jake muttered, grinning. “You two stole Jay’s kid and just… went straight back to being disgusting. Feels like high school all over again.”

Sunghoon huffed, not annoyed, but not amused either. His voice was low, careful. “Can we not do this right now? She’s finally sleeping.”

Jay chuckled. “She didn't get enough Coke Zero today.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said. You could feel him shift, tucking the blanket tighter around you both. “She isn't sleeping at night. She comes up with us and gets ready and then an hour later goes downstairs to study. I had to talk her into going back to bed yesterday.”

There was a small pause, the only sound in the room coming from the TV.

Jake softly asked: “Is she okay?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sunghoon said. “She says she’s fine.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“I didn’t say that,” he muttered. “It’s just… She’s tired.” “She’s always tired,” Yunjin said gently. “That’s what happens when you work twelve-hour shifts and study during breaks.” “No one would be surprised if she was burned out,” Heeseung added. “Honestly, with the way she pushes herself? She hasn’t slowed down in years.” There was a beat of silence. Then Yunjin spoke again, her voice tinged with guilt: “I kind of hoped this trip would be a break for her. Some actual rest. Not… cramming after we all pass out.”

Your fingers curled slightly under the blanket. You hadn’t meant for them to know. You were just trying. Trying to stay on track. Trying to not fall behind. Trying to not lose the rhythm you’d worked so hard to keep. Sunghoon’s voice was quiet now, something resigned in it. “She just doesn’t know how to stop. She never has." Ningning shifted beside you and whispered, “She’s gonna be okay, right?” Sunghoon exhaled. “She’s Y/N. She’ll keep going. Even when she shouldn’t.” You wished you could say something. Reassure them. Reassure yourself. But instead, you curled slightly closer and let yourself feel what you usually didn’t have time to: the ache of being known and the comfort of being loved, even if it was from behind closed eyes. ──────────────────────── It was past midnight again, and the house had long since gone quiet. The others had woken you up when they got ready for bed and you followed them upstairs, bruising your teeth, washing your face and curling into your bed, trying to fall asleep again. 

But sleep just wouldn’t come. 

You hadn’t reviewed any of your material today. Not even one section. Not one concept. You should’ve done more.

You needed to do more.

The exam wasn’t going to wait for you to stop being tired. You knew that.

So when Sunghoon's soft snores filled the silence in your bedroom, you silently removed the thick blanket of your body and crept out of the room, hoping he would stay asleep tonight. You felt incredibly guilty for worrying them all, but there was nothing you could do, nothing would help quiet down your head but finishing what you had on your study planner for today.

The soft creaks of the old wood under your feet were the only sounds as you tiptoed downstairs.

You settled on the stairs between the living room and the winter garden, legs tucked beneath you. 

You weren’t reading anything. Not really. Just staring at the same sentence for the fourth time, not even blinking. 

The door creaked open and you flinched slightly.

You didn’t look up until he dropped beside you on the stairs, a water bottle in one hand, his sweatshirt pulled on backwards.

“I thought you were asleep,” you said quietly.

“I was,” he replied, voice even quieter. “Until I wasn’t.”

You both sat in silence for a minute.

Then, finally, he asked, “Do you know why this keeps happening?”

You stared at your cards, thumb brushing one edge again and again. “I can’t shut it off. My brain. It just… keeps going.”

He just nodded slowly, indicating he was listening, so you kept going.

“After we broke up,” you said, your voice low, hesitant, “I was at the hospital.”

He blinked. “Yeah, I know. You worked there even before we broke up.”

“No,” you said. “Not as an employee. I was in the ER. I fainted during my shift. They diagnosed me with burnout.”

His head turned toward you sharply. “You what?”

“In the middle of rounds,” you said softly. “One second I was standing, next thing I know, I was in a hospital bed with an IV. They said it was burnout.”

“Jesus, Y/N…” he whispered.

You gave a small, humorless smile. “I think I knew it was coming. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

His brows furrowed, his jaw tense.

“It wasn’t just the job,” you continued staring outside. “It was the exams, the night shifts, the pressure, that one asshole attending who made my life hell and still trying to be a good girlfriend and friend. Going on dates, and meeting up with the others.”

You drew a shaky breath. “And then… Minhee.”

His head turned at you but you shook your head, not wanting to look at him. 

“That night…” you said slowly. “I think that broke something in me. I’ve never lost anyone before. Not like that. I mean I’ve lost patients yeah. But no one I knew personally. And then suddenly I was holding her hand while her heart stopped. Watching my colleagues trying to save Hanuel's life while her mother was dying right there.”

He closed his eyes.

You nodded. “I think everything that had been stacking up just… collapsed after that. I checked out. I barely remember the two months after.”

He opened his eyes and looked at you, raw and unguarded. “I am so sorry Y/N.”

You didn’t mean to say it, not really, but your voice came out anyway, small and rough.

“I just would’ve needed you back then.”

Sunghoon didn’t move.

You swallowed hard. “Not to fix anything. Not even to do much. Just… a little understanding. I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t care. I was drowning. Studying felt like survival, and everything else, dates, trips, even replying to texts, it felt like walking barefoot through fire.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Why didn't you tell me, Y/N?”

“I didn't know how to,” you said. “You were as close to burning out as I was. We barely even saw each other, and if we did, every conversation we had was around school or my residency or we fought.”

You felt him watching you. 

“I’ve never stopped worrying about you,” he said eventually, voice thick. “Not once since we broke up. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, Y/N. I thought I knew you better than anyone.”

“You did, probably still do.”

“I didn’t know you were collapsing at work,” he said. “I didn’t know you were–fuck, I didn’t help. I kept pushing you to spend time with me when you clearly weren’t doing okay, and I didn’t even see it.”

“Sunghoon.” You finally turned to him. “You were going through the same thing. You were studying for your bar exam. Your internship. Your parents were on your ass about everything. You weren’t supposed to fix me.”

“I still feel like I should’ve seen it,” he murmured.

You exhaled slowly, your head tipping just enough to rest against his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said. “It wasn’t mine either. It just… happened. Life just happened.”

There was a long pause until he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift your head. You just waited, breath held tight in your chest.

“I missed you so much,” he said, his voice wavering a bit. “And I hated myself for how things ended. For how I let it get to the point where we couldn’t even talk without hurting each other.”

Your throat tightened.

“I knew you weren’t okay. Not really,” he went on, a little steadier now. “And then…then you just… disappeared. Cut everyone off like we were part of the problem. And maybe we were.” He huffed out a short breath. “I asked my mom about you a few times. But I stopped. I didn’t want to get her hopes up, you know how she is. She would’ve started preparing wedding invitations.”

You let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh.

He didn’t laugh.

“I just didn’t want to believe we’d gone from everything to nothing. But I didn’t know how to reach you without making it worse. So I stayed away.”

You shifted just slightly, your hand brushing his.

“I missed you too.”

You were quiet once more, letting the sound of rain falling against the windows of the wintergarden fill the silence.

After a few minutes you spoke again.

"I think it's happening again," you said quietly, staring straight ahead. “Me burning out.”

Sunghoon hummed lightly, just enough to tell you he was listening.

You closed your eyes. “My last shift, it was NICU. We lost two babies. Two. I had to tell the parents. And I fucking hate that part. You never get used to it. How could I? Their whole world just…” You exhaled sharply. “It’s gone. And they look at you like you’re supposed to make it make sense.”

His hand found yours and he intervened your fingers, softly squeezing them.

“I love this job,” you went on, voice thinner now. “Or I used to think I did. I love the science, the surgeries, the rush of helping someone survive something impossible. But lately… I don’t know. I feel like I’m barely surviving. Like I’m pretending really hard every day. And no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

A beat passed. Two.

Then you softly continued: “I think I just needed you back then. Even just a little. You didn’t have to fix anything. I just–” your voice caught. “I just needed someone to say I wasn’t crazy for feeling like I was drowning. That I was still me, even when I wasn’t holding it all together. Jaemin does that now. I think it's because he understands the situation I am in the best. He and his boyfriend are struggling a lot at the moment too. Will probably until we had our exam. We're selling our body and soul to work and the bar exam.”

Sunghoon didn’t speak right away. You could hear the sound of him swallowing.

“You should’ve told me,” he said eventually. “Even now. You shouldn’t be carrying this alone. I am glad you're telling Jaemin how you're feeling.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You never were.” He turned his head toward you then, and your gazes met. “Y/N, you were right, we were both breaking back then. I think I was too scared to admit I was burning out and the fact that you weren't saying anything about overworking myself annoyed me. I saw my friends' girlfriends being attentive and making them go out on dates to distract them. I knew you were stressed, I knew it. And I was still pissed you wouldn't look after mw, when I should have probably done that for you, and should have tried fixing our relationship.”

That admission cracked something in you.

You shifted slightly, resting your forehead gently against his shoulder, your voice barely audible now. “I didn’t need you to fix anything. I'm sorry I couldn't be a good girlfriend at the time. I just–I just needed you to stay.

“I’m here now,” he murmured, squeezing your fingers again.  You nodded against him. For the first time in years, you actually felt like crying. Your eyes burned, and you blinked aggressively, to stop your tears from falling. You weren’t going to cry. You couldn’t cry. Not again. You were over this, over him. Or at least you liked to pretend you were. But before you could even swallow it back, you heard it, the softest of inhales, the quietest shift in posture. You looked up.

Sunghoon had tears in his eyes. Your breath caught. Not because you didn’t think he’d care–you knew he did. But seeing it… seeing him like that, cracked something clean in your chest. You hit him lightly on the arm, voice a little hoarse. “You crybaby.” His mouth twitched. “Me? Look at you, Y/N. You’ve got, like, two tears in your eyes, while I only have one. ” You let out a half-laugh, wiping your face with your sleeve. “You’re such an idiot.” He smiled. The tension eased, just slightly, and he tilted his head toward the house. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go back inside. Just lie down for a bit. Fifteen minutes, max. If it doesn’t work, you can go back to your flashcards or your mad scientist scribbles or whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”

You gave him a look. “I mean it,” he said, soft but firm. “Just try.” You hesitated. Then nodded. And let him lead the way. You let him pull you back toward the bedroom without protest this time. The cool night air clung to your skin. Your fingers brushed as you walked up the stairs, but neither of you said anything. Inside, the room was dim and still smelled like him, laundry detergent, something clean and woodsy, and a faint trace of his cologne. “Can you…”, you cleared your throat, “would it be okay for you if we slept in one bed?”

“Sure,” he nodded andpulled his blanket of his bed, waiting until you climbed into yours. When he settled beside you, it felt… natural. Not easy, not uncomplicated, but familiar in a way your body remembered even if your mind wasn’t sure how to handle it. You shifted closer, letting your head come to rest on his chest. His arm moved around you instinctively, pulling you in just enough. But under your cheek, you could feel his heartbeat, quick and uneven, a little too fast.

You blinked against his shirt. “Your heart’s racing.” There was a pause, then a small, sheepish laugh. “I’m a little nervous, okay?” You lifted your head slightly to look at him. “I’m in bed with my ex,” he added, grinning softly. “That’s a first. Cut me some slack.” You rolled your eyes and smacked his stomach lightly. “You’re so annoying.” He chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “And yet you still chose my bed.”

“Shut up, Park Sunghoon.” “Alright, alright.” He held up his free hand in mock surrender, then shifted again, settling more comfortably. You closed your eyes again, letting the silence wash over you. You weren’t sure when his fingers started moving again. At first, you barely noticed it. Just the faintest drag of skin on skin, slow, barely-there motions on your back where your shirt had ridden up slightly. You stayed still, breathing shallow and quiet. But then he began tracing shapes. Letters. You tensed slightly.

A straight line… a curve… another curve…

“H.” Your brows knit together in the dark. He was spelling something. “I.” You bit the inside of your cheek. It took all your focus not to turn your head and answer. “S-T-I-L-L.” Still. He paused for a second. You weren’t sure if he thought you’d fallen asleep or if he just needed a breath.

Then more. “H-E-R-E.” Still here. “A-L-W-A-Y-S” You closed your eyes. Squeezing them shut to stop them from watering again. He kept going, slower now. His fingers drifted over your spine, across your shoulder blade, gentle and soft. He traced small hearts once. A spiral. A star. A shaky infinity sign that made your lips twitch the tiniest bit. Your heart pulled in two directions, overwhelmed by how tender it was, and aching because it had ever stopped being normal. You didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that somewhere between the letter R and the little loop he drew beneath your ribs, your mind finally, finally, shut up.

And this time, sleep came easily. ──────────────────────── When you woke up the next morning you were alone in bed. Sunghoon's side was still warm, so you assumed he just got out of bed a few minutes before you. You yawned and stretched yourself before making your way to the bathroom and then downstairs, where you found Jay and Sunghoon on the sofa, Hanuel curled onto Jay's chest watching bluey.  "Good morning.", you said, letting yourself fall onto the sofa next to Jay.  "Good morning Y/N."Jay greeted gently combing through his daughter's black hair. 

Her face was flushed. "Is Haneul okay?", you asked and reached out to put a hand on the toddler's forehead. "She is a bit warm, isn't she." "Yeah she got sick.", Jay mumbled looking down at her with a worried facial expression. “She woke us up twice tonight. Seol spent half of the night down here, reading and watching TV. She is sleeping upstairs now.” “Mhm,” you said touching your and Jay's forehead, “she definitely has a mild fever. Did you bring any medication? I don’t have child approved medication on me, but I could go down to the farmacy?” “Oh. No no, don’t worry about that. I’ll go down by myself when she wakes up again. I just don’t want her to wake up right now, she has just fallen asleep.” “Ah Jay. It’s not a problem. Imma get Haneul the good stuff and she will be up and about in no time.”, you said, lifting yourself from the sofa. “Are the others still sleeping?” “Yunjin and Tae are on a sunset hike and Hee and Ningning are probably still sleeping. Jake and Hyerim are doing god knows what.”, Sunghoon answered, lifting himself enough to look into your eyes. “Do you want me to come along?”

“No it’s fine, Sunghoon. Just continue being a pillow. I know my way around medications.”, you smiled at him and walked back upstairs. ──────────────────────── When you came back from the pharmacy, almost everyone was flopping around in the living room. A rerun of Hotel De Luna was running on the TV, while the others were spread across the living room. Yunjin had returned from her hike and was now tucked into a beanbag with Tae sharing her blanket, both sipping warm drinks. Ningning was sprawled across Heeseung’s lap, sleeping in a seemingly very uncomfortable position. Jake and Hyerim were talking to themselves. The only person who looked truly awake was Sunghoon, who sat in the corner of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, hair still slightly tousled. He looked relaxed, almost peaceful. You walked in quietly, the door clicking shut behind you. He turned toward the sound instinctively, eyes softening when they landed on you. “Mission successful?” he asked. You lifted the paper bag triumphantly. “She’ll be back to bossing us around in no time.”

A few of the others hummed in acknowledgment, but most were too absorbed in the episode or their own tired haze to respond. A few minutes later, you crossed the room and dropped into the open space beside Sunghoon with a dramatic sigh. You were holding your Kindle in one hand and tugging the edge of the blanket with the other. He didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly. You nestled into the sofa, tucking your legs up and leaning into his warmth. His hand rested loosely around your shoulder.  You didn’t say anything, either. Just opened your Kindle and flipped through a few pages of a medical casebook, pretending to read. Truthfully, your attention was split, maybe 30% on the text, and the rest on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way your body fit so easily against his again, the quiet intimacy that still lingered despite everything unspoken. You probably should really speak about what was happening right now, how you just shared a bed for the night, how you almost automatically curled back into him here on the sofa.  He shifted once to help you get more comfortable, tugging the blanket up slightly over your legs. Somewhere in the background, IU’s voice echoed through the room, wistful and distant. ──────────────────────── You were half-curled into Sunghoon’s side, Kindle balanced against your thigh, when soft footsteps padded down the stairs. Everyone turned instinctively. Jay was holding a sleepy but clearly stubborn Haneul in his arms. Her hair was flattened to one side, and her cheeks were still flushed, but her eyes lit up as she spotted you across the room. “Oh no,” Jay said dryly. “She saw her targets.” You smiled and waved. “Hey, baby.”

Haneul wriggled immediately, demanding to be put down, and tottered toward the couch with single-minded purpose. You shifted to make space between yourself and Sunghoon, assuming she’d collapse into his lap. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached for you, tugging at your arm with surprising insistence. “Auntie.” You blinked. “Me?” Haneul nodded seriously. “Wanna sit with you.” “Oh,” you said, glancing briefly at Jay, then Sunghoon, who just shrugged. “Okay, come here then.” You lifted her gently into your lap, wrapping the blanket around the two of you as she cuddled in, her body still warm with fever. She exhaled with a small sigh and pressed her cheek to your chest, thumb slipping into her mouth. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “Read me something.” You laughed softly. “I don’t have any kids books, sweetheart.” “I’ll get one,” Sunghoon said, already pushing to his feet. He disappeared toward the hallway bookshelf and returned a minute later with a battered picture book in one hand and his laptop under his arm.

You adjusted Haneul against your chest and cracked the book open. The toddler watched intently as you began to read in a soft, lilting voice. Sunghoon flipped open his laptop beside you, fingers flying over the keyboard. His brows were furrowed in concentration. You glanced at him once between pages, catching the faint crease between his brows as he focused on whatever email or report had stolen his attention. You weren’t sure if he was even hearing you read, but every time Haneul pointed at a picture or giggled at a silly voice you made, his mouth twitched upward. Your voice stayed low, barely above a whisper. You were careful not to disturb the others scattered across the room. The rain hadn’t stopped outside. It clung to the windows, soft and persistent, like background music. And as you sat there, Haneul tucked into your chest, Sunghoon typing beside you, the slow unfolding of a quiet day, you felt something strange settle into your chest.

A deep, aching kind of comfort. The kind that made you wish time could slow down just a little more. ──────────────────────── Haneul had dozed off again halfway through the story, one tiny hand still clutching your shirt. You eased the book shut, careful not to jostle her, and glanced sideways just in time to see Sunghoon exhale sharply and throw his head back against the backrest. He looked tense. His jaw clenched, one hand still hovering over the keyboard as if he couldn’t quite let go of whatever he’d been typing. His laptop remained open, screen glowing faintly in his lap. “You okay?” you asked quietly. He didn’t answer right away, just ran a hand through his hair, eyes fluttering shut for a second before opening again. “I want to commit murder,” he said flatly. You blinked. “That’s a strong reaction for a children’s book.” He huffed a mirthless laugh, rubbing at his temple. “No, the client I’m dealing with. Complete nightmare. I’m technically marked as absent and yet they’ve decided today is the perfect day to need everything from me. Everything. Like the rest of my team just collectively forgot how to think without me.”

You frowned. “Wait, they’re contacting you now? I thought you weren’t on call?” “I’m not,” he said, voice tight. “But apparently my senior colleagues are allergic to solving things on their own. And this client–” he cut himself off, then muttered under his breath, “not even a fucking day of peace.” You raised a brow at the rare slip in language. “Sunghoon.” “I know,” he said, eyes flicking over to you with a faint grimace. “Sorry. I just–I really needed this trip. I wanted to turn everything off and just breathe, you know? But now I’ve spent the last hour writing emails.” You reached out with your free hand, pressing your fingers lightly to the back of his arm in silent reassurance “I get it,” you murmured. “Really. And… for the record? You’re allowed to be mad. You work harder than half the people I know.” He shook his head slightly, lips curving into something tired. “Coming from you, that’s saying something.” You smiled faintly and leaned back against the cushions, careful not to disturb the sleeping toddler. ──────────────────────── The house had settled into that kind of stillness only rain could bring. Outside, water tapped gently against the windows, and inside, nearly everyone had retreated to their rooms or dozed off somewhere across the couch-filled landscape of the winter garden and living room. The only sounds left were the occasional creak of the old roof beams and the faint hum of Bluey reruns still playing on loop. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

But between the warmth of the blanket, Haneul’s little body curled into your chest, and the rhythmic clacking of Sunghoon’s keyboard across from you, your eyes had fluttered shut. The last thing you remembered was thinking I’ll just rest my eyes for a minute. When you woke again, the light had shifted, softer now, dimmer. Late afternoon. Your head felt heavy against the sofa cushion, and Haneul was still curled into your front, snuffling quietly in her sleep. You didn’t move yet, not wanting to disturb her. Sunghoon was still there. Still working. Still typing. He looked up the moment your breathing changed, gaze softening as it landed on you. “Hey,” he said, voice quiet. “You’re awake.” You blinked at him, still halfway between dream and reality.

He leaned forward and, with gentle fingers, brushed a loose strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was fleeting but warm, and it made your chest ache in that familiar way. “You should go back to sleep,” he murmured. You made a low noise in your throat, the closest thing to a protest you could muster. “No. I gotta… study. A little.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval, leaning back into his corner of the sofa again. “You’re impossible.” You cracked one eye open. “You’re working too, Park. Don’t throw stones from your glass house.” That earned a small, reluctant laugh from him. “Touché. Without moving too much, careful not to jostle Haneul, you reached to your side and grabbed your iPad, placing it on the throw pillow next to you. Your thumb opened your note app with practiced ease, screen glowing softly in the dim room. You balanced it on your knee and leaned your chin against the top of Haneul’s head.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything more. Just returned to his laptop, fingers dancing across the keys, the occasional sigh slipping through his nose.

Hours later you sat curled in the corner of the bench, legs tucked beneath you and the blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. The rain beat gently against the windows of the winter garden, the soft patter rhythmic and constant. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out there, long enough for your tea to go cold and your thoughts to grow heavy. So much of your life has been made up of early mornings, late nights, bright lights, white coats, cold coffee. And now, watching your friends build lives around you, with children, with partners, with memories you weren’t part of, you wondered if you had ever truly lived at all. Or if you just... worked. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, knees tucked to your chest, trying to chase away the cold that wasn’t really from the rain. You hadn’t meant to think about the what-ifs again, but somehow, watching Sunghoon be so soft with you and Haneul all day, made you feel nostalgic for something you never had. He would’ve been a good dad. A quiet shuffle of feet behind you made you blink. You didn’t have to look. You knew it was him.

Sunghoon sat beside you, close enough for your shoulders to brush. The bench shifted under his weight. “Penny for a thought?” he asked gently. You didn’t answer at first. Just stared out into the night. “I always thought we’d get married,” you said eventually, voice smaller than you meant it to be. “I thought we’d have a kid by now.” He didn’t answer for a long moment, just let his gaze follow yours into the wet dark beyond the glass.

“I know,” he said. “I thought that too.” You finally turned to look at him. His profile was shadowed, the dim lights of the living room catching in his lashes, in the soft fall of his hair. “I had a whole proposal planned,” he continued. “In Vietnam, you know that trip we were planning? I was gonna pretend we were just taking pictures at sunset, hand you the camera, and when you turned around… I’d be on one knee.” You let out a shaky breath. “That sounds like something you’d do.” “Cheesy?” “Yeah. I would have loved it.” He laughed under his breath. “I thought so.”

You were quiet for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry.” He looked at you, brows drawing slightly together. “I’m sorry for putting work ahead of everything. For choosing my studies over us. For shutting you out.” You paused, breath catching in your chest. “I thought I could balance it all. But I couldn’t. And then I didn’t know how to tell you that without feeling like I was failing at everything.” His gaze softened. “Y/N…” Your throat tightened and you had to fight the tears already. “I never stopped being proud of you,” he said quietly. “Even after everything. Even when you disappeared on us. I admired the hell out of what you’re doing. You’re literally helping people survive. I could never do what you do.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand. I’m not–” You swallowed. “Jay. I let Jay down. I let Minhee down.” He turned to face you more fully. “What?” Your fingers twisted into the edge of the blanket. “Minhee. She–” You exhaled shakily. “I know it wasn’t my fault, I know that rationally. But every time I see Haneul, all I can think is… maybe I did something wrong. Maybe if I had caught something earlier or said something–” “Y/N.”

“–or checked her labs again, or called the OB sooner–" “Y/N,” he said again, firmer this time, but not unkind. “You know it wasn’t your fault.” “I do,” you whispered. “But that doesn’t make it feel any less like it is.” He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because we had just broken up,” you said. “Like, just. And I didn’t want to burden you. You were trying to move on. And I felt like I was breaking into a thousand pieces. I kept telling myself I deserved it. That I couldn’t hold onto you and try to be this version of myself I thought I had to become. And you had to be there for Jay. His girlfriend just died and he had a newborn at home. And I couldn't bear being around him or her. I was too afraid he thought I was responsible, even if I wasn't.” “I would’ve dropped everything,” Sunghoon said, and his voice cracked slightly. “If I had known, I would’ve been there. No questions asked. Heeseung was there for Jay. Jake was too. His and Minhees parents. I could have been there for you.” You closed your eyes. “I wanted to call you. I did. A hundred times. But I thought… it would just make it worse.” He looked away, swiping a hand over his face. “I hate myself for not trying harder. For not asking. For just letting you go.” You exhaled slowly. “Do you think we would’ve made it?" He paused for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “If we’d had the time.”

Sunghoon was quiet for a moment again. Then he looked at you more fully, like he was trying to find the pieces of the girl you used to be underneath all the weight you carried now. “I never told you this,” he said softly, “but I used to love watching you dream. You were so sure about everything. Med school. Family. How you were going to do it all.” He paused. “Even when I didn’t believe in myself, I believed in you.” You closed your eyes, because if you didn’t you might really cry this time. “You know,” you whispered, “I feel like I’ve been running nonstop. And now that I’m here… I realize I haven’t really lived. I’ve just… worked.” He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. “I wanted to be with you,” you added, more quietly. “But I didn’t know how to let myself stop. Even now, the thought of having free time makes me anxious.”

He shifted slightly. “I think… we were both overwhelmed. I kept thinking it was just a phase. That we’d get through it.” “I should’ve fought harder for you.” “I should’ve known you needed help.” His hand found yours, slowly, uncertainly, but you didn’t pull away. Your fingers slid into his, warm and familiar. You turned toward him, your faces closer than they’d been in years. It would’ve been so easy. “We shouldn’t…” you began, voice trembling, uncertain. Sunghoon’s voice was low, steady, but there was a faint, familiar ache beneath it. “You remember when we weren’t supposed to kiss in your room? Back in high school?” Your breath caught.

You nodded, just barely. “We still did.” His lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. It was something softer. Sadder. Full of things unsaid. “Yeah. We still did.” His hand, warm and tentative, slid up your arm. A slow touch, like he was memorizing the shape of you all over again. Your skin tingled where his fingers passed, your breath tightening in your chest. There was a pause. A heartbeat. Then he leaned in.

You met him halfway. The first brush of his lips was featherlight. A ghost of contact. Barely there. You surged forward without thinking, lips slotting against his with years of yearning pressed into the space between you. His hand rose to your jaw, thumb grazing your cheekbone as he angled his head, deepening the kiss with.  His mouth was soft but certain, moving over yours like he already knew how you liked to be kissed, because he did. There was no rush, no hesitation, just heat blooming slow and deep between you as your hands found the front of his sweater, curling into the fabric, anchoring yourself to him. You shifted closer, your knees brushing his, blanket forgotten as your body tilted into his space. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck now, his fingers sliding into your hair, holding you steady as his other hand gripped your waist, grounding you. You made a quiet sound, when his teeth grazed your bottom lip. It had been so long. Too long. You’d forgotten how it felt to be wanted like this. To want like this. When you finally pulled away, your breathing was uneven, lips kiss-bitten and your heart in your throat.

You didn’t move far. Just far enough to rest your forehead against his, eyes closed, trying to gather yourself. “Sunghoon,” you breathed. It was all you could manage. His thumb brushed gently over your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to–” “Don’t apologize,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I wanted to.” He nodded slowly, his breath warm against your cheek. For a long, fragile moment, neither of you moved. Then you exhaled shakily and leaned into him, your cheek resting against his chest, listening to the quiet thump of his heart. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation, one circling your back, the other rubbing slow, grounding strokes up and down your spine. “Come to bed,” he said after a moment. 

Your gaze wandered to your Ipad again.  “Y/N,” Sunghoon said again, gently. “Come inside?” You shook your head against his chest. “I can’t.” There was a pause, long and quiet. “I think,” you continued slowly, carefully, “if I lie down now, I might actually go crazy. Just for a bit. I… need to be on my own.” Sunghoon didn’t speak right away.  “Are you sure?” he asked, low. You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll come in later.” He lingered for another beat before carefully pushing you off his chest, reaching for the blanket and draping it over your shoulders. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll leave the door open.” You managed a small smile, just enough to make him go.

The quiet that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was taut. Sharp. You felt like a wire pulled tight, humming with tension, unable to let go. You didn’t cry or move. You just sat there with your thoughts screaming and the rain falling and the cold slowly sinking in. Eventually, hours later, exhaustion became heavier than the noise in your chest. It didn’t quiet the buzzing under your skin, but it dulled it. You stood up slowly, stiff and aching, and crept back inside. The house was dark and still.  You padded past the living room and paused. Sunghoon. He was asleep on the couch, arms crossed, head tilted back awkwardly against the armrest. Your heart cracked a little.

You crossed the room carefully and crouched beside him, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm. “Sunghoon,” you whispered. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.” He blinked awake groggily, frowning like a confused toddler. “Y/N? Are you done?" You nodded, though it was only half-true. “Yeah. For today. Come on, let’s go upstairs.” You rubbed your eyes as you climbed the stairs, limbs heavy, thoughts slow and grainy. Sunghoon followed silently behind you, both of you lit only by the soft hallway light someone had left on. The house creaked with wind and sleep. When you entered your shared room, you automatically turned toward your own bed, but before you even made it halfway, his hand caught your wrist. You glanced back at him. His hair was a mess, his sweater wrinkled from the couch, his eyes soft in the dim light. There was no question in them. Just quiet certainty. The same kind he always used to have when he knew exactly what you needed before you did. He didn’t say anything, but gently pulled you towards his bed. You didn’t even hesitate. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to crawl in beside him. His arms settled around you like they never forgot how to, one draped around your waist, the other tucked under his pillow. You rested your cheek against his chest, his warmth bleeding into your skin. His heartbeat was steady today, unrushed. ──────────────────────── Seoul greeted you with dull skies and even more rain. The drive back had been quiet. Peaceful. Haneul had napped for most of it. You rested too, half-asleep with your head against the window, the lull of the road and Sunghoon’s soft humming lulling you into a strange kind of calm.  The car slowed in front of your apartment. Jay helped unload your bag from the trunk while Sunghoon stood by, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, his hair still mussed from sleep. Haneul, finally awake again, reached for you as Jay hoisted her up and you kissed her cheek, brushing her fever-warmed curls from her forehead. “Text me if she gets worse,” you said softly, and Jay nodded. Sunghoon lingered behind as Jay buckled Haneul back in. He didn’t say much, just held your gaze for a second too long. “I’ll see you soon?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. Soon.” There was so much more you wanted to say. But not here. Not now. You gave them both a small wave and turned toward the building. ──────────────────────── The elevator ride up felt longer than usual.  You dumped your bag, took a quick shower, and pulled your scrubs out of the drawer. It was already getting dark when you finished meal prepping for your nightshift. Seoul pulsed around you, busy and bright, and for once, you didn’t feel entirely swallowed by it.  A few hours later the fluorescent lights buzzed above you, sterile and far too bright. The ward was quiet tonight. You sat at the small desk near the nurses’ station, soft white light illuminating the open binder in front of you. The gynecology wing always had this strange hush at night, even with the occasional monitor beeping, and the distant hum of a cleaning machine.  You had just made your rounds, charted vitals, answered two sleepy buzzers, checked one incision site. Everything was fine. Calm. And yet, you felt like you might break. You blinked, slowly. Your limbs were heavy. Not because you were tired physically you were drained mentally. Your eyes wandered toward the window, where the sky was still black and the city lights blurred through mist. This was the life you had built, wasn’t it? Clean. Efficient. Hard-earned. You were good at this. You were doing everything right.

And still. Still, the ache didn’t go away. You rubbed at your eyes and tried to focus on the chart in front of you, but your thoughts slipped back to him.

To Sunghoon. You sighed. Being with him had felt so easy. So natural. His hand against your spine, his voice calling you inside, his quiet laugh when Haneul demanded your attention. His warmth at night.

You swallowed thickly. You had rested. Really rested. And now, sitting under fluorescent lights again, cold coffee untouched, you felt the absence of it so sharply it almost hurt. The thought of going home to your apartment, to Jaemin and the cats, made your stomach twist. You weren't lonely, no.

You were longing. For the life you hadn’t let yourself have. You could’ve had this. You could’ve had him. If only you hadn’t kept choosing the next task. The next round. The next shift. The next exam. You had kept saying later, later, later. And then later became never. Now, in the quiet lull of the gynecology wing, with healthy babies sleeping peacefully just down the hall, you sat and wondered if you had let your whole life pass by in the name of responsibility. A baby cried softly in the distance. You stood, checked your watch, and made your way down the hall with steady steps.

You were good at this. But you weren’t sure anymore if it was enough ──────────────────────── Two days later the taxi dropped you off just past ten pm. You hadn’t even texted ahead. Your body was still aching from your shift at the hospital today. It wasn’t a particularly hard one but you felt drained. You just wanted to go home. But not to your apartment. Not to Jaemin and the cats. Not to the stack of unread medical journals and the untouched laundry. You climbed the front steps to Sunghoon’s house slowly, heart pounding hard enough that you could hear it in your ears. You hesitated for only a second before knocking, not only because it was late, but because what you were going to do might be more than stupid. The door opened, and his mother’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Y/N?” “Hi,” you said, voice smaller than intended. You felt suddenly too casual in your hoodie and jeans, hair still damp. “I… Is Sunghoon home?” She blinked, recovering quickly. “Yes, of course, he just got back from a work dinner not long ago. He’s upstairs. Come in.”

You stepped into the hallway, offering a quiet “Thank you,” before climbing the stairs with shaky knees. You stopped in front of his door and raised your hand to knock, hesitated, but did it anyway. There was a shuffling sound, then the door opened a crack. He was undoing his tie, sleeves already rolled up, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His eyes landed on you, and he froze. “…Y/N?” Your throat tightened. “I–” you started, then stopped. You blinked at him. 

You laughed, but it came out broken. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said quickly, words tumbling out faster than your brain could filter them. “I just– I finished my shift, and I was walking to the station and I couldn’t go home, I just– I kept thinking about you, and that trip, and how I felt like I could finally breathe and laugh and sleep for the first time in months, years, really–” You were rambling. You knew you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop. “I missed you,” you said. “I missed you so much it physically hurts sometimes, and I’ve been pretending I’m fine and that my work is enough and that I don’t need anything else, but it’s not true. I miss waking up next to you. I miss fighting over takeout menus. I miss your laugh, and how you always steal my side of the blanket." Sunghoon just stared at you, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling slowly. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry I shut you out. I was scared. I thought I had to be this perfect version of myself and I pushed you away thinking it was the right thing, and now I just feel like I ruined everything.” You looked down at your hands.

“I know it’s not fair,” you said. “And I know it’s going to be hard. I have my exam in February, and things won’t suddenly be easy. But if you’d let me, if there’s even a small part of you that still wants this, I’d love to try again. I want to try to be better. To be someone who doesn’t run. To be your girlfriend again.” You hadn’t realized you were crying until his hands cupped your face. “Stop rambling, Y/N,” he said, voice low. And then he kissed you. All the air left your lungs at once. It wasn’t a desperate kiss, or a rushed one. It was slow. Familiar. Steady in a way you hadn’t felt in months. His lips moved against yours like they remembered every detail. His thumb brushed under your eye, catching a stray tear. When he pulled back, your hands had found their way into his shirt. “I would love to try again,” he whispered, forehead against yours.

You laughed softly, tears still running down your cheeks. “Are you sure? I come with a lot of baggage.” He smiled. “You always did.” You swatted at his shoulder. “Rude.” But his arms tightened around you. “I’m serious,” he said. “I don’t care how hard it is. Or how messy. I just want you. Whatever you can give me, I want it.” You closed your eyes and leaned into his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear. “I don’t want to go home,” you whispered.

“Then don’t.” You stood there for a long moment, wrapped in his arms like no time had passed at all. Eventually, he tugged you inside the room and closed the door behind you. “Come on,” he said gently. “You look like you need food and sleep in that exact order.” “I need a lot of things,” you said. “But sleep next to you sounds like a good start.” He gave you one of his shirts, a pair of shorts and a towel, to dry your face after you’ve washed it. When you stepped back into his room, Sunghoon was already under the blanket, hair messy, expression soft. You crawled in beside him and sighed as his arm wrapped around you. His warmth seeped into your skin instantly, and for a long moment, you didn’t move.

“This is so nice,” you mumbled into his chest. “Sleeping next to you.” “You used to complain that I snore,” he said softly.

You smiled. “You do.” He chuckled, fingers gently brushing along your arm under the blanket. A few quiet minutes passed like that. “Your mom’s probably already calling my mom. Bet she thinks there’s finally a realistic chance of sturdy grandkids now.”, you said, readjusting your head on his chest. Sunghoon snorted but then he stilled. And when he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost careful. “Would you want that?” he asked. “Kids… with me?” Your heart gave a small lurch. You blinked slowly, shifting so you could look at him in the dark. His eyes were on you. You swallowed. “Honestly?” You nodded. “I can’t imagine having kids with anyone else.” He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath. You tucked your face back into his chest. “It’s not something I’m ready for. Not now. I don’t even know when I’ll be ready. But… if it ever happens… I’d want it to be with you.” His arms tightened slightly around you. “If this works out again, really works, I’d love that too. Just not right now. Not while you’re barely sleeping and fighting your way through hospital chaos and studying every free second.” You let out a breath. He wasn’t just saying what you wanted to hear. He meant it. You knew him well enough to tell. “I really would love that,” you murmured.

“I want you to have what you’ve worked for,” he said. “Your dream. Your degree. Your own timeline. I’ll support you through all of it. No matter what.” You blinked back the sudden pressure in your chest and reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers with his beneath the blanket. “Hoon…,” you whispered, not knowing what to say without breaking down in tears. “I’m not going anywhere and I won’t let you ever again,” he promised. And you believed him.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @mangoescrazy @seokjinthescientist @ddolleri

ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹  dear anons, I hope it was alright I mixed your requests and you enjoyed reading the story, even if I might not have encapsulated your request fully! Burnout is a shit thing to experience. If you feel like you are close to burning out, do take a break. Really. Do. No deadline or test is worth your mental and physical health.

[mysticaljiminie]

I just traveled abroad & have saturn in 9H ..here’s how it went ✈️ 🌍

Okay, so honestly…it wasn’t terrible. I ended up having a great time regardless of the setbacks. However, here are a few things that happened that made the experience a little bit less wonderful.

Before I even set foot abroad, i missed my flight. My gate number was nonexistent, none of the staff were helpful. They were all leading me in different directions to a nonexistent gate. And then, when someone finally got me to the correct gate, the lady at the desk told me they ‘just stopped boarding’ (she really just didn’t want to check in another person)

Once I got to said country, my card would not be accepted in any atms for currency exchange. Therefore, I wasn’t able to load my bus card. Also, my phone died as soon as I entered the country & I needed to find a way to my accommodation. It took me around 3 hours and some really nice guy paid for my taxi.

Once again, my card in currency exchanges was not working. It ended up working once (ty POF in 1h) and never again. But luckily, i never needed to get more cash.

I was studying abroad, and went on the wrong bus 3 times, making me late once and considered absent twice. And this school was really strict on attendance. I’m someone who is always early everywhere, but…the stars were against me

So. I just got back to my home country. And guess what? 1. My luggage was delayed. And..2. I somehow lost my wallet with all my important cards inside on the airport bus or somewhere in the airport.

So…yeah. A lot of challenges, however, daily life there was so amazing and wonderful. The actual traveling part to arrive, depart, and maneuver around the country ended up giving me the biggest hit. I ended up walking almost everywhere to not test my luck.🍀

[mysticaljiminie]

Real Men Love Cats

enhypen masterlist

my wattpad story - ༒︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄 - 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ༒︎

cat dad!yang jungwon x chaotic cat mom!fem!reader | strangers to lovers | chaos-meets-softness tension | pure fluff

a/n: did yall notice im obsessed with mv “brought the heat back”

summary: when your drenched classmate crashes your peaceful night with a rescue kitten and turns out, the coldest guy in class is secretly a cat dad with seven rescues—and he’s been pretending to need your help just to get close to you.

warning: too many cats, soggy hoodie, emotionally repressed soft boys, chaotic domestic fluff, accidental cuddling, light kissing, love confession, mutual pining, cat hair everywhere, and the world’s quietest man pulling the boldest move.

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Your Monday night was going exactly as planned.

That is to say: fleece blanket burrito, mug of overpriced peach tea, and your three cats—Miso, Tofu, and Mackerel—forming a fluffy cuddle pile on your lap while you rewatched The Cat Returns for the thirtieth time. Nothing could ruin this sacred ritual.

Until something did.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

You stared at your front door like it had personally offended you.

Another knock. Insistent. Urgent. Slightly chaotic. You flinched, displacing Miso, who gave an offended meow and launched herself off your thigh with all the drama of a Shakespearean heroine.

“Coming!” you shouted, tugging your hoodie over your mismatched pajama set. You opened the door—and froze.

There stood Yang Jungwon.

Yes. That Yang Jungwon. The broody, mysterious, top-of-the-class guy from your ethics seminar. He never spoke unless directly called on. He always wore black. He had perfect notes, a perfectly annoying smirk, and a face that should not legally be allowed on a college campus.

And he was soaked to the bone, hair dripping, hoodie clinging to his lean frame, and—most jarringly—holding a yowling orange kitten wrapped in his jacket like a swaddled baby.

You blinked. He blinked back.

Then, softly, with the desperation of a man who had clearly lost all shame:

“Help.”

You slammed the door in his face.

There was a beat of silence.

Then you opened it again, guilt flooding in. “I panicked.”

“No, yeah, I get it.” He looked down at the kitten. “I also panicked.”

You moved aside and let him in. He tracked water onto your rug. Miso growled. Tofu attempted to climb him like a tree. The kitten escaped his jacket and leapt directly into your cereal bowl. Chaos descended immediately.

“Your cats are… lively,” Jungwon said as he tried to prevent Mackerel from stealing his wet sock.

“You brought home a demon in the shape of a kitten,” you shot back, scooping up the orange menace. “Why are you even here?”

He hesitated. Then said:

“I heard you’re the cat girl.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I asked Yunjin from class where I could take him”—he gestured to the now-purring kitten in your arms—“and she said, quote, ‘Try the cat girl. She’ll probably be thrilled.’ Then she gave me your address. So.”

You stared at him.

He stared back. Then added, very seriously: “I don’t know what to do. He was in a storm drain. He followed me for like three blocks. I couldn’t just leave him there, and now he keeps biting me, and my roommate is allergic, and I’m really good with dogs but this thing is built different—”

You watched as the kitten bit his thumb mid-sentence. He winced but kept talking.

“…See?”

You melted.

Because as much as Jungwon looked like he belonged in a luxury perfume ad, the image of him soaked and distressed with a tiny, furious kitten in tow had broken your brain entirely.

“Okay,” you said, suppressing a smile. “I’ll help. But first, we’re giving him a bath.”

He paled. “A what?”

⸻

Turns out, Jungwon was completely useless with cats.

He held the kitten like it was a nuclear bomb. He jumped every time it meowed. He asked—genuinely, in a small, horrified voice—“Do cats like water?”

You had to physically restrain your laughter.

By the time you’d finished drying the kitten off, Miso had decided Jungwon was acceptable company. She curled around his leg and began purring. He looked down at her, stunned.

“…She’s vibrating.”

“That’s purring,” you explained patiently. “It means she likes you.”

He looked so confused. And then… soft. Like he didn’t know how to handle being liked.

Your chest twinged.

You didn’t know much about Jungwon, but something in the way he touched the kitten—gentle, careful, reverent—told you there was a much gentler boy under all that mystery.

“So…” he began. “How many cats do you have?”

“Three. Not counting this one.”

He gave a small smile, eyes crinkling. “Still think I’m the cold, mysterious guy in the corner?”

Your heart stuttered.

Maybe it was the way the kitten nuzzled into his chest. Or how Mackerel was asleep in his lap. Or how he was so soft beneath all that brooding.

Maybe it was the way you couldn’t stop smiling.

“I think,” you said slowly, “you might be one of us.”

He tilted his head. “One of…?”

“The cat people.” You grinned. “You’re one of us now. There’s no going back.”

He blinked. Then laughed—really laughed—and you decided right then:

You were completely doomed.

_______

Jungwon texted you the next morning.

wonie 🐱🍓 [8:17 AM]:

Kitten is alive. Still evil. May need exorcism.

Also, thank you. Really.

YOU [8:21 AM]:

You’re welcome.

He bit your thumb because he loves you.

That’s how cats say “ride or die.”

wonie 🐱🍓 [8:22 AM]:

So romantic.

Also he just peed in my laundry basket

⸻

That was the beginning.

Over the next two weeks, Jungwon appeared in your life like stray fur: suddenly, stubbornly, and everywhere.

He texted you about the kitten (now affectionately named Mugwort, though you insisted that was cursed energy). He stopped by your apartment “just to ask questions,” which somehow turned into late-night tea and your cats climbing into his lap like they’d claimed him. He sent you pictures of Mugwort curled up on his pillow, clawing through his socks, sleeping in his hoodie.

He even asked if you wanted to visit a new café that had cat-shaped macarons. You said yes, because you were weak. And because you liked the way he smiled when Miso sat in his lap and purred like a Harley Davidson.

You still thought he was clueless about cats. Still called him Newbie Cat Dad. Still thought it was adorable that he panicked every time one of your cats sneezed.

And he let you believe it.

⸻

The cat café was on a quiet street tucked between a boba shop and a stationery store, with fairy lights in the window and little paw prints painted on the glass door.

The moment you stepped inside, you gasped.

“They have a calico hammock.” You pointed like you’d discovered treasure. “And—oh my god. Is that a Bengal in a suit?”

Jungwon followed behind you, hands in his hoodie pocket, watching you whirl around with the wide-eyed joy of a child in a candy store. A lazy gray Ragdoll leapt onto your shoulder. You let it stay there like it was a fashion choice.

“You know,” he said, deadpan, “I think you might like cats.”

You grinned at him. “Bold of you to assume.”

You took a seat by the window, brushing off a few stray cat hairs. Jungwon sat across from you, and for a moment, he looked…nervous. Fingers fidgeting in his lap. Eyes flicking to your mouth when you weren’t looking. You didn’t notice any of it. You were too busy making kissy faces at a Siamese kitten doing flips.

“You’re such a natural now,” you teased, nodding toward the tuxedo cat pawing at Jungwon’s elbow. “Remember when you thought cats liked water?”

His ears turned pink. “I was acting under pressure.”

“Sure. Total crisis mode. Very life-or-death.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when I braved your bath-time hellscape to save Mugwort’s life,” he shot back, but his voice was warm. You were both smiling.

The waitress arrived with two matcha lattes topped with cat-shaped foam. Yours had a paw. His had a heart. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to be staring at you.

“You’ve really gotten attached,” you said softly. “To Mugwort.”

He paused. “I guess I get attached easily.”

Your heart did a weird, inconvenient somersault.

“Hey,” you said suddenly, desperate to fill the silence, “What ever happened to your roommate? The one who’s allergic?”

Jungwon blinked. Then gave a tiny, sly shrug.

“Oh. I… don’t have one.”

You stared. “You what?”

“I live alone.”

“…So you just lied?”

His smile turned secretive. “Technically I omitted.”

You squinted. “But then why did you come to me?”

He met your gaze.

And just like that, everything around you—the cats, the customers, the clinking glasses—blurred into soft background noise.

Jungwon’s voice dropped, low and warm. “Because I wanted to talk to you. And I didn’t know how.”

You blinked. “So… you faked a cat crisis.”

“I didn’t fake it,” he defended, suddenly sheepish. “Mugwort was real. But I might’ve… waited for the right opportunity. Like, maybe I passed your building a few times with him in my hoodie hoping to see you. Not stalkerish, just… statistically persistent.”

You were speechless.

He scratched the back of his neck, now fully pink in the ears. “I figured—worst case, you’d help the kitten. Best case, you’d talk to me. And maybe—maybe you’d let me stay longer.”

“…Jungwon.”

“I know it’s stupid,” he said quickly. “But you were always smiling at cats in class. I liked that. I liked you. I thought if you saw me with one, maybe you’d…”

He trailed off. Voice quiet.

“…see me, too.”

Your heart clenched.

You couldn’t help it—you reached across the table and took his hand. He froze. But he didn’t pull away.

“You idiot,” you said gently. “I already saw you.”

He looked up, eyes wide.

“I saw the guy who stayed up researching wet cat food brands. Who sat through four hours of Ghibli cat movies with me. Who lets Mackerel steal his phone charger and calls Mugwort sir when he bites him.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I liked you before the cats, Jungwon. But the cats helped.”

He smiled—really smiled—and you felt it in your ribs.

“…I have seven,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Seven what?”

“Cats.”

You stared.

He braced for impact.

You gasped. “You LIAR.”

“I was scared you’d think it was too much!”

“You—You have a mini zoo!”

“I know!”

You smacked his arm (gently). “You pretended to be a newbie?”

“Technically I’m a veteran cat whisperer,” he said smugly. “But I didn’t want to scare you off.”

You gawked at him. “Jungwon, I have a three-cat council in my apartment that judges my cereal choices. You think seven is gonna scare me?”

“…So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” You leaned closer. “I want to meet them.”

His eyes sparkled. “You mean it?”

You nodded. “Under one condition.”

“Anything.”

You reached into your bag, pulled out a bright pink cat hoodie (complete with ears), and slid it across the table.

He blinked. “…You’re joking.”

“Real men love cats,” you said sweetly. “Now put it on.”

And to your utter, breath-stealing delight—he did.

⸻

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, warm, and buzzing with something new. The kind of quiet where you didn’t need to talk. Just the shuffle of feet. The purr of contentment.

He held your hand. You let him. You didn’t say anything about it. Neither did he.

Until you stopped by your door. Looked up. Bit your lip.

He stepped closer.

“I’m really glad you brought Mugwort to my door,” you said softly.

“I’m really glad you opened it.”

You smiled.

Then—you kissed him.

Just once. Light. Quick. But full of everything you’d wanted to say since the moment he showed up, soaked and soft and pretending to need help when all he needed was a reason to stay.

He kissed you back. A little longer. A little surer.

And when he pulled away, breathless, he whispered:

“Real men love cats, huh?”

You grinned. “Especially the ones who fake being clueless to impress the cat girl.”

__________

THANK YOU FOR READING PLS REBLOG AND COMMENT

AND AND did yall notice im obsessed with “brought the heat back” by enhypen 😋😋😋

© si3rren 2025. all rights reserved.

[mysticaljiminie]

something soft grew here | lhs

pairing: single dad!heeseung x fem!reader

genres: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn

wc: 8.4k

warnings: mentions of past grief (deceased wife/sibling), child illness (fever)

synopsis: when heeseung moves into a quiet neighbourhood with his daughter after losing his wife, not expecting love to bloom again—until it did.

notes: my first fic! i was trying to find something with a similar storyline but i couldn’t so i just wrote my own LOL english is my first language but i lowkey still suck at it haha… hope y’all enjoy it!

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

heeseung didn’t mean to move in during spring, but the season didn’t ask for permission.

it was the kind of weather that made the world look deceptively alive. branches tipping open into bloom, skies bright but gentle, the smell of soil clinging to the air like it wanted to be remembered.

he hadn’t noticed at first.

not when he was hauling boxes alone from the car to the small house with the creaky porch. not when yuri stood in the driveway beside him, hugging a plush bunny she no longer spoke to. not even when he stepped into the quiet space they were supposed to make feel like home and thought: it’ll never be hers.

grief has its way of hardening you. pulling everything soft in you inwards and convincing it not to come back out.

heeseung used to be warmer. he thinks.

maybe.

but that was a different version of himself — a version that still laughed easily, that held her hand in grocery stores, that braided his daughter’s hair without trembling fingers.

that man was buried with her.

and now he was just this.

a man trying to build a life out of rubble, one unpacked box at a time.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yuri didn’t talk much in those first few days. she nodded when he asked if she was hungry, followed him without protest, sat cross-legged in her little pink room while he arranged furniture half-heartedly. sometimes she stared out the window, toward the neighbour’s house — the one with the white picket fence and the flowers blooming wild across the front yard. they were mostly pink. some tall and reaching, others low and curled. the kind that made you pause for no reason other than beauty.

he hadn’t noticed them at first.

but yuri had.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

it happened on a morning like any other. sunlight slicing through half-closed blinds, cereal bowls barely touched. he’d been sweeping leaves from the front step when he looked up and realised yuri wasn’t in the yard anymore.

his chest tightened.

but then he saw her. small. crouched near the fence. her hands full of freshly picked flowers.

panic pushed his steps forward. “yuri!”

she jumped, startled and turned around.

the woman whose garden it was stepped outside at the same moment, barefoot on the stone path, a watering can in her hand and a soft expression on her face.

“i’m sorry,” yuri said quickly, clutching the blooms. “i just wanted to take some for appa. he always brings flowers to mommy.”

heeseung’s mouth went dry. the woman’s expression shifted. something gentler settling behind her eyes.

“it’s okay,” she said quietly, crouching down to meet yuri’s height. “you can take them. that’s a very kind reason.”

heeseung reached them, placing a hand lightly on yuri’s shoulder. “i’m so sorry,” he said, this time more firmly. “she shouldn’t be here.”

“it’s alright. really.”

he shook his head. “she didn’t ask. that’s not okay.”

“i didn’t mean to steal,” yuri whispered.

“i know,” heeseung said, softer now, but still tugging her gently back toward their side of the fence.

“let’s go.”

she didn’t argue, only looked over her shoulder once.

the woman gave her a small smile and a wave.

heeseung didn’t return either.

but later that night, while yuri slept curled on her side and the house exhaled into its new silence, heeseung sat at the table, staring at the crumpled flowers his daughter had picked.

a part of him ached at how much they reminded him of the bouquets he used to leave at the cemetery. how little hands still tried to comfort when they themselves needed so much.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

the next morning, he left a single flower on the woman’s porch.

he didn’t leave a note. didn’t knock. just placed it on the step, looked once at the blossoms still swaying in her front yard and walked home.

it became a quiet ritual after that.

a flower each morning. fresh. carefully chosen. sometimes wrapped in brown paper. sometimes left bare.

she never mentioned it. never came to the door. but the flowers kept appearing.

so she began placing them in a narrow glass vase on her windowsill.

sometimes two. sometimes three. always displayed where he could see them when he passed.

he didn’t mean for it to mean anything. but there was something oddly grounding about it.

the stillness of it. the silent exchange.

and somehow, he kept going back.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yuri didn’t ask questions at first. maybe she knew not to. maybe grief had taught her which silences to honour. she stayed close, never strayed again.

until one afternoon, when he found her sitting by the garden gate, hands resting on the edge of the wood, eyes focused on the woman’s house.

“she said i could help her water the plants,” yuri murmured. “only if you say yes.”

heeseung froze.

“she’s nice,” yuri added. “she said the plants like when you talk to them.”

his chest pulled tight. he looked across the path to where the woman stood among the peonies, hair tied back, sunlight touching her cheeks.

“i don’t know her,” he said quietly.

“i like her,” yuri whispered.

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at the fence between them.

eventually, he nodded. once.

yuri lit up. ran across barefoot.

he watched them — his daughter, laughing again. the woman kneeling beside her, guiding her hands to the soil.

something about the sight felt dangerous.

like hope.

like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready for.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

heeseung kept his distance.

at first, he told himself it was for safety. for caution. he didn’t know her. not really. just a name scribbled on a mailbox and a presence that always seemed soft around the edges. but kindness, he’d learned, wasn’t always permanent. and warm people could disappear too.

so he watched from afar.

he stood near the sidewalk while yuri helped water the beds. watched her brush soil from her knees and point at the lavender stems like she was discovering a new world. sometimes he stayed just long enough to hear their voices drift back — low and contented, the kind of conversation where no one was in a rush to leave.

heeseung didn’t say anything. just nodded when y/n offered him a polite smile. folded his arms. waited until yuri looked up and waved her goodbye.

she always waved goodbye.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

the house didn’t feel as quiet after that. not in the usual way. yuri began humming again — soft, off-tune, usually something she picked up from the garden. she started talking about soil and bugs and “companion planting,” which she explained like it was magic. heeseung listened, half-amused, half-wary.

“she said flowers like friends,” yuri told him one night at dinner. “some grow better next to each other.”

he didn’t know what to say to that. but she smiled anyway.

y/n had a gentle kind of presence. soothing, without needing to fill silence. heeseung noticed how she never asked questions that reached too far, how she didn’t pry. she just listened, offered yuri a second set of gloves, explained things in a way that didn’t talk down. it was the first time since the funeral he’d seen his daughter light up like that.

he knew he should be grateful.

but instead, he felt the dull edge of fear pressing into his ribs again.

because this, whatever this was, was something yuri could get used to. and he couldn’t promise it would last.

he never wanted her to know the weight of losing someone twice.

that fear stayed quiet for a while, buried beneath summer air and the sound of yuri laughing as she chased a butterfly between rows of cosmos. heeseung kept his guard up, even as the mornings blurred into routine. even as he found himself lingering longer at the gate. even as his fingers stopped trembling when he packed yuri’s snacks and told her, “you can go over after school, if she says it’s okay.”

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

one afternoon, as yuri dug beside a row of marigolds, she asked without looking up, “y/n, what’s your favourite flower?”

y/n leaned back on her palms, squinting at the sky. “that’s hard,” she said. “but maybe… pink bleeding hearts.”

yuri giggled. “why?”

“they’re delicate,” y/n said after a pause. “they only bloom when the conditions are just right. and they don’t last long. but when they show up-” she reached forward, brushing a petal with her thumb. “-they’re unforgettable. they remind me of people i’ve loved.”

yuri was quiet for a beat. then she glanced toward the sidewalk.

heeseung had come earlier than usual. he stood just beyond the gate, one hand in his pocket, watching them with that unreadable expression.

he said nothing. but he heard.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

that night, heeseung sat alone in the living room long after yuri had gone to bed, a cup of untouched tea resting on his knee.

pink bleeding hearts.

he’d never heard of them before.

he looked it up. learned they were rare in their climate, especially outside of peak season. found a nursery an hour and a half away that might still have one in bloom.

he bookmarked the page.

didn’t place the order.

not yet.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

it rained before anyone expected it.

the sky had been overcast all afternoon, but the clouds didn’t seem angry, just heavy, thick with a quiet tension. y/n had just stepped out to take in her laundry when she noticed the wind shifting, cooler and quick, carrying the scent of something wet and inevitable.

the downpour came suddenly. thunder low. then louder. rain fell in sheets, drumming against the roof.

she had barely gotten back inside when a knock sounded on the door.

urgent.

she opened it to find yuri standing on the porch, soaked from head to toe, curls stuck to her cheeks, her little fists balled at her sides.

“my umbrella broke,” she sniffled. “appa told me to wait, but i got scared so i ran here.”

y/n pulled her in without hesitation. “you did the right thing, sweetheart. you’re safe.”

she wrapped her in a blanket, toweled her hair gently. made hot chocolate, even though yuri didn’t drink much of it. the girl clung to her like a second skin, eyes wide every time thunder cracked outside.

fifteen minutes later, the door opened again — this time without knocking.

heeseung stood in the entryway, soaked clean through, eyes scanning the room until they landed on yuri, tucked against y/n’s side on the couch.

“you ran off,” he said quietly.

“i’m sorry,” yuri mumbled, eyes flicking to her lap.

heeseung looked at y/n next. “i didn’t mean to barge in. i just- she wasn’t there- i panicked.”

“it’s alright,” y/n said. “she’s fine. cold, but safe.”

heeseung exhaled slowly. he stepped farther into the room, rain dripping from his sleeves. he looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, whether to scold, to thank, or to disappear.

but y/n stood and handed him a towel.

he blinked at it before taking it wordlessly.

“do you want to sit?” she asked gently.

“i shouldn’t stay.”

“it’s raining.”

heeseung hesitated, then lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the armchair. he sat like someone who wasn’t used to resting anymore.

for a while, there was only the soft roar of rain, the quiet clink of a spoon against a mug, yuri’s head resting heavier against y/n’s side as she began to nod off.

“she talks about you,” heeseung said suddenly, voice low.

y/n looked up.

“yuri. she… she talks about you when she’s not here.”

“i hope that’s a good thing.”

he let out something that might’ve been a laugh. barely there, but real.

“she calls you the flower lady,” he said. “says your hands are like her mom’s.”

that made y/n freeze for a moment.

“i didn’t mean to let it go that far,” heeseung said. “i didn’t expect her to get this close. i just thought… it’d be temporary.”

y/n didn’t look away. “and now?”

he looked at the window. rain streaked down like melted glass.

“i don’t know,” he admitted. “but i’m scared of her needing people i can’t promise she’ll get to keep.”

y/n swallowed.

“i get that,” she said. “but you don’t have to disappear just because it might end.”

his gaze met hers. dark. raw.

“i already did once,” he murmured. “and it ruined her.”

the silence that followed wasn’t empty. it was full of things unsaid. shared grief. loneliness neither had named out loud yet.

“maybe it didn’t ruin her,” y/n said finally. “maybe she’s just... growing through it.”

he looked back at yuri, asleep now, her tiny fists unclenched for once.

maybe, he thought, she is.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

yuri started coughing on thursday.

just a little at first. dry and tucked behind her sleeve, like she didn’t want anyone to notice. she still asked to visit y/n after school, still tugged on her boots and insisted on helping dig up weeds between the marigolds.

but by the weekend, the cough had a wheeze. her forehead was warmer. her laughter came slower.

heeseung noticed immediately. took her to the clinic, filled the prescriptions, canceled her garden time. told her firmly, “rest first. you can go when you’re better.”

yuri had nodded, but her eyes went glassy in disappointment.

the nights grew restless. she tossed and turned, whimpered in her sleep, called out once for her mother in a voice that broke something in heeseung’s chest.

but what cut deeper was the name she said next.

“y/n…”

it was almost a whisper. almost not there.

heeseung sat in the hallway, back against the doorframe, palms pressed to his eyes.

by midnight, she was burning up. and when he couldn’t get the fever down, when her cheeks flushed too red and her breath came in short bursts, he did something he hadn’t done in years: he knocked on someone’s door for help.

y/n opened her door in a hoodie and mismatched socks, hair slightly messy from sleep.

he didn’t wait for pleasantries.

“she’s really sick. she kept asking for you.”

y/n blinked once. then stepped aside without a word.

inside, the lights stayed low. y/n moved with practiced ease — cool cloths, lukewarm tea, whispered reassurances. yuri clung to her, weak and sleepy, but calm for the first time in hours.

heeseung sat silently in the corner, watching it all.

“how did you know what to do?” he asked after a while, voice hoarse.

y/n looked over her shoulder. “i’ve had long nights too.”

he didn’t ask what she meant. didn’t need to.

he could see it now. that quiet echo in her, the same one in him. loss didn’t always scream. sometimes it just lingered.

when yuri finally drifted off, curled between a blanket and y/n’s arm, heeseung didn’t move.

“she never asks for anyone,” he said quietly. “not even family.”

“she doesn’t see me as a stranger anymore,” y/n said, just as softly.

he looked at her, really looked.

“i don’t think i do either.”

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

the next few days passed gently. yuri recovered slowly, her laughter growing stronger again. her visits to the garden resumed in small doses. first half an hour, then longer, her hands back in the dirt like they never left.

and heeseung began to stay.

not every time. but more often than not. sometimes with a book in hand. sometimes helping. awkwardly at first, like he didn’t quite know how to hold a trowel. but his hands were steady. and he listened.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

one evening, y/n handed him a mug of chamomile tea and sat beside him on the porch. yuri had gone home early to rest. the sun dipped low, painting the sky in faint pink and gold.

“you asked me once how i knew what to do,” she said.

he glanced at her.

“i lost someone too. a brother. years ago.”

he said nothing. just waited.

“he was older. the kind of person everyone leaned on. when he died, i didn’t know how to hold anything anymore. so I started planting things. watching things grow gave me back some kind of balance.”

heeseung’s fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

“i kept telling myself if i could help something grow, maybe i wasn’t breaking,” she said.

he looked down at his lap. then said, barely audible, “i started bringing flowers to the grave because i didn’t know how else to talk to her.”

y/n didn’t reply. just reached out, let her fingers graze his lightly.

“maybe you’re still talking to her,” she said. “in your own way.”

the silence after that didn’t feel heavy. just quiet.

settled.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

heeseung showed up one morning with dirt on his sleeves.

y/n had just stepped out to water the daisies when she saw him standing by the gate, holding a small terra-cotta pot in both hands. he looked awkward. like he didn’t know how to hold it properly. like it might break if he shifted too much.

inside the pot: a young pink bleeding heart plant, its delicate arch already blooming into soft, heart-shaped blossoms.

y/n froze. “you found one.”

“i remembered what you said. about how they only bloom when the conditions are right.” he glanced down. “it wasn’t easy. the guy at the nursery said they’re out of season. but there was one left.”

her voice was barely a whisper. “you didn’t have to.”

“i know.”

he stepped forward, handing it to her. his fingers brushed hers. and this time, neither of them pulled away.

“i used to think letting anyone close again was a mistake,” he said. “that if I stayed quiet long enough, the pain would keep its distance.”

her eyes softened.

“but then my daughter started bringing home soil under her nails and stories i didn’t know how to finish.”

y/n smiled, lips trembling.

“she brought me to you,” he added. “and i guess... something soft grew here too. even in me.”

there was no grand confession. no sudden kiss. just the bloom between them. real, living, held in her hands.

they planted the bleeding heart just inside the gate.

together.

it stood there quietly, its fragile blossoms nodding in the breeze like it understood the way grief and love could grow in the same space.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

time didn’t rush after that. it unfolded gently.

yuri returned each day after school, dirt smudged on her cheeks, asking if they could plant “one more thing” before sunset. heeseung started helping without being asked, started staying without needing a reason.

sometimes they all sat on the porch with tea and silence. sometimes he brought groceries without being told what to get. sometimes he let his hand rest lightly on y/n’s knee, just enough to say: i’m here.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

one morning, as she trimmed back the overgrown mint, y/n looked up to find a bloom resting on her doorstep again.

just like before.

but this time, heeseung stood behind it.

she arched a brow.

he gave a small, sheepish shrug. “didn’t know how else to say i missed you yesterday.”

y/n laughed. “you were literally here last night.”

“still,” he said, stepping forward, voice quieter now. “i used to leave flowers because i felt like i owed you something.”

“and now?”

he reached up, tucking the bloom behind her ear.

“now i just want to.”

she didn’t answer right away. just leaned into his hand slightly, heart fluttering in rhythm with the wind.

as they stood together near the bleeding heart —now in full bloom, more vibrant than either of them thought possible— heeseung looked at her for a long, soft moment.

then said, “maybe i’ll just keep showing up.”

a pause.

“with flowers.”

end.

[mysticaljiminie]

boy's night ☆ riki nishimura

☆ summary: riki had no game, no rizz, which was why he employed the help of his six friends to text you. warning: having seven boys on the phone trying to text a girl does not give good results! ☆ genre: fluff, all enhypen members make an appearance, boys being boys, very stupid, it's getting rizzy in here but clearly i have negative game ☆ warning(s)? no just silliness :3 ☆ word count: 1.7k words

"Oh my god, she texted me!" was the sentence that completely destroyed Jake Sim's house.

Tonight, Riki was having a sleepover at Jake's house. It was supposed to be a chill night, a night in which Riki could bask in his friends' presence before they went off to college again.

There were many perks to being the youngest in his friend group. It seemed like Heeseung, Jay, and Jake forever saw him as their baby, after all, when they all met as children, Riki was a snotty little four year-old, constantly tattling on the older boys. Regardless, it was nearly impossible for them to not fuss over him, constantly asking if he ate yet or if he needed help. Sunghoon teased the ever-living shit out of Riki, sure, but the older boy never hesitated to take Riki's side whenever there was an argument. Sunoo and Jungwon were closest to Riki in age, but that didn't stop them from watching over him closely, like mother cats stalking their cubs.

Though, there was one thing that Riki had to admit that he hated about being the youngest: he was the most inexperienced.

Whenever his friends got their 'firsts,' he was always too young to care. It seemed like all his friends got to experience their first crushes and heartbreaks almost simultaneously, only for them to not be there when Riki had his.

Even when he was now a senior in high school, he had absolutely no idea how to talk to girls.

He'd heard all the stories about Heeseung and his antics at college, all the flirting tips that Jake liked to give out to Sunghoon and Jay, and all the crazed texts that Sunoo and Jungwon sent as they went through relationships.

Even so, Riki had never experienced teenage love for himself.

Enter: You.

You were the cute girl that sat in front of him in his Macroeconomics class. If it wasn't for the fact that Riki absolutely hated Macro, he would blame the fact that you were just so pretty that he couldn't bring himself to focus on the lecture about the New York Stock Exchange.

Initially, Riki had no intention of pursuing you.

You were cute, obviously, but hearing you talk to your partner in class was enough for him. Plus, it wasn't like Riki had any experience— even if he wanted to talk to you, he had no idea how to!

Except, thanks to his nosy friends, your name had been discussed what felt like a million times by the end of the week.

"So... [Name], eh?" was the first thing Sunghoon said as Riki's camera turned on during their weekly weekend FaceTime calls.

"This is so exciting, Riki," Heeseung said as he joined the call.

"Wait, how do you know her again?" Sunoo's voice cut in. "Sorry, my Wi-Fi is bad. You said you know her from Macro?"

With a little more prying, his friends managed to get a middle-school level confession out of Riki.

"I-I just think she's really pretty, and like, she's really smart," Riki huffed, "I don't think she likes me like that— I've never even spoken to her! Like, I can't talk to women, I straight up am a mess and the other day—oh my god— she looked at me and I think I almost passed out. What do I do? I actually cannot do thi—

".... But you think she's pretty, right?"

And that's how Riki managed to get your phone number. With the help of his friends (that felt more like them feeding into his delusions), he worked up the courage to stutter out a simple question.

And when you smiled, nodding enthusiastically as you typed your contact into his phone, Riki felt his soul leave his body.

So, it wasn’t hard to imagine the havoc that engulfed Jake Sim's house (the place of the sleepover) as Riki's phone pinged, your contact name showing up.

It was already late at night, so the boys were raiding Jake's pantry to get midnight snacks. 

The moment that Riki announced that you had just, in fact, texted him first, everyone stopped in their tracks.

"Oh shit!" Jay shouted as he jumped over Jake's sofa, bowl of cereal still in hand.

The sound of crashing as Heeseung knocked over the ramen cups, as well as cutlery dropping abruptly and cabinets slamming filled the house.

"Oi, don't mess up my kitchen!" Jake yelled as his feet pounded against his stairs, scrambling so fast that he practically glided downstairs. After Jungwon spilled milk on his shirt, he was half-way through putting on a new shirt as he clambered down.

"What did she—" Sunoo pushed Jay out of the way, knocking the older boy over as he plopped down next to Riki on the living room carpet and peeked over his shoulder— "What did she say?!"

Within seconds, all six of his friends were huddled around Riki, pushing each other out of the way to catch a glimpse of what you said.

"Move your fatass head!"

"I can't see!"

As his friends argued, Riki stared at his phone, chewing on his bottom lip. His heart was pounding in his chest. He only saw the notification, and didn't see what you said yet.

What if you said something crazy, like "I just found out about that one time in first grade when you peed yourself at the playground" even though Riki and all his friends agreed to never speak of that incident again?! Or, what if you confessed your everlasting love for him in a long paragraph?

His head was spinning.

"Wait, did you open the message yet?!" Jungwon abruptly yelled into Riki's ear.

"No..." Riki answered slowly, watching the way all of his friends' once tense faces soften with relief.

"Oh my god," Jake sighed in relief.

"Phhhhheeewww!" Heeseung said dramatically.

"Why?" Riki frowned. "What's wrong with opening the message?"

"[Name] can see if you read her message if you open it," Sunghoon said matter-of-factly. 

"Why is that a bad thing?"

All of his friends groaned.

They taught him a trick: swipe just enough so that he could see the message, but not enough that the system marks it as read.

Hey, was all you said, much to Riki's relief.

"What do I say?" Riki asked, clutching his phone. His eyes flickered to his friends as he sucked his bottom lip under his teeth pensively. "How do I respond to this?"

"Just say 'hey' back!" Jay blurted.

"No!" Heeseung shook his head profusely. "Anything but that!"

"Why not? You want him to say haiiii instead?" Sunghoon nudged the older boy.

"No, no, no!" Jungwon reached across to smack Sunghoon's knee. "All of you are wrong."

Jungwon turned to Riki. "Just respond with an emoji."

They all groaned loudly.

"Okay, anything but a goddamn emoji!"

Riki ended up typing out a simple hey in response. He had to make Sunoo press send for him, squeezing his eyes shut. Riki immediately shut his phone off, placing it face down.

"I don't want to see if she responds or not!" Riki moaned. 

Within a minute or two, his phone pinged again.

"She responded!"

Even though you only asked, How was your day?, the entire house was once again invigorated. The boys shrieked, whooping and hitting Riki's shoulder, so loud that the house probably shook.

"Oh my god, it's happening!"

"Ouuuuu, she wants you, Riki!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up, it's time to lock in, oh my god it's actually happening—"

And just as everyone settled back down, ready to give Riki their mind-blowing advice, his phone dinged again.

[Attachment: 1 photo]. It was a silly picture of you, one of those cute ones that showed your eyes, clearly taken on the spot. 

"OHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Shewantsyousobadohmygo—"

According to Jake, if a girl sends you a picture of herself, no matter how silly or cute it is, she is head over heels for you.

"One message at a time!" Jay yelled over Jake's shoulder as they tried to figure out how to respond. "You need to answer her question first and then respond to the picture!"

"No! Don't respond to the picture!" Sunghoon, who was all the way in the guest bathroom, yelled from behind the bathroom door, his voice both booming and muffled. "She'll think you're weird!"

"I agree," Sunoo said.

"I agree," Jungwon mocked him in a nasally voice, earning a slap to the shoulder. "Just heart the picture!"

But their arguing fell upon deaf ears.

"Riki, what are you doing?!"

Riki was on his own, his heart beating at the tip of his fingers.

I hung out with my friends today and it was fun, how was yours? was his first response. Pressing on the picture, he responded, You look cute.

When Riki glanced over at his friends, they were sprawled across the floor, crying aloud dramatically.

"It's over."

"You're insane."

"Fumbled."

Riki threw a pillow at them. "I didn't fumble— Oh shoot, she's typing!"

The house was once again filled with screaming and crashing as they scampered to Riki's side.

You typed for a few moments. Everyone was at the edge of their seat, simply begging to see how you'd respond. But then, you stopped.

"Good game, guys."

"100% over."

Riki chewed on his thumb, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Did he creep you out? Was it weird for him to say that you looked cute? Did he fuck up?

But then you finally replied.

My day was just filled with homework, very boring, you replied. Maybe if I spent it with you it would have been more fun.

Oh.

My.

God.

Riki's hands shook as he typed back another response, completely ignoring the complete and utter disaster around him. He didn't know what came over him. He wouldn't say any of the things that he typed out loud, let alone to your face. It was like he was possessed by some spirit that gave him the courage to type. Without even noticing it, his heart was palpitating in his chest, his entire face, neck, and ears covered in a red shade.

I'm free tomorrow, he typed. 

"RIKI WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—"

Okay, you simply responded. 12PM. The Block. Let's have fun.

"D-Did she just ask you out?"

Riki glanced at this phone, then at his friends, who stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers and their jaws dropped to the floor, then back at his phone. He blinked. "Yeah."

"Yes?!"

Riki blinked again. "Yeah."

.

.

.

And then it hit him.

"Oh my god, [Name] asked me out...!"

[mysticaljiminie]

ACT LIKE IT

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝟬𝟰 ★ you have to make it believeable

enemy situationship (?) 박성훈 & fem!reader wc 522 ◜ᯅ◝ implied harrassment, implied situationship, mentions of drinking, slow burn-ish, tension

REBLOG4AKISS

MANA: a bit rushed but this may be the only fic before i dissapear for a week !!

The club was packed, you told yourself one night to yourself would be good. That your friends were right about a break.

Now your friends were long gone, phone had no signal, drink cup empty. And the last guy who got too close had made your skin crawl.

You were desperate - for ANY help.

So when you saw another one of those nasty drunk men walking over with a smug grin, you knew you had to think fast. You looked around EVERYWHERE for someone who you might've could've known would help. And there he is.

Park. Fucking. Sunghoon. Of all people.

The one guy who you swear lives to make your life miserable, sometimes in a good way, sometimes in worse. The one whose smirk you wanted to slap off his face. Most days..

You swallowed your pride and pushed your way through the crowd, his own brows furrowing the second he locked his eyes with yours.

''What?'' He asked flatly as you stopped in front of him.

''Pretend to be my boyfriend,'' you whispered, low and urgent, already grabbing his wrist.

Sunghoon blinked once, then twice.

''Are you drunk?''

You were taken aback before scoffing. ''What? No what the hell are you talking about?''

You then glanced back, spotting the guy from earlier then looked back at Sunghoon. ''Please.''

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed. You never said please to him. That alone made him pause.

He then glanced over to the guy and quickly tugged you closer to his chest.

''Is he still looking?'' you whispered.

''No,'' Sunghoon said. ''But he is walking over.''

You didn’t have time to process. Sunghoon turned to face you fully, tilted his head down - and wrapped both arms around your waist like he meant it.

''Look at me.'' he murmured low. ''If we're doing this, we're doing it right.''

You looked up - and suddenly you forgot how to breathe.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. ''You owe me for this,'' he whispered, almost smug.

You almost shivered, though Sunghoon's eyes narrowed on the other man, his intense gaze scaring the guy away.

But you noticed the way his hands remained on you, for longer than necessary.

''You okay?'' he asked, snapping you out of whatever trance you were stuck in.

''Yeah.'' you answered back, heart beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears, and you just knew he could too.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. ''You look like you're about to combust. Didn't realize pretending would get you this worked up.''

''Shut up,'' you hissed. ''You're enjoying this.''

His grin turned downright devilish. ''Maybe. But I'll admit something-''

His hand cupped your jaw, tilted your head so you couldn't look away.

''You asking me for help?'' he murmurs. ''That’s kinda hot. And a bit cute.''

You turned and walked away before you could embarrass yourself further.

But your phone buzzed an hour later.

P.SH [DNI]: y'know if you ever need another boyfriend again..

P.SH [DNI]: what i mean is you can just walk over and kiss me

P.SH [DNI]: fuck it i'm coming over

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine @callikari @yuuuraaa @wondoras @koiiqqqq @orimuraa

NETS: @k-films

[mysticaljiminie]

emo!ni-ki x hyper fem!reader 𓈒 ❤︎︎ ࣪ ˖

masterlist

- this man just goes soft for you like no doubt. he probably would be in an all black outfit, black hoodie on, but anyone can spot the little my melody keychain from a mile away that hangs from a loop off his jeans

- pink isn’t his favorite color, in fact he hates pink, but because of you he learns to love it

- would LOVE doing your hair with little bows or clips that you have. definitely learned how to braid just so he could see you all cute in a hairstyle HE did!! would def just pass it off as “you take too long so im tryna help” but we all know the real reason

- literally 2 days later he has a basket full of bows and ribbon he bought in his room just so he could do your hair at his place

- ok and don’t forget the skin care!!

- he acts “forced” to put on a face mask with you but secretly enjoys it

- he def has a little skin care section in his bathroom dedicated to you after you guys start dating and if one of your fancy moisturizers or serums are low you best believe he is purchasing you a new one!!

- will complain about how long you take getting ready

“ni-ki you can’t rush perfection”

“but you’re already perfect”

and proceeds to shower your face in kisses despite your complaints about “ruining your makeup”

- speaking of getting ready, this man will get ready in 2 seconds while you take 2 hours

- sighs when he sees you in a cute skirt when it’s cold out

“god forbid a girl wants to look cute”

“god forbid your boyfriend wants you to stay warm”

- yeah you already know he’s either grabbing an extra jacket (that’s his) or he will end up giving you his in the middle of the date

- and this man probably about dies if you ever wear any of his clothes

- his clothes aren’t exactly your style, so when he sees you wearing one of his shirts one day he goes insane

“oh my goodness princess you look so good in my shirt”

“you think so? i forgot to bring pajamas”

“i hope you forget everytime”

- yeah needless to say even if you brought overnight clothes they would “magically” go missing

- when he’s over in your room he kinda clashes a little with all the pink and mountain of stuffed animals on your bed while he wears some dark outfit

- he’s just casually laying on your bed, feet hanging over cause he’s a little too tall, just cuddling a bear plushie you have as he waits for you to finish applying lip gloss

- but he contributes to this mountain of plushies you have as whenever he’s out and he sees something pink or sanrio he buys it with a simple “it reminded me of you”

- he definitely gets made fun of by his friends just because he is so whipped for you but he wouldn’t have it any other way

[mysticaljiminie]

LOVESONG(demo).wav

⭑.ᐟ an office romance featuring marketing girly Y/N and producer Heeseung Who would’ve thought that stumbling into room 3B-47 crying your eyes out would lead to the best thing that ever happened to you in that cursed HYBE building.

⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆

ᝰ genre. fluff!!!! just pure fluff .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warning. stress at work, drinking, sexual harassment at work? .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 19.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

The door to your office was closed, which was unusual. Your smile faltered a bit as you carefully nudged the door open with your elbow. The pastel cake box in your hands wobbled slightly as you moved inside. Today was the first day of the campaign for Enhypen’s newest comeback, and you had decided to bake a cake to celebrate your team's hard work finally paying off, knowing full well that you were already planning the next comeback.

Working at HYBE meant you were always working. It felt like the company moved in dog years, every week sprinting at the speed of a month.

Idols had it worse. Practicing, performing, filming, traveling, interacting with fans, and repeating it all again with barely a break. You didn’t understand how they did it. At least you went home. You could sleep. Cook. Watch trashy dramas and feel your brain melt in peace. With Enhypen having comeback after comeback after comeback, the team behind them was also working all the time. Designing concepts, thinking about inclusions and albums, getting all of that produced, and campaigns published. But today, you finally had the first publication of their concept trailer, which in your opinion should be celebrated.

The air in the office was already stuffy. It was almost silent. The fluorescents buzzed faintly overhead, but otherwise… nothing. No chatter, no gossiping. Just the frantic click-click-click of keyboard abuse and one person swearing under their breath near the copy machine. Your smile died right there on the threshold.

As you marched past your favourite colleague and the intern, no one turned around, not the usual “good morning”, no "oh, you brought cake." You carefully set down your box and opened the lid slightly to check if the meringue cream and the sprinkles survived your subway trip to the office. The sugary scent of the cream spilled out into the quiet.

The second you turned back around to announce to the office that you brought cake and everyone could take a piece, your phone vibrated.

[8:04 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, are you in the office? If yes, room RB_12. Asap.

You barely had time to pull your sleeves down and smooth your dress before you were hustling down the hallway, your heels thudding softly on the carpet. The door to RB_12 was cracked open, and even from the corridor, you could hear your manager’s voice. He sounded furious. Your manager was usually a very chill person. He was very pleasant to work with, so hearing him raise his voice was quite rare. And if he did, something went really wrong.

“We can’t just change everything now, because they decided to plagiarize us?!” You slipped inside quietly. Your manager stood at the head of the table, tense and indeed furious. Seated across from him was Mr. Kim from Legal. “I’m not saying change everything,” Mr. Kim replied with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Just enough so it doesn’t look too similar. That can't be too hard, Mr. Park.” Mr. Kim was short and stout with greasy hair and round glasses that constantly slid down his nose. You had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kim one time too often, and every time, you left feeling like you needed to shower. He was known for saying the most disgusting things to any woman around, constantly sexualizing them whenever he opened his mouth. You did really liked your job, so you never said anything back. “We didn’t copy anything. They published the video on Friday. We were already done on Friday!” your manager almost shouted. “Mr. Park, that is a problem you will have to work on. Management wants us to push the release two weeks, so adjust the timeline accordingly. Think of a valid reason why we have to push the release back, and see if you change enough to make it different.” The lawyer stood up, straightened his suit, and looked at you. The moment his eyes did find you, they flicked up from your calves to your chest with a slowness that made your skin crawl. His face shifted into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Always such a pleasure. That dress looks incredible on you. Quite the distraction for a Monday morning.” You suppressed a shudder and forced a tight, practiced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.” He made his way towards the door, and you stepped out of the way, praying he wouldn’t find a reason to touch you. His arm brushed too close to your waist as he passed. “Have a nice day, Mr. Park. Miss Y/L/N,” he called lightly, pausing by the door to flash you one last look, far too amused with himself. “Let’s do lunch sometime. I have suggestions for next quarter’s visuals.” You nodded once and closed the door behind him, the second you could. Your manager sat down heavily, scrubbing both hands over his face.

“They want us to change it,” he muttered. You blinked, trying to shift your focus. “Change what?” “The comeback.” His voice was flat now, tired. “Starboiz published their MV on Friday. Same font direction. Same color palette. Even similar choreography shots. Legal’s worried someone will say we copied. So they decided to delay the release, and we are supposed to redesign everything.” You felt your stomach sink. “The entire promo rollout?” “The entire thing,” he confirmed, eyes dark with exhaustion. “I’m going to talk to upper management about next steps. In the meantime, I need you to map out what we’ll have to shift. New deadlines. Meetings to reschedule. Reassignments. We’ll need a rough plan of the new look before the end of the week, and it should be done within the next two weeks.”

You made your way into your office again. Walking much slower this time, while you were drafting the first emails for meeting invites. 

The office was still silent, and the air felt tense. The box of cake sat forgotten near the window, untouched. The meringue had started to collapse in the warmth. You watched it for a second, its shape sinking, before you steeled yourself and opened your laptop.

You cleared your throat. “Can I get everyone’s attention?”

You thought for a second how to tell everyone that they would have to essentially redo months of work within two weeks, and decided not to sugarcoat it.

“As you all probably noticed, Legal came down this morning,” you started, your voice low but steady. “There are… concerns about the similarities between our rollout and Starboiz’s new video. It wasn’t a direct accusation, but…”

You stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.

“…we’re pulling the current campaign. Management wants a full revision. The comeback date will be pushed, but not by much, only around two weeks. We need to rework the visual concept, reprint all materials, and update the promotional assets. Everything we had ready… it won’t go live.”

Someone cursed under their breath.

You continued. “I know this sucks. I know you put in so much work, and it was good. It is good. This isn’t because we failed. It’s politics and timing and bad luck.”

“Do we have to redo the teaser edits?” someone asked, voice brittle.

“Yes.”

“And the inclusion set designs?”

“Still being discussed,” you answered, “but yes, most likely.”

After answering every question that came up and running over a short task plan, you settled back down into your chair with a huff.

Jungwoo walked past you on the way to refill his mug and muttered low, “We kinda figured. Legal showed up first thing this morning and killed the entire vibe.”

You nodded slowly. “You think the manager already knew?”

“Probably. I did think there were many similarities when I watched the video on Friday as well, so he probably knew, yeah.” Jungwoo gave a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing cake. It looks very yummy.”

You smiled back weakly. “Thanks.”

You pulled up Starboiz’s new music video and watched it frame by frame. You listed every overlap. Font choice. Filter tone. Light leaks in the first chorus. A goddamn pink balloon in the dance break that looked exactly like one of your teaser shots.

You dissected it like a surgeon, fingers flying across the keyboard, notes, deadlines, names of designers, editors, and choreo consultants. You cross-referenced what needed to change with who had bandwidth to do it, calculating the most damage-limiting way to blow it all up.

And as the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest only grew.

You weren’t upset for yourself, not really. You were used to cleaning up. Used to picking up when people higher up made decisions and dropped the pieces on your desk like puzzle shards.

You were upset for your team. You were upset for Jiwon, the new hire, whose first comeback had become a minefield. You were upset for the idols, who would smile and say “it’s okay” even though it meant another reshoot, another delay, another storm of hate.

Almost ten hours later, you were still in that stupid dress.

It clung to your skin in all the wrong places, too tight at the waist, too breezy at the shoulders. You felt cold. Hungry. Tired in your bones.

The clock on your screen reads 21:56.

You shut the lid of your laptop with a resigned sigh. Your back ached, and your thighs prickled with pins and needles from sitting too long. Most of the team had left already, voices trailing off one by one as they said soft goodbyes.

The building was never dark, not even in the middle of the night, but it was dead silent in the hallway.

You padded down toward the elevators, your heels clicking dully against the tile. You hit the elevator button with the side of your fist. And then you heard it.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice slithered in before the man did.

You looked up and felt your stomach tighten like a fist.

Mr. Kim.

You forced a polite, brittle smile. “Evening, Mr. Kim.”

“Working late?” he asked, stepping into the elevator with you. 

“Yes,” you replied in a clipped but still polite tone, hoping he'd get the message.

“You should be careful about how late you stay here,” he said, voice low and oily, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not safe for women to be alone in the dark. Someone might take advantage.”

You stared at the elevator doors. Just two more floors.

But he was apparently not done yet.

“Though I suppose,” he chuckled, eyes dragging down your body like grease, “if you dress like that, you probably don’t mind the attention.”

It was said with a grin, as if it were charming. You said nothing in response.

The doors opened on the fifth floor, and another person stepped in. You nodded a quick “Good evening, Sir,” and stepped out of the elevator. 

He winked, “Good night, Miss Y/L/N.”

The second the doors closed behind you, you squeezed your eyes close to prevent your tears from falling. Your legs started moving on autopilot toward the far wing, past the B-studios and the practice rooms.

You were praying that room 3B-47, one of the vocal booths, was not being used right now. The air conditioning was broken, and it always ran too warm in the room, so the trainees and producers usually weren’t using this room during the summer months. You knew because you’d used it before to escape your office when everything got too loud.

You reached the room with trembling fingers. You just needed five minutes. Five minutes in the quiet. Five minutes to fall apart and then pull yourself back together.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, ready to finally breathe, and froze. 

A guy was sitting at the desk in front of the mixing board, headphones around his neck and a can of soda next to him. He turned when he heard the door and froze, just as startled as you were.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You blinked at him, and despite not being alone, you felt the first few tears spill out of the edges of your eyes, and your lip wobbled.

For one long, mortifying second, you just stood there, half-in, half-out of the room, tears streaking down your cheeks, chest tightening in sheer panic.

“…Hi,” you croaked, your voice barely working. And then, because what else could you possibly do?, you laughed. A broken, awkward little sound that came out more like a hiccup. “Sorry. This room is usually empty.”

His eyes were wide with concern. “It usually is.”

You wiped your face quickly with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to salvage whatever dignity you had left. “I didn’t mean to – I can just – I’ll leave.”

You started to backpedal, face burning now on top of everything else.

But he stood up, alarmed. “No – wait, are you okay?”

You gave another watery laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admitted. Then immediately cringed. Why did you say that? To a stranger??

He stepped around the desk but didn’t come too close. His voice was gentle. “You, uh… do you want a tissue or something?”

You blinked again, and this time a fresh tear slipped out. You nodded helplessly.

He turned back to his backpack, rummaged, and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of tissues. “Here.”

You took one, murmuring a hoarse, “Thanks.”

You wiped your eyes and cheeks, sniffling. “This must be so weird.”

He cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually get cried at by strangers in my break room.”

You huffed a soft, wet laugh. “Break room?”

“Kind of. I use this place during lunch sometimes. One of the speakers buzzes, so no one really books it anymore.”

You nodded, still dabbing at your eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought no one came in here because of the AC.”

He watched you carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more or just let you sit. 

“I’m Heeseung,” he said finally, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I swear I don’t usually cry on strangers.”

Heeseung smiled gently. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse introductions.”

You laughed again, or tried to, but your throat was still tight, and the sound came out small.

There was a beat of silence. You dabbed at your face with the tissue, eyes darting to the dusty corner of the booth, embarrassed all over again when you noticed the black streaks of mascara on it. 

“Today was supposed to be a good day,” you said, and sniffled a bit.

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, staring down at the balled-up tissue in your hands. “I baked a cake this morning. With homemade meringue cream, sprinkles, sponge layers, the whole thing. I thought we’d finally get a little breather. One project done, celebrate a bit, move on to the next.”

You laughed, but it cracked partway out of your chest.

“And then legal comes in and suddenly everything we’ve worked on for the past three months is ruined. A different group released something similar, and now it looks like we copied them, which we didn’t, but my manager got chewed out, and now we have to redo all of it. Like, start from scratch. In a week.” You looked up, eyes tired. “Have you ever tried to rearrange three months of work for a seven-member idol group and their entire comeback rollout in a week?”

Heeseung looked stunned. “No. God, no.”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah. Everyone’s stressed, my team’s exhausted, I’m exhausted, and then Mr. Kim from legal–” Your face twisted at the name, voice going sharper. “–tells me my dress is ‘lovely’ while staring directly at my boobs in the elevator. And I couldn’t even yell at him because of power imbalance and corporate hierarchy and all that fun stuff.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.

“And now I’m crying in a broken practice booth in front of someone I’ve never met.”, you sniffled again. “I promise I’m not usually like this.”

There was a small pause. Heeseung took a small step closer.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

You blinked up at him.

“Sounds like you deserve to punch someone, who isn`t me, in the face.” He gave you a soft, lopsided smile. 

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob, and dropped your shoulders.

Heeseung looked toward the little stool near the desk. “Want to sit for a bit? I mean, unless you want to go home. I won’t judge.”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. You really didn’t feel like walking through the whole building while crying like a baby. “Yeah… I’ll sit.”

You sat down with a quiet sigh, letting your shoulders sag, the tissue still clenched loosely in your hand. The booth was warm, slightly stuffy from the broken AC.

Heeseung leaned against the edge of the desk. He was quiet for a moment, studying you like he wasn’t sure if he should ask something. You beat him to it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice still hoarse from crying. “What’re you doing here at ten p.m.? Do you always let people cry in your booth?”

His mouth tugged into a surprised smile. “Maybe. I guess that depends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “On?”

“If you’re someone who’ll report me for sneaking in to work on personal projects.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re not even supposed to be here?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No, no. I work here. I’m not trespassing, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Doing what? Are you… like, a trainee?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “I mean. You're good-looking enough. You do look like you had a few HYBE-funded plastic surgeries.”

He choked on a laugh, genuinely startled. “HYBE funded plastic surgeries?”

You shrugged, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Dude, your nose is so pretty. Maybe I’m also just going crazy. I’ve been crying for twenty minutes. Just take the compliment.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I used to be a trainee, actually. Years ago. But no, I’m a vocal instructor now. Well, technically… assistant instructor. I help run some of the trainee vocal sessions, and I do warm-ups with some of the newer groups before recordings and help with the recordings. ”

You blinked. “Oh. So you work with the idols?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to get into producing, though. That’s why I am in here, just trying out some stuff. This is one of the only rooms where no one bugs you.”

You tilted your head. “Doesn’t it bother you? The AC being broken?”

“Honestly?” He glanced around. “Not really. If I am really locked in, i don’t even notice how warm it gets. I haven’t been in here during the summer, tho.”

You leaned back against the wall, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that.”

Another moment of quiet settled between you. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“I really didn’t want to cry in a toilet again.”, you said after a while. 

He chuckled. “I’m honored to be chosen over one of the toilets here.”

You smiled faintly in response. 

It was almost nine thirty p.m. when you slipped into the booth again a day later.

Your bag was heavy, overstuffed with a tumbler for water and one for coffee, sticky tabs, two notebooks, a Tupperware box with the rest of your lunch, and a laptop that had maybe one percent battery left. Your shoulders ached from stress, and your phone was still buzzing.

The small studio was dimly lit, with only one lamp in the corner casting a warm pool of light. The faint scent of instant ramen hung in the air, and Heeseung sat by the mixing desk, hunched forward slightly, headphones covering his ears. 

He didn’t notice you at first. He was lost in whatever he was working on, eyes on the screen, a pen tapping slowly against his thigh in rhythm with something you couldn’t hear.

You paused, the door quietly clicking shut behind you. “Hey,” you said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

He startled slightly, looked up, and then relaxed when he saw you.

His lips curved into a small smile. “Hey. Back again?”

You nodded, already pulling your things out of your bag. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I needed somewhere that is not my office to finish up some things.”

He pulled one side of his headphones off his ear. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. You set your laptop down, pulled out your folder, and exhaled like it physically hurt. “I have to redo everything,” you murmured. “And I don’t even know where to start. I mean. I do. We already did a lot today and yesterday, but I still feel kinda lost. It’s so much work.”

He just nodded slowly and gestured to the table beside him.

“Sit. Do your thing. I’ll be quiet.”

You offered him a tired, grateful smile and slid into the chair, spreading out your chaos across the desk.

For a while, you both worked in parallel silence. Heeseung occasionally nodded his head to the beat in his headphones and, once in a while, scribbled down something in a well-loved notebook. You muttered under your breath, highlighted something in angry pink, and crossed it out again.

At some point, he slid a half-eaten protein bar toward you.

You stared at it, then glanced at him.

“Do I look that miserable?”

He grinned, eyes still on his screen. “Just hungry. Miserable was yesterday.”

You let out a laugh that surprised even you.

And then, quietly, you returned to your mess of unfinished tasks, and he returned to his music.

The silence stretched comfortably for a while. You had managed to sort the campaign into vaguely manageable buckets, and your brain was finally slowing down enough to process other things. 

Like the quiet hum of bass through Heeseung’s headphones. 

Or how he tapped out beats on the desk.

Or the soft smile he had when something on his screen clicked into place.

You glanced over, curious.

“What are you working on?” you asked, voice soft. “Is it… for work, or just something you’re playing with?”

He looked up and pushed his headphones down around his neck. “A bit of both, I guess. It’s something I’ve been producing for a while. A side project.”

You tilted your head, still watching him. “Do you produce for the company? Not just teach vocals?”

He blinked, seemingly a little surprised at the question. “Yeah. I mean, officially, I’m with the vocal team, mostly coaching and arranging. But I co-produce tracks when I can. Some of the groups I work with let me sneak stuff in.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “Anything I might know?”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I mean… probably.”

“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

He hesitated, then reached for his phone and scrolled through something. After a moment, he turned the screen toward you. A familiar Spotify page, listing tracks from Enhypen’s last two albums.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You helped produce these?”

He nodded. “Yeah. ‘Bite Me,’ ‘One in a Million,’ and a couple of B-sides. Some vocal arrangements, too.”

You stared at him, genuinely stunned. “I was so obnoxiously annoying about ‘Bite me’ last year.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well. That’s a compliment, right?”

You nodded, still reeling. “You’re telling me I’ve been slowly dying under three separate campaign deadlines for Enhypen… and the guy whom I met in a random recording booth while crying my eyes out wrote my favorite songs?”

He grinned, looking down. “I didn’t know you were on their team.”

“I didn’t know you were a genius,” you shot back, smiling now.

He laughed, warm and genuine, and your stomach flipped slightly. 

You looked back down at your notes, flustered. “Okay, well. No pressure. I’m just rebuilding your next concept rollout from scratch.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess I should start sneaking you some coffee, because what you gave us for the new changes is hard to do in such a short time frame.”

You barked out a laugh. “Tell me about it, Heeseung, tell me about it.” 

The subway platform smelled faintly of coffee and the sweet smell of the forsythias that were blooming all over Seoul at the moment.

You stood half-asleep in Line 2, wrapped in a cardigan you’d pulled off the back of your chair in a daze. Five hours of sleep, a slice of leftover toast, and a double-shot latte from Megacoffee were all that kept you vertical.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped out, the early morning crowd moving with a surprising speed, making you adjust your footsteps to keep up with the crowd.

While you were waiting to check out your t-money cards, you spotted a familiar figure. Heeseung was wearing a hoodie half-zipped and had a big bag slung over his left shoulder. He looked as exhausted as you felt. Considering you left at almost 11 pm and he said he would stay a bit longer, and it was 7:06 am right now, you weren’t surprised. 

“Heeseung!” you said when you were close enough to where he was standing in the crowd. 

He blinked once when he saw you, like it took a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing.

You gave a little wave. “Morning.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, falling into step beside you as you both headed toward the exit of the subway station. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“You look like you slept worse than I,” you said, offering him a sideways glance.

He rubbed his face. “I have a meeting slot at seven thirty. Am. Seven thirty a.m.”

You grimaced. “That’s illegal. Call HR.”

He snorted. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You shuffled across the final crosswalk toward the HYBE building, warm summer wind tussling the yellow flowers slightly.

“It’s so stupid pretty today,” you mumbled.

Heeseung nodded. “It does look really pretty.”

You chuckled. “I love this season. In between summer and spring.”

“I like the quiet in the morning,” he said. “Before the heat kicks in. Or the fans start screaming in front of the building.”

And right on cue, as you turned the corner toward the entrance, you both slowed, spotting the small cluster of fans already hovering by the doors, phones out, whispering, some filming. 

You shared a glance, silently commiserating. 

“Looks like someone interesting walked by,” Heeseung muttered.

You gave them a wide berth, eyes down. “I’ll never understand how they do this every day.”

“Neither do some of the idols,” he said under his breath.

Once inside the cool glass doors, you both paused in the lobby. 

Heeseung gave you a small nod. “Good luck with your soul-crushing deadlines.”

You smiled tiredly. “You too. Have fun with your 7 a.m. meeting.”

That made him chuckle as he stepped into the elevator, lifting a hand in lazy farewell.

You stood there a moment longer, watching the doors close before you moved to your part of the building.

You and Jungwon were staring at your screens for about two hours now, picking and matching fonts together, when he groaned and let his head fall back against his chair.

“No offense,” he said, pointing at the monitor like it had personally wronged him, “but if I see one more handwritten brush font today, I’m going to start biting people.”

You hummed sympathetically. “We just need something clean. And no serifs. Nothing like the old one but kind of like the old one.”

He huffed. “Great, so… Helvetica?”

You snorted, adjusting the saturation levels on a font. The new concept was sleek, a little icy, almost sterile. It was going to be gorgeous. Sometimes, having to do something completely from scratch again results in perfection. But it also meant your eyeballs were bleeding from staring at high-gloss gradients for six hours straight.

Your screen pinged with a message.

[15:16] Lee Heeseung Hi Y/N, could you please come to Room 3C (production suite) when available? We had a couple of questions about the new concept visuals.

You blinked.

Then turned to Jungwon. “Did we miss a sync-up with A&R?”

Jungwon frowned, reading over your shoulder. “I thought the notes weren’t even finalized yet.”

You shrugged and started typing back.

[15:18] Y/N L/N Hi Heeseung, thank you for reaching out. Is this a time-sensitive matter, or would it be possible to align closer to noon? Currently finalizing teaser assets.

His reply came back thirty seconds later.

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You blinked at it.

Then looked at Jungwon, who was sipping from his oversized iced Americano.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s… weirdly formal.”

“Right?” you said, clicking Accept with a sigh. 

Jungwon squinted at the meeting invite, then at you. “Who’s Heeseung again?”

You blinked. “He works in A&R. He’s one of the vocal producers on the current cycle. Well, technically, he’s helping with the changes to the title track. They’re rerecording with some of the members today? Wait, let me pull up his profile picture.”

“Oh,” Jungwon said, sitting back, looking at the picture. “That guy. I think I’ve seen him around the elevators. He is quite tall, right?”

You nodded and turned back to your screen. “Yeah. Anyway, A&R and the members were already briefed on the concept changes?”

“Maybe they hate the new font,” he offered dryly.

You let out a quiet laugh, but the thought itched in the back of your mind. Heeseung didn’t seem like the type to waste time. And a meeting this formal? For a few design clarifications, while he works in sound design?

You checked the time.

15:24.

You stood up, smoothing down your skirt. 

“Text me if you hear screaming,” you muttered, grabbing your laptop and notebook.

Jungwon gave a dramatic salute. “Godspeed.”

You gave him a weak smile, headed toward the elevators.

The production hallway was dimmer than the main office floors. You’ve never really been here. This part of the building wasn’t really for administrative employees, so you had to search for the room for a couple of minutes.

When you finally found the room, you paused in front of it, double-checking the invite on your phone:

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You inhaled slowly, knocked, and slowly opened the door.

And then… your brain short-circuited.

There, in front of you, standing right there in the recording booth, were Jay and Jake. Jay and Jake from ENHYPEN.

Jake, who was standing behind the glass panel wearing headphones, noticed you the fastes, grinning at you. “Hi! You must be Y/N?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes flicking between him and Jay, who was sitting on a sofa behind Heeseung, outside the recording booth. “I–Hi.”

Your voice cracked.

Cool. Really cool. You didn’t even know if Jake could hear you.

Jay smiled and stood up, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You took it numbly. “I… know. I mean– Yes. Same. I mean… you.”

Heeseung was sitting in a chair behind the producer’s desk, a few meters behind them, smiling smugly.

“Oh,” he said, as if this were no big deal. “Y/N, you’re here. Come in.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. What was happening? 

Heeseung gestured lazily. “Uh– this is Jake. Jay.”

You may have stopped breathing. You may have also forgotten how to stand.

“What… what is happening?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stepped just inside.

Jay chuckled. “We wanted a bit of outside perspective on the new version. Heeseung said you would be able to give lots of insights into the new concept after the changes.”

You turned your whole head toward Heeseung, expression somewhere between murderous disbelief and you absolute lunatic. He had the gall to smile at you. Teeth and all.

“She’s a genius with designs,” he explained to the guys, tapping at his tablet. “So she should definitely know if the vibe fits. You should have seen her post-it wall, she noted down everything so meticulously, dude.”

You opened your mouth to protest and defend your Post-it wall in the booth. 

“That’s fantastic! We are almost done, Jake and I are going to record a few extra lines, and maybe you could listen to the track to give some feedback?” Jay said, smiling softly. You were talking to Jay Park. What was happening? 

“I–um–I can try?”, you said, tilting your head a bit, and Jay just laughed in response, nodded, and entered the booth.

Which meant it was just you and Heeseung now.

You turned on him, whispering fiercely: “Heeseung. What. The. Hell.”

He raised a brow, unfazed. “What?”

“What do you mean what?! What am I doing here? What are they doing here?!”

“I told you we needed input.”

“You said concept adjustments. Concept. Like… design. You didn’t say ENHYPEN would be here in the flesh.”

Heeseung looked far too pleased with himself. “I thought you might like to meet them.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You–Are you–You did not just casually drop me into a room with two-fifths of ENHYPEN like it’s the most normal thing.”

He lifted his tablet innocently. “I mean. Is it a normal thing for me? I am still friends with them.”

You groaned into your hands. “Heeseung. I’m in a wrinkled shirt. I’ve had, like, one coffee. My hair is greasy, and I smudged my eyeliner.”

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “You look fine. You were normal. You also were calmer than I thought you would be. I thought you would freak out more.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t freak out–”

He gave you a look.

“…Okay, I freaked out a little.”

He grinned. “But only a little.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You crossed your arms. “This is unfair.”

Heeseung walked to the soundboard, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s not. You like their music, right? Having a fan’s insight could help us tremendously.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop galloping in your chest as you made your way to the chair beside him.

“Fine,” you muttered, cheeks still hot. “But if I say something dumb and they think I am cringe, you’re responsible.”

Heeseung laughed, handing you the headphones. “They won’t. I promise.” 

You watched as Heeseung leaned forward, elbow propped on the soundboard, tapping out the beat with two fingers before adjusting the mic that was on the table.

“Okay,” he said into the mic, his voice calm but precise, “Jay, keep your tone tight here. Don’t overproject. I want more air, less bite. Jake, I know the ad-libs aren’t final, but throw some texture into the bridge. Go off-beat if you want, I’ll clean it up in post.”

Jay nodded, while Jake just gave a lazy thumbs-up. The music started, and both idols started singing.

You turned slowly to look at Heeseung, who was listening intently, eyes flicking from the control board to the monitor to the waveform display. Your brow furrowed deeper with every note.

“Wait,” you whispered, afraid it might interrupt them, “how do they know how to do that? He just–you just gave them, like, five words of instruction and they just…did it?”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, low and soft, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s instinct and training,” he said. “We work off reference tracks and sometimes demo vocals from overseas. Jay and Jake have good ears; they know how to adjust for tone and mood without needing a full breakdown. It’s kind of like… designing, I guess?”

You blinked. “How?”

“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “you don’t always tell your team, ‘make the logo 12% smaller and 4.5 degrees to the left,’ right? Sometimes you just say, ‘This doesn’t feel right.’ And they get it. Same thing here at one point, you just hear what you want to do.”

You sat back slowly, watching Jake and Jay take a sip of their waters and readjusting in the small booth. “Okay, that’s actually… cool as hell.”

Heeseung shot you a glance, smug but warm. “Glad you’re impressed.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, but the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed you.

The session continued, and slowly, your confusion melted into fascination. 

Honestly, it was kind of mesmerizing. Heeseung sat beside you and gave comments, directing his friends and adjusting when necessary. He really must love producing. Somehow, seeing him here instead of in front of the mic with Jake and Jay felt wrong. You have been thinking a lot about how he told you he was a trainee. Him not debuting was weird. He was pretty and talented, and you were sure he had a lot of potential.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Heeseung leaned toward the mic again and said, “Let’s take five.”

The booth door opened, and the two boys stepped out, both grinning and slightly sweaty.

“You good, Y/N?” Jake asked as he passed, tossing you a water bottle he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge.

“I–yeah,” you managed, catching it. “No, I’m good. You guys are just… really talented.”

Jay gave you a warm laugh as he walked past. “Thank you so much.”

Jesus Christ, Park Jongseong was breathing the same air as you. 

Heeseung stood up, stretching lightly. “Be right back, gotta tweak something in the vocal room.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hall. Being left alone with two of your favorite idols. Jesus. 

Your recording booth was a lot smaller, dimly lit, and far quieter than the one you were in earlier today. After about an hour of watching the boys recording one of the B-sides, you had to leave to join a meeting. You were still in disbelief that you had met Jake and Jay today. They were so …nice, and normal. They joked around with you and asked questions about you whenever they were not singing, seemingly being interested in your measly life. Their lives were so exciting, while yours was almost boring, so you didn’t really understand why they wanted to get to know you better. 

You leaned back in your chair. It had been almost a full week since the other group released their video, and the mountain of work your team had to redo was still looming. You had managed to finish about a third of it, but the rest was still open, waiting for the reshoots. And no matter how many times you tried to sit down and focus, it felt like you were just drowning in endless revisions and emails.

Frustration was simmering in your chest, and you needed a break.

You closed your laptop with a soft snap and leaned back, crossing your arms.

Heeseung, absorbed in his music, kept adjusting the sound levels on his tablet, occasionally glancing at the screen in front of him with a furrowed brow. The speakers in the booth weren’t great, but they did the job, playing the track he was working on with a slightly muffled quality.

"Can you explain what you’re working on?" you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion. Heeseung glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “Sure.” He pulled up a few sliders on his tablet and gestured for you to sit closer to the desk. “I’ve been tweaking some harmonies here and there. You wanna try playing around a bit?”

You moved closer, peering over his shoulder at the glowing screen. He let you try adjusting a few settings on the software, the knobs and dials responding to your fingers in a way that felt oddly satisfying. The sound in the booth changed, layering and shifting as you worked through the track.

After a few minutes of fiddling, you paused, a thought popping into your head. The voice that came through the speakers sounded familiar.

“Wait...” You blinked, your fingers hovering over the tablet. “Is that you?”

Heeseung, who had been watching you experiment with the sound, gave a slight nod, his smirk widening. “Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been adding in some of my vocals to fill the track out.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “You... You’re singing in the song?”

Heeseung shrugged, his grin never faltering. “I mean, someone had to do it. The producers and the idols are all tied up with other things, so I thought I’d help out.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “That’s... amazing. I mean, I didn't expect you to... you know, sing. Like in the songs. I knew you could, like you know, you were a trainee. But-.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “I’m full of surprises.”

You laughed, but it came out a little breathless, more from the shock than anything else. "I— Wow. You really know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?"

His grin widened. “It’s all part of the job.”

You shook your head with a small chuckle. 

You sat in silence for a few beats, listening to the faint loop of the track playing through the speakers. Then, quietly, you glanced over at him again.

“You told me you were a trainee, right?”

Heeseung didn’t look up at first, just nodded once, his eyes still on the screen. “Yeah.”

You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Why didn’t you debut?”

That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the tablet. For a moment, he looked like he might brush it off with one of his usual casual shrugs, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back a little in his chair, letting out a slow breath.

“I trained for almost three years,” he said finally. “Made it pretty far in the process. Thought I was gonna be part of the debut team. We were already learning choreo, recording demos... I was so close.”

You watched him carefully, the change in his tone impossible to miss. It wasn’t bitterness exactly, more like quiet disappointment.

“But they cut me before the final lineup,” he continued. “Said it was a tight call, but that I didn’t quite fit the concept. One day I was in the practice room with the guys, next day I was… out.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s–” You stopped, unsure what words would even help. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

He nodded slightly, but didn’t look at you. “I mean, it’s just how it goes. That’s the industry, right? You always know it might happen. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell when it does.”

You didn’t say anything, letting him have the silence.

After a moment, he glanced at you and added, quieter, “I didn’t want to just hang around, waiting for a maybe. So I left. Enrolled in uni. Got into A&R later. I still wanted to be around the music. Just… not in front of the camera.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat catching you off guard. “For what it’s worth, you’re good at what you do.”

He gave a small smile. “Thanks. Took me a while to believe that again.”

You sat back again, letting the track loop one more time. 

“You really can sing,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Like… really.”

Heeseung gave you a lopsided smile, like he appreciated it but didn’t quite know how to take the compliment. “Thanks.”

You tilted your head, watching him fiddle with the EQ levels. “Who did you train with? Back then?”

He glanced over, like the question surprised him. “Uh… I started around the same time as the TXT guys, actually. We were all in the same batch for a while.”

“Seriously?” Your eyes widened. 

He nodded. “Yeah. I am still close with Beomguy. We tend to play lol together if he does get the time to do so.“ He chuckled a little, a mix of fondness and something more wistful. “Later, I trained with Jay and Sunghoon too, for a bit. But I didn’t go to I-LAND with them.”

You frowned slightly. “Why not?”

Heeseung paused, then shrugged lightly. “I’d just gotten into Yonsei. I figured if I wasn’t debuting with that team, I should at least do something with all the time I’d spent studying on the side. It felt like a sign or whatever.”

You nodded, trying to picture a younger version of him, in practice rooms, on stages, performing.. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you did go?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes. Yeah. But I also don’t know if I’d still love music the way I do now if I’d pushed through it back then.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of the idols who make it. But… I think I wanted music more than I wanted the spotlight.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Being so close but still so far away from achieving your dreams while your friends did must be horrible. Your heart was breaking for Heeseung. 

He didn’t look up when he asked, “So how’d you end up in marketing?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marketing?”

He glanced at you, then back at the screen. “Yeah. HYBE. This whole world.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze drift across the scattered post-its and empty coffee cups. “Honestly?” You paused, debating how much to share. “I wanted to be a baker.”

Heeseung’s fingers stilled over the controls. “A baker?”

“Mm-hmm.” You smiled a little. “Like, own-a-little-café-and-make-pretty-cakes kind of baker. I used to bake all the time. Still do, sometimes, birthdays, project launches, stress-induced insomnia...”

“That explains the cake last week.”

You nodded. “Guilty.”

“So… what happened?”

“My parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea,” you said, your smile flattening a bit. “Not a real job, too unstable, that whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I still love it. But I also liked graphic design. I spent way too much time messing around in Photoshop in high school, and that seemed like a more reasonable job. Something in graphic design.”

Heeseung hummed softly.

“Soongsil had a program that combined marketing and design,” you continued. “I applied on a whim. Somehow got in. And now I’m here. At HYBE. Running on five hours of sleep and three iced Americanos a day.”

He chuckled. “Living the dream.”

“Right?” you muttered, smiling despite yourself. “I still haven’t even met half the artists I used to lose my mind over in high school.”

He shot you a look. “You met me.”

You snorted. “I did. But you’re technically not famous. No offense.”

“Wow.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Heeseung grinned, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you want to?”

You blinked. “Want to what?”

“Meet more of them. The guys. Or, I don’t know, come with us sometime. When we go out to eat or something.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Obviously, you’d have to sign NDAs, and it wouldn’t be anything wild. But… Jay and Jake said you were cool to hang with.”

You just stared at him.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head, completely serious. “Not really. I can ask.”

You blinked once. Twice. “I mean. Yeah. Yes? I’d love that? But are you sure?”

“Absolutely.“

Monday, you were the first one in the booth.

The room was still dim and cold when you flicked on the overhead lights. You set your bag down with a soft thud, pulled your laptop from its sleeve, and stared at the wall you’d unofficially claimed for the past week.

Post-its in every color, screenshots printed out and pinned up, concept sketches taped beside side-by-side comparisons of the old and new rollout plans. The teaser stills were up now, too, and one corner held an evolving palette reference that had been mercilessly fine-tuned since Saturday.

Honestly, it looked like the inside of your brain.

Jungwon had helped you most of the weekend, poring over typefaces and tweaking spacing pixel by pixel while eating almost half of the batch of croissants you made for the team as a cheer-up on his own. Neither of you had gotten much sleep, but you were proud of what had come together.

Now it was Monday, and the final design sprint was on.

You pulled out your laptop and your notebook and then and then, with a flick of hesitation, took a small Tupperware box containing two croissants, a strawberry, and one witch pistachio creme and placed it right in front of the screens on the mixing table. 

You sat back on the sofa and stared at your screen, continuing to adjust the promo banner’s line weight.

You heard the door open ten minutes later.

Heeseung walked in, yawning audibly, one hand ruffling through his hair as he padded across the room. He didn’t notice you at first and made a beeline for his chair, eyes fixed on the floor.

Then he stopped short.

You watched him inspect the box. 

“…What the hell?”

You set down your stylus, trying not to smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lee.”

He jumped slightly, then squinted at you. “Did you bring this for me?”

You blinked innocently. “Bring what?”

He picked up the box. “This says my name on it. In your very neat handwriting.”

You shrugged, going back to your laptop. “Figured you deserved something sweet. You’ve been working nonstop too.”

He looked at you back at the croissant and back at you, then opened the lid, picked out the strawberry one, and took a bite. He moaned. Actually moaned.

You glanced over, cheeks growing warm. “Is it okay?”

“You made this?” he said through a mouthful. “Like. You made this?”

“Mhm.”

He took another bite and threw his head back, making another pleased sound.

“Okay,” he said after swallowing, “I want ten more.”

You laughed. “You’ll have to get in line. Jungwon already stole four yesterday. He ate almost all the matcha ones, I almost had to fight him to save you one.”

Heeseung set the box down with care. “Y/N. I would quit my job and follow you to a bakery handing out these things all day long if that means I could eat one once a day.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You would work the counter?”

He leaned against the edge of the table, grinning. “Only if I get paid in croissants.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m a visionary,” he said, still chewing. “And this visionary says we’re keeping you busy and stressed if you bake like this on no sleep.”

You smirked and turned back to your screen. “Then get me coffee and I won’t sleep today.”

He saluted dramatically. “On it.”

By 8 PM, the booth had gone quiet again, not from lack of activity, but from pure, unfiltered exhaustion.

The once-crisp brainstorm wall now looked ragged around the edges, corners curling from the humidity. Your Tupperware sat empty beside a growing sea of coffee cups, and your cursor blinked mockingly on the fifth draft of a teaser caption. You didn’t even register that Heeseung had stopped working until you felt a gentle tug on your hair as he walked past the sofa to peer into your laptop.

“Okay,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough. Hands off.”

You blinked, disoriented. “Wait, just let me–”

“Nope.” He was already reaching across to shut your laptop lid. “You’re two eye twitches away from collapsing. I’m not risking a death on my watch.”

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “I still have so much to–”

“You’ll be useless if you drop dead tonight. Sleep is part of productivity, Y/N.”

“Is that a direct quote from Bang PD?”

“Me,” he said smugly, gathering his things. “Bang PD wishes he were this wise.”

You finally caved and packed up your bag, groaning softly as you stretched. Your limbs felt like jelly. “God. I might fall asleep standing.”

“Then let’s get you on a subway before that happens.”

The subway hummed beneath your feet, rocking gently as the car pulled into your station. You and Heeseung stood side by side, swaying slightly.

“This is my stop,” you mumbled, turning towards the door.

“Oh really?” he blinked. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Near that 24-hour tteokbokki place,” you said, turning to him. “Why?”

He smiled, a bit stunned. “I’m like five minutes from there.”

“What?”, you asked, your eyebrows scrunching together. 

“We've probably missed each other by seconds.”, he said and walked towards the door, waiting for you to follow, before continuing. “I go to that tteokbokki place at least twice a week.”

“Oh really?” you shook your head, smiling. 

“I swear they make a lot of profit thanks to me.”

“So where is your apartment?”, you asked, tapping your T-money card against the sensor to open the gate for you to walk out. 

“Across from that tiny laundromat with the blue sign just down the street,” he said, as the two of you made your way upstairs and outside the subway station. 

You were greeted by pouring rain. “Oh. That’s really close to me, then.”

You used one of your hands as a makeshift umbrella, pressing your workbag closer to you. 

“Do you not have an umbrella?” Heeseung asked, unfolding his and stepping closer so you were hurdled under his together. 

“No. I forgot mine at home this morning”, you mumble, adjusting your bag again so it was protected from the rain. 

“I’ll walk you home then”, Heeseung said and nodded. 

You blinked. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he said, simply.

You both fell into step, feet dragging just slightly on the quiet sidewalk. You walked in comfortable silence for a block or two, the street dim and hushed.

And then, just before your building came into view, you slowed slightly and turned toward him.

“Well,” you said, offering a small smile, “this is me.”

Heeseung nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Right.”

You opened your mouth to say goodbye when he suddenly spoke again, fast.

“Wait–uh, have you eaten?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He shifted, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “Dinner,” he clarified, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to yours. “I mean. Did you eat anything yet?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really. Why?”

He exhaled like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going. “It’s just–” He paused, then gave a crooked, slightly sheepish smile. “I make really good ramen. Like… really good ramen. And I figured since you fed me the best croissant I’ve ever had in my life, maybe I could return the favor?”

You stared at him for a second, thrown off.

“You… want to make me ramen?”

“I mean, you don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly, suddenly sounding adorably embarrassed. “But I promise they are going to be the best instant ramen you have ever eaten.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound light and disbelieving. “Are you actually trying to seduce me with ramen?”

Heeseung’s ears turned pink. “Only a little?”

You bit back your grin. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Let’s see if your ramen lives up to the hype, Lee.”

He grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid getting away with something. “You won’t regret this.”

You unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open with the other, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes with a sigh.

He crouched to undo his own laces, then straightened, glancing around the small space. “You weren’t kidding. We really do live close.”

“Five-minute radius,” you said, dropping your bag onto your sofa. “Honestly, I’ve never run into you before. Weird.”

He stepped further in, still looking around. “Nice place.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “It’s a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I’d get any guests today.”

He turned toward you, one brow raised. “This is a mess?”

You looked around—jacket half-draped over a chair, two mugs in the sink, and a few design books scattered on the desk.

“Kind of,” you said, self-conscious.

“No,” Heeseung said gently. “You should see my apartment. Yours looks like an Airbnb listing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you realized he wasn’t teasing. His voice was soft, eyes still lingering on the wall of pictures next to the sofa with something like curiosity.

“Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Okay. So, um, what do you need to make the ramen happen?”

Heeseung stepped into the kitchen with you, looking around like he was sizing up a mission. “Pot. Strainer. A spoon and a dream.”

You laughed quietly and opened a cabinet. “Okay, I can manage that.”

While you pulled out everything he needed, Heeseung started unpacking the convenience store bag: two packets of noodles, tofu, scallions, two eggs, and a packet of cheese he insisted on buying.

He glanced at you. “Would you like to play some music?”

You grabbed your phone and shrugged. “Sure. What do you wanna hear?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You picked one of your most listened R&B playlists. The speakers on your counter buzzed faintly as the music kicked in, and Heeseung was already filling the pot with water, sleeves rolled up, head bowed in focus.

You found yourself watching him for a beat too long.

Then you turned to the drawer, pulled out two sets of chopsticks, and set the small two-seater table without thinking, putting everything down meticulously. 

“Sorry for the lack of options with drinks,” you said eventually, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “I didn’t really plan for dinner company.”

Heeseung looked up from where he was slicing green onions with the dullest knife you owned. “You’re kidding? This is better than most of my actual dinner plans.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are what, exactly?”

“Usually just me and a microwaved rice bowl.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “Tragic.”

He shot you a grin. “Hence the ramen upgrade.”

The kitchen filled with the scent of boiling broth and spice. It was quiet, save for the clatter of utensils and the low hum of the playlist. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stir the noodles in smooth, practiced motions.

“This feels weird,” you said, after a moment.

He glanced at you, brows raised. “Weird?”

“Not in a bad way,” you clarified. “Just… we barely know each other. And now you’re making ramen in my kitchen.”

Heeseung looked down at the pot, then back at you. His expression shifted, something between amusement and bashfulness.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is kind of weird.”

A beat passed.

“But not, like… bad weird,” he added.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You were halfway through reviewing the teaser layouts when a message pinged your phone.

[10:12 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, please come to Meeting Room 5A. Someone’s waiting for you.

Curious and a little nervous, you made your way upstairs, dodging a couple of rushed interns in the hallway. The second you stepped into 5A, your eyes widened.

Sitting calmly at the head of the small table was Enhypen’s manager.

“Y/N-ssi,” he greeted, standing and offering a small bow. “Thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Your brain scrambled. Why the hell was Enhypen’s manager here? Had something gone wrong with the concept rollout? Was there another delay? 

But instead of pulling up the campaign materials, he slid a neat stack of documents across the table. A thick set of papers clipped together.  On top, in bold print:

CONFIDENTIALITY & CONDUCT AGREEMENT (NDA)

You blinked. “I–sorry, what is this?”

The manager smiled faintly. “Jay mentioned he’d invited you to join the team for dinner next week.”

You stared. “Jay?”

Why would Jay invite you for dinner? 

“The boys are very serious about privacy,” he said, flipping the first page over. “So we have to be as well.”

For the next fifteen minutes, you were walked through every clause of the NDA, contact policies, social media limitations, media interaction clauses, and personal conduct guidelines. You nodded numbly, half in shock, half in awe, as you signed your name at the bottom.

The second you were released, you didn’t even make it back to your desk. You opened your messages and texted Heeseung instead:

[10:52 AM] You: Where are you. [10:52 AM] Heeseung: Vocal Room 3. Just wrapped a lesson.

When you pushed open the door to Vocal Room 3, Heeseung was setting down a water bottle. “Wow, that was fast.” 

“Dude–” you blurted, slapping the door shut behind you. “Are you actually insane?”

He blinked. “...No?”

“You told me I’d have to sign an NDA. You didn’t tell me it was real! I thought you were joking?!”

“I wasn’t.” He grinned, thoroughly enjoying your fluster. “Do you not wanna come?”

You launched yourself at him before you could stop yourself, arms looping around his neck. “Are you kidding?! Of course I want to come! I can’t believe– thank you, seriously–”

You hadn’t even fully realized you were hugging him until you felt that split-second freeze in his posture. His hands hovered in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh–,” he muttered under his breath.

You pulled back immediately. “Oh my god–sorry–”

“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking off whatever momentary glitch he just had. His arms settled loosely around your waist. “I just didn’t think you’d be this excited about an NDA.”

“You literally handed me a legally binding document that says Enhypen wants to hang out with me.”

He snorted. “Technically, it just says they won’t sue you if you talk about anything that might happen or will be said.”

You smacked his arm lightly.

He grinned. “We’re going for Italian on Thursday.”

You blinked. “Thursday? Crap–I have the rollout presentation Friday morning.”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Okay… so come over instead.”

“…What?”

“I’ll host. My place. We’ll do pizza or pasta or whatever. Super chill. I’ll tell the guys.”

You stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Absolutely.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip a little. You tried to pretend your ears weren’t burning as you nodded slowly.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a bit higher than intended. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“You’d better,” he shrugged. “If not, you’re getting uninvited.”

You laughed under your breath as you followed him out into the hallway, heart thudding somewhere between this is so surreal and how is he so nonchalant about this.

He laughed softly, arms coming up to steady you as you practically bounced on your heels. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s not just dinner,” you huffed into his shoulder. “It’s Enhypen dinner. I didn’t even think you liked me that much–”

“I don’t,” he teased. “I just want more croissants.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly but didn’t let go. You were still grinning way too hard to care.

The morning crowd on the subway was… less than forgiving.

You regretted everything the moment you stepped onto the packed train, clutching your bag and a coffee cup against your chest like a shield. Heeseung had met you at your usual stop with a lazy smile and two iced Americanos, one of which you almost spilled when the train lurched forward.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-tripping. 

“Hold that,” Heeseung said, pressing his cup into your hand and wrapping one hand around your waist, steadying you. The other shot up to catch the overhead handle just in time. You froze.

Not a single muscle moved.

His arm stayed firmly around you, low and warm and annoyingly natural.

“I was doing fine,” you protested, after a few seconds. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing down at you with a raised brow, “you look thriving.”

You shot him a look, but the next jolt of the train had you wobbling forward again. 

And suddenly your entire spine was pressed against Heeseung’s chest, shoulder to ribs.

You were perilously aware of everything: how warm he was, how steady his breathing felt against your back, how he smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And most of all, how he didn’t move.

If anything, he just adjusted his grip slightly. 

You wanted to say something. Instead, you just blinked at your own reflection in the window and tried not to melt.

“Relax,” Heeseung murmured near your ear, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ve got you.”

You made a tiny, strangled noise, trying not to squeeze the two cups in your hand, while panicking. 

And then, mercifully, the next stop came.

By the time you spilled out of the subway car onto the platform, your legs were jelly and your face was on fire. 

“You okay?” he asked, amused when you handed him his cup.

“Totally,” you wheezed. “Normal. Very normal train ride. Love commuting. Big fan.”

“Good,” he said, sipping his coffee, grinning at you.

The train finally began to slow near your stop, the pressure of the crowd shifting as people prepared to shuffle out. Heeseung’s arm loosened from around you, and you stepped forward as space allowed, finally able to breathe without your heart doing parkour in your chest.

At the platform, the two of you walked in step toward the station exit, letting the rhythm of the morning crowd carry you along. 

Outside, the morning air was already stuffy. You reached the entrance of the building.

You turned to Heeseung. He was already watching you with that unreadable expression of his, coffee cradled in one hand.

“See you later,” you said, a little quieter than usual.

He nodded, mouth tilting up just a bit. “Yeah. Later.”

 By 6:40 p.m. on Thursday, you were this close to crying.

Your desk was a mess of draft decks, color-correction notes, and flagged emails you hadn’t yet answered. Your hands were cold from stress, your jaw ached from clenching, and your chest felt tight.

You were just about finished for the evening when you noticed him standing in the doorway of your booth. His shoes clicked against the polished floor, his movements far too deliberate, too slow, as he made his way toward you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice so sickly sweet you could almost taste the insincerity. “Looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

You blinked, trying to refocus on your screen.

“Is that a new dress?” He leaned closer, his smile stretching too wide for comfort. “You know, I do enjoy when someone can dress for the occasion... So much more appealing to the eyes.”

You barely suppressed a grimace, resisting the urge to curl your lip. You'd chosen the dress that morning because it was a simple yet professional choice. You didn’t think much of it until Mr. Kim made it clear that it had caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with your work.

His eyes lingered, scanning you too intently for your liking, and the comment that followed only made your stomach churn.

“Quite the distraction, though,” he added smoothly. “Makes it hard for a man like me to focus, Miss Y/L/N.”

You hated how his gaze felt like it was crawling over you, how it lingered a little too long on the way your dress fit and the way you sat at your desk. 

He lowered his voice slightly, the words coated with layers of suggestion. “You know, I could always help you with getting your mind off work... if you needed a break from all this stress.”

Your jaw clenched. A small part of you wanted to retort, tell him exactly what you thought of his “help,” but you knew better. You didn’t want to make a scene. You smiled tightly instead, forcing the words out with as much professionalism as you could muster.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. But I have everything under control.”

He leaned back, satisfied with your answer, or rather, the fact that you hadn’t rejected his offer outright. You tried to shove the creeping feeling of disgust down. He made a final comment before leaving, "Don't work too hard, Miss Y/L/N. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired in that lovely dress."

You almost threw your stylus at him.

Now you sat slumped in your chair, elbows on your desk.

You wanted to cancel. You really, really wanted to. 

But you couldn’t.

Because Heeseung invited you. Because he was excited. Because you were excited. Because you made tiramisu. Because this was your chance to meet some of the Enhypen members as actual people, not headline acts. 

A knock on the outer glass startled you.

Heeseung.

He walked in smiling, but his expression shifted the second he saw you. You didn’t even have time to straighten up before he crossed the room.

“Hey…” His voice was gentle. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer and ended up just blinking fast.

“Oh. Okay, come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you before you could say anything else. One hand rubbed gently between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

You sniffed, trying not to fall apart completely. “Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know, I’m just really tired and that asshole came by and–”

“I hate that guy,” Heeseung muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

His hands came up to frame your face, gentle thumbs brushing at your temples, moving a few strands of hair away with soft care. “You’re doing amazing, okay? Don’t let him make you think differently.”

Your breath shuddered out. “I just… I don’t wanna show up all weird and stressed and ruin the vibe.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything,” he said quietly. “You’re bringing tiramisu. You’ve already won everyone’s heart. Especially Sunghoons. I know he is your bias, so it’s a win, right?”

That got the smallest laugh out of you. He himself asked you if you could make tiramisu. 

He smiled. “Let me carry your stuff, okay? We’ll head to mine, eat too much, and if you want to dip early, I’ll make something up. Deal?”

You nodded slowly. “Deal.”

“And,” he added, lowering his hands but still watching you carefully, “if he ever comes near your booth again, let me know. I’m not management, but I know how to be annoying.”

You laughed again, for real this time. “You? Annoying? Never.” 

The subway car was packed.

Not just crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder, strangers-breathing-down-your-neck kind of packed. You squeezed in just behind Heeseung as the doors hissed shut, the jolt of movement almost sending you stumbling. He caught your elbow instinctively, his hand steadying you for just a second before he let go.

“Seat,” he said quietly, nodding toward the only one available, just a few feet to your right.

You hesitated. “You should take it.”

Heeseung looked at you like you’d suggested jumping onto the tracks. “You’re wearing a dress and heels.”

You blinked. “What does that–”

“Just sit.”

You didn’t argue again. You just slid into the seat, your bag clutched tight in your lap.

He stood directly to your right, one hand braced on the bar above, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The car lurched forward.

Your knees bumped his leg when the train turned.

He didn’t move.

You shifted, trying to give him space, but there wasn’t any. He was close enough that you could smell the laundry detergent on his hoodie. 

Another stop. More people pushed in. He adjusted his stance slightly, his shin brushing against your ankle now, the line of his thigh against yours. 

His eyes flicked down.

Then up again.

Then away.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t have to. The contact was small, but your whole body was aware of it.

You stared at the blinking subway map above the door.

One stop. Then two. Almost home.

You tried not to think too hard about how nice it felt, this quiet little moment of being taken care of in the most casual, quiet, unspoken way.

By the time you reached your building, it started raining and you and Heeseung were huddled under his umbrella again. You buzzed yourself in, holding the door with your foot until Heeseung followed.

Once inside, you took off your shoes, motioning toward the living room. “Give me two minutes. Gotta grab the tiramisu and maybe… change?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Yeah….actually, if you want to, that might be… good?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Just figured you might wanna get out of your work stuff, to be…more comfortable. It’s super casual, I mean.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. Two seconds.”

You disappeared down the hallway, your heart doing something slightly irrational as you pulled open your wardrobe.

Comfortable. Casual. Not… too casual.

You settled on high-waisted jeans and a soft black tank with scalloped straps. Simple. You undid your hair too, shaking it out with your fingers until it settled loosely over your shoulders. You checked the mirror, lips twitching.

And then, without overthinking it, you padded barefoot back into the living room.

“Okay,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “This okay?”

Heeseung looked up from where he’d been sitting on your sofa, flipping through one of the design magazines you bunkered under the table, and froze. 

His eyes scanned you quickly and then darted immediately to the floor like the entire act of looking had caught him off guard.

“Uh–yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. That’s–uh. That’s perfect.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

“Totally,” he said, too fast. “I mean–it’s not, like–you’re perfect. I mean–not like perfect-perfect, just–you look great. I mean good. Yes.”

You smiled slowly, watching the tips of his ears turn pink. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He coughed once, avoiding your eyes. “Let’s… let’s go before I eat the tiramisu myself.”

You grabbed your bag again, heart fluttering just enough to make your grin feel dangerous. “Lead the way.”

Heeseung’s apartment was bigger than yours. 

He dropped his keys in the bowl near the door, turning to offer you a small smile. “They said they’d be here around seven-thirty, so we’ve got a few minutes.”

You nodded, clutching the tiramisu like it was a shield. Your heart thudded faster now, not in fear exactly, but in nerves. The idea of sitting down and casually having dinner with ENHYPEN suddenly felt very… real.

Heeseung watched you for a moment, eyes soft. “You okay?”

“Just… mentally preparing,” you said, exhaling. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just casually meeting five people who were on my Spotify Wrapped last year.”

He grinned. “If it helps, Sunghoon still burns toast.”

You laughed under your breath and were about to respond when the shrill sound of Heeseungs doorbell interrupted you. 

Heeseung raised a brow. “They are early.”

You instinctively stepped half behind him as he opened the door.

“Hyung, I swear to god. I am so freaking hungry if we dont order food immedietely I’ll die,” Jake’s voice rang out as he stepped inside, followed by Sunoo, who immediately toed off his shoes.

“We literally just came back ourselves,” Heeseung replied, letting them all in. “We haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Man, thats dissapointing,” Jake said, already peeking toward the kitchen where you were standing, next to the tiramisu.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt.

Behind him came Niki and Sunghoon, who both had wet hair. All of them were bare faced.

“We’re minus one,” Sunghoon said as he dropped onto the couch. “Jay’s not coming.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “His girlfriend started her period today and he went over to her place.”

“That’s… actually sweet,” you blurted.

Heeseung gave a small laugh and motioned toward you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She works in creative.”

You gave a small wave, not quite trusting your voice again yet.

Sunoo smiled at you, “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

You slightly cleared your throat. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

Jake stepped into the kitchen. “Wait. Is that the tiramisu?”

“Mhm,” Heeseung said walking over and, setting it in the fridge. 

“Dude I thought you ordered some,” Sunghoon said sitting down on Heeseungs sofa. 

“Yeah. Well, not exactly order, I asked Y/N if she wanted to make some,” Heeseung shrugged. “It’s Sunghoon’s favorite.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You asked for it.”

Heeseung’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Yeah. For Sunghoon.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “Dude. What the fuck. I wanted to make cookies for you cause you said u said they looked yummy and now i made tiramisu for an international super star?”

Sunoo laughed immediately. “Wait, you’re the croissant girl?”

You blinked. “The crossiant girl?”

“But Heeseung didn’t shut up about the croissants for days.”, Jake said plopping down next to Sunghoon.

You looked at Heeseung, arms crossed. “You told them about the crossints?”

Heeseung, who was now pretending to scroll through the pizza delivery app, said nothing.

“I think that’s sweet,” Sunghoon said, leaning back on the armrest. “Even if it’s a little embarrassing.”

“For him or me?” you asked.

“Yes,” Sunghoon replied with a faint smile.

You shook your head, still suppressing a grin. “Okay. You guys want pizza or not?”

“Absolutely,” Niki said. “Half bulgogi, half pepperoni. No pineapple.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.

“Do not start a war in my apartment,” Heeseung warned.

While they argued about toppings, you helped Heeseung finish the order. 

Sunoo plopped down next to Sunghoon and patted the seat beside him. “Come on. We don’t bite.”

You hesitated, then sat, keeping your posture neutral, your legs tucked neatly under you.

“Okay,” Jake said, lounging across the arm of the couch. “So what made you want to work at HYBE?”

You blinked at the directness, then laughed nervously. “Wow. Uhm I'm there more or less on accident?”

You glanced at Heeseung, who offered a small nod of encouragement from the kitchen.

“I… actually wanted to be a baker,” you said. “I studied design because my parents wanted me to have something ‘practical’ to fall back on. Turns out I liked it enough to keep doing it. And then one internship led to another, and somehow I ended up designing teaser graphics for idol groups.”

“Do you still bake often, or was it a one time thing for hyung?” Niki asked.

“Mostly for stress,” you admitted. “Or when someone makes a really annoying request for tiramisu.” You shot a glance at Heeseung, who just smiled and opened a cabinet.

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That was a great decision.”

The next morning was already chaos.

You had a stack of revised mood boards tucked under your arm, three poster mock-ups clipped to your tote, and a USB drive clenched between your teeth while you tried not to spill your lukewarm coffee. The team had pulled off near-miracles, reworking concepts, rebuilding a cohesive storyline, and salvaging designs under impossible pressure. And now it was time to present.

Your nerves were frayed and your blouse was wrinkled and of course, of course, the elevator was packed when you stepped inside.

Just as the doors started to close, a hand slipped between them.

Heeseung, headphones around his neck and hair still slightly damp like he’d showered five minutes ago made his way into the packed elevator. He offered you a sleepy smile, eyes darting to the mess in your hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning slightly against the side of the elevator.

“I am not sure,” you muttered, clutching your things. “Everything breaks if one person blinks wrong.”

“Sounds relaxing,” he said, with a small smirk.

You gave him a half-hearted eye roll, but you were grateful for the few seconds of levity. His presence was oddly grounding. Then the elevator dinged.

And in stepped Mr. Kim.

The air changed immediately.

You froze as the man’s eyes raked across the small elevator car, lingering far too long when they landed on you. Your stomach twisted. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his tone smug. “Always working so hard.”

You tried to smile without actually smiling, eyes darting to Heeseung, who glanced between you and Mr. Kim.

You gave him a look.

And without missing a beat, Heeseung shifted closer to you, casually, but firmly placing himself between you and Mr. Kim. His hand came up to gently rest on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt. 

Your breath caught.

As the elevator slowed to your floor, Heeseung looked down at you and gave a quiet, encouraging murmur.

“You got this, babe.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You barely registered the surprised look on Mr. Kim’s face as he blinked at Heeseung, then back at you, as you stepped off the elevator.

“Oh?” he said, clearly trying to mask his annoyance. “You and Mr. Lee are… close?”

Heeseung didn’t even blink. He just smiled.

“Yes. We’ve been going out for a while now.”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod, like the internal math he was doing didn’t quite add up but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort to challenge it, at least not now.

The rest of the meeting passed in strange, almost blessed peace. Mr. Kim didn’t interrupt you once. Didn’t cut off your points, didn’t make snide remarks. He just… sat there. Quiet.

The applause at the end of your presentation felt like a drug. Even Legal had nodded in approval, which was practically a standing ovation. When your manager turned to you with a small, rare smile and said, “Great work. We’re green lit to post. Let’s get this live by Monday,” your knees almost buckled.

You had survived.

You should have felt on top of the world.

Except…

Heeseung had been red on Teams since 10:14 a.m.

You checked. Rechecked. Closed and reopened the app. Still red.

[12:47 PM] y/n: We did it. Greenlight.

No reply.

[2:05 PM] y/n: I brought the fancy draft mockups for you to roast but you’re ghosting me instead, rude

Still red.

You tried to be mature about it. He was busy. Probably. 

Except it stung a little. Okay, a lot. Especially when your manager swung by at 4:30 with a tired grin and a generous offer.

“You’ve earned a break. Go home, everyone. Rest. Sleep. Don’t even look at your inbox until Monday morning.”

And like that, the office emptied.

You took the train back in silence. When you got home, you peeled off your work clothes, cleansed your face, and climbed into your pink kitty pajamas. You slapped on your favorite aloe sheet mask and sank into your couch like a deflated balloon.

You glanced at your phone once more, just in case.

Still red.

At 9:17 p.m., just when you were deciding whether you wanted to start a new drama or rewatch a old one your phone vibrated. 

[9:17 PM] Heeseung: Are you still in the building?

You blinked, stared, then scrambled to type back.

[9:18 PM] y/n: Nope. Left hours ago. Home now.

Three little dots appeared immediately.

[9:18 PM] Heeseung: ...Can I come over? Actually. I’ll be at your place in 5 min. 

You froze and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your TV.

You barely had time to rip off your sheet mask and throw on a hoodie before the doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, Heeseung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a bottle of red wine and a guilty expression.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “I forgot how fast I walk when I’m anxious.”

You blinked. “You’re anxious?”

“...Yes.”

He stood there for another second, then stepped inside when you moved back. He hovered awkwardly near the entrance, hands in his pockets now, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant to come by after the elevator. I really did. But the studio called me into something last minute and then I had to stay in the editing room and–”

You blinked, confused for a second. “Wait. You were coming to find me?”

He nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. I wanted to come after you texted me you got greenlit. To congratulate…and to see how you were doing, if he did something again.”

Oh. You thought back to the elevator, Mr. Kim’s eyes on you, his words oily and smug, and then Heeseung’s hand on your back. The quiet “you got this, babe” still echoed in your head like a song lyric you didn’t know how to stop humming.

“I was fine,” you murmured.

He gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay. I was… about to punch him but holding it together. Professionally of course.”

“I was so mad,” he admitted, voice lower now. “At him. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve texted.”

“You were red on Teams all day.”

“I was sitting on the floor with a laptop trying to fix three vocal tracks while my phone was dead in my bag,” he said, smiling weakly. “It was not my most functional day.”

You stared at him, this boy who offered you a tissue when you crashed into his, now your, booth when you were crying, who casually invited you to meet your idols, who fought off your sleazy coworker with just four words and a hand on your back, and felt something soft start to uncurl in your chest.

“Want wine?” you asked, voice gentler now.

He looked up like you’d just told him the world was ending and he had five minutes to enjoy it.

“Yes. So much.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were curled up on your couch in your oversized tshirt and mismatched socks, and Heeseung was beside you, barefoot now, as he poured you both generous glasses of red wine.

Your cat-themed pajama pants were definitely not glamorous, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression had softened the second you shuffled back into the room with your hair damp from a quick rinse and your face washed clean of mask residue.

“You really are glowing when you’re out of that office,” he said, handing you a glass.

You wrinkled your nose. “I think that’s just the very expensive and excessive amount of skincare on my face right now.”

He smiled into his glass as you both sipped.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low flicker of your floor lamp the only light in the room. The Netflix menu looped quietly on your TV, still waiting for a decision you didn’t feel like making.

Heeseung broke the silence first.

“I kept thinking about it.”

You turned your head to him. “About what?”

“The way he looked at you.” His jaw tightened. 

You said nothing. Just reached for your wine again.

Heeseung glanced sideways, then spoke again, softer. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just… wanted you to know I saw it. And it wasn’t okay.”

You nodded slowly. “It happens. More than it should. To more girls than just me.”

He looked at you, brows drawn slightly. “Still not okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat passed.

“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” you said finally.

Heeseung blinked. “Say what?”

“‘Babe.’”

“Oh,” he said, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “Yeah. That was… I didn’t plan that.”

You smiled into your wine glass. “It worked.”

He looked over, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He didn’t say a single word to me during the meeting.”

“I’ll call you that again if it keeps him quiet.”

“Don’t push your luck, Romeo.”

That made him laugh, the sound low and honest, and you smiled against your glass again.

Eventually, you picked a movie and settled deeper into the couch cushions. You sat closer now, your thighs brushing once or twice, his knee occasionally bumping yours when he shifted.

By the time the movie was halfway through, the first bottle of wine was nearly gone.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. Neither had he.

But you kept topping off each other’s glasses in lazy silence, the bottle tipping between you like a slow conversation neither of you wanted to end. The couch had become a sort of middle ground, with two pillows behind your backs and one blanket draped loosely over both your legs. You weren’t sure when that had happened either.

The film flickered quietly in the background, something about a bakery in Paris and a romance that neither of you were really following. Heeseung made a dramatic noise when the lead actress confessed her feelings to the wrong guy, slumping his head against your shoulder.

“Justice for the hot violinist,” he mumbled into your hoodie.

You burst out laughing, setting your glass down before you spilled.

“You’re so annoying,” you said between giggles.

“Am not,” he replied, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away.

Heeseung grabbed the second bottle from where it had been sitting patiently by the TV and held it up like a question.

You raised your brows. “You really want more?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Absolutely.”

You got the cork halfway out before it popped with a little pop that made you both jump and then start laughing all over again. Heeseung nearly dropped his glass trying to pour, his other hand bracing against your thigh for balance, and you swatted at him gently.

“God, you’re clumsy,” you muttered, amused.

“Blame the grapes,” he said, eyes dancing.

You sipped your wine and sank deeper into the couch, your legs half-tangled with his now, your knees bumping, your feet tucked under the blanket. The buzz in your head was warm and a little dizzying. 

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked after a while, your voice soft and hazy. “Stay late at the office? Show up at coworkers’ apartments with wine?”

Heeseung shook his head slowly, resting his head back against the couch. “No. Not really.”

You turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

“It’s just you,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s always just you.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Then, to cover it up you reached for your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Lee.”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Dangerously?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And if I said I meant it?”

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Then I’d probably say… don’t stop.”

Both of you were silent for a second, watching each other until Heeseung turned his head towards the TV again.

By the time the second movie started your feet were in his lap, his hand resting lightly against your calf. You were curled up sideways, your cheek brushing his shoulder. At some point, his fingers started tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your knee.

You felt them even through the blanket.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

You made a soft sound. “You’re heavy.”

“Lies.”

“Truth.“

Your wine glass was empty and forgotten on the coffee table, your head tilted slightly toward Heeseung as the credits rolled over yet another cheesy, completely ignorable romantic subplot. The soft buzz in your limbs made you slower, warmer, and more tangled up in the present than you usually allowed yourself to be.

He hadn’t made a joke in a while.

Which, honestly, was weird.

You shifted slightly, cheek brushing the edge of his shirt where your head had been half-leaning for the last–what, twenty? thirty?–minutes. His shoulder was warm and steady beneath you, but quiet.

Too quiet.

You turned your head slowly.

He was out cold.

His head had slumped just slightly to the side, lips parted the tiniest bit, one hand still loosely holding the stem of his wine glass, though it had dipped into his lap. His other hand was still half-tucked under the blanket near your leg.

You blinked.

“You traitor,” you whispered, grinning.

He didn’t move.

You leaned closer, squinting at his face in the low light. His cheeks were flushed, not just wine-warm, but rosy now, all the way to the tips of his ears.

You couldn’t help it.

You let out the softest, breathiest laugh and murmured, “You’re so red, oh my god.”

You carefully reached out and plucked the glass from his hand before he could spill anything, setting it on the coffee table. Then you curled back into the couch, closer this time, and let your head rest against the curve of his shoulder.

“You laughed through an entire subplot about a pastry chef and her ghost boyfriend,” you whispered into the quiet. “And this is what knocks you out?”

Still nothing.

But his breathing stayed slow and even.

You looked at him again, your smile softening.

He looked peaceful. Not polished or poised or the version of him you usually saw pacing around the studio, just… Heeseung. Slightly flushed, his shirt wrinkeled, wine-drowsy, and entirely asleep in your living room.

And somehow, that made your chest ache in the nicest possible way.

“Guess I’m not the only lightweight,” you whispered, barely audible.

You shifted carefully, moving one arm, then another, easing yourself up from the sofa to go sleep in your bed. 

You didn’t even get the chance to move mor ethan a few centimeters when Heeseungs hand tightened at your waist followed by a quiet, groggy voice.

“…What?”

You froze mid-sit-up and looked down.

Heeseung’s eyes were barely open, squinting in the low light, his lashes heavy against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. But he was awake. Or halfway there.

You smiled, soft. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinked slowly. “Where are you going?”

“My beed,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand off your hoodie. “I was just gonna–”

“No,” he mumbled, arm tightening just slightly, his voice all thick and low and whiny. “Stay.”

You blinked. “What?”

He made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted, trying to pull you back down the way someone hugs a pillow in their sleep.

“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he knew he was already asking for too much. 

You were about to argue. Say something rational. Like you’d be more comfortable in your bed or he might need space or this is unprofessional, right? But then he made that soft noise again and his fingers caught the hem of your shirt.

And your chest did that dumb, twisty ache again.

So you sighed and gave in.

“Okay,” you murmured, lowering yourself back down. “Fine. Whatever.”

You felt him relax instantly, his arm slipping easily around your waist again, pulling you against his chest with a quiet breath of relief.

His forehead bumped gently against your temple as you both settled back into the blanket.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.

He let out a small, satisfied mmph, already melting back into the couch. And just before sleep pulled you under too, you thought you felt him murmur something else, a quiet, hazy little thank you, into the space where your shoulder met his chest.

Heeseung didn’t stir. Just exhaled softly, mouth twitching. You watched him for a second. The way his hair was a mess, flattened on one side. The way his mouth hung open just a little. The way his shirt had slid up to reveal a sliver of his waist where your hand had been curled all night. You shook your head and padded into the bathroom before your brain could linger on that detail too long. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled your hair into a low bun. By the time you stepped back into the kitchen, the soft blue light of morning had begun to filter through the curtains. You opened the freezer, reached in, and smiled. You still had a tray of frozen croissants.  You’d rolled and shaped them last week and froze them, just in case you needed some for an emergency. This counted as an emergency. “Perfect,” you murmured. You set the oven to preheat, arranged four pastries on a tray, and grabbed a knife to slice up some strawberries and green grapes you’d had tucked in the fridge. As the fruit hit the plate, a soft creak sounded behind you. You turned, just in time to see a very groggy Heeseung shuffle into the kitchen. His hair was sticking up in three directions, and he looked like he wasn’t really awake yet. He blinked at you. “Why are you vertical?”

You grinned, holding up a strawberry slice. “Because I have a healthy sleeping rhythm and can’t sleep longer than 8 am.” He made a soft, confused noise and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping forward onto the table with a dramatic thud. You laughed quietly, setting the fruit down in front of him. “Sleep well?” He mumbled something into the wood that might have been yes or kill me, you weren’t sure. You turned back to the oven just as it pinged. The smell of the croissants was already filling the apartment. Behind you, Heeseung groaned. “Are you baking?” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the one who told me you’d work the counter at my imaginary bakery if I paid you in croissants.” He squinted up at you, one eye barely open. “You’re baking. At 8 am on a Saturday morning.” You slid the tray into the oven with a smile. “I am. Just for you.” You sat on the small bench by the wall, a mug of coffee wrapped in both hands, your bare legs curled up beneath you. Your shorts were riding up slightly, and your oversized t-shirt hung comfortably off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep.

Heeseung sat next to you, his long legs stretched lazily under the table. One of them bumped against yours. His knee slid alongside your thigh, skin against skin. Neither of you moved. You felt it in your stomach, low and sudden. Heeseung, half-slouched in the chair, blinked once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees touched, then back up to your face. You pretended not to notice. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a quiet hum and slumped his cheek into his hand, eyes only half-open.  “I’m trying to remember if I said anything stupid last night.” You sipped your coffee, lips twitching. “Define stupid.” “Like… did I call you ‘babe’ again?” You smiled into your cup. “No.” He exhaled, relieved. “Just whined like a child until I stayed on the couch.” His head snapped up. “What?!” You grinned. “You literally said, ‘Don’t go yet, just stay.’ And then clung to me like a koala.” Heeseung covered his face with both hands. “Oh my god.” “I did stay,” you added, smug. “So technically it worked.”

“Please erase that entire interaction from your brain.” You let your thigh lean just slightly more into his. “Nope. Gonna treasure it forever.” He peeked through his fingers, groaning. “Why are you like this?” “Because you slept with your mouth open and drooled a little on my shoulder.” He gasped. “That’s a lie.” You shrugged innocently. “You’ll never know.” He squinted at you, then glanced down at your coffee. “Is that the good blend?” You nodded. “Vanilla roast.” He reached for your mug without asking and took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “I forgive you.” “For what?” “Mocking my emotional vulnerability.” You laughed softly, the sound curling between you like steam. When the oven pinged, neither of you moved for a moment. Your legs were still touching.  His knee was still pressed lightly against your bare skin, and your arm was now brushing his where it rested on the bench. It was nothing. And also very much something. Then Heeseung stood up slowly, stretching with a yawn that revealed the tiniest sliver of skin under his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder at you. “You’re burning our breakfast.” Breakfast didn’t last long, but neither of you moved afterward. You stayed exactly where you were: side by side on the bench, your knees brushing, your thighs pressed together, your bare leg warm against his. The soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to his side, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath every time he shifted. Heeseung sat with one elbow on the table, chin in his hand, half-turned toward you. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the second cup of coffee, his hair still tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. You leaned back against the wall beside him, foot nudging his under the table.

“This is weird,” you said. He blinked. “Weird how?” You tilted your head. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be freaking out. You slept over. We’re… close.” He looked down at where your legs were still touching. “Yeah.” “But I’m not freaking out,” you added. He smiled slowly. “Me neither.” You were both quiet for a moment. Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “It’s nice.” You nodded, looking down at your empty plate. “Yeah.” His hand moved slightly under the table. His pinky nudged yours. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved your hand and intertwined your fingers with his long ones. And when you turned your head to glance at him again, he was already looking at you, something soft and unspoken flickering behind his eyes. “I could stay like this all day,” he murmured. You smiled. “Then stay.” Heeseung didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t move either. And neither did you.

The booth was quiet except for the occasional soft click of Heeseung’s mouse. It was already late, past golden hour, and the air outside had cooled from its blistering midday heat into something softer. Muggier, still sticky, but breathable. You sat on the couch with your legs tucked under you. A bottle of cold green tea sat between your knees. You’d finished your last rollout file before dinner. Technically, you could’ve gone home. But instead, you waited. You liked waiting. Because it meant walking home with Heeseung. That had become your favorite part of the day over the last weeks. He pulled off his dress shirt and was only wearing the white tank top he always wore underneath. His hair curled a little at the edges when he got too warm, and he kept pushing it back with one hand, blinking hard at the screen. You checked the time. “Almost done?” you asked, voice low, lazy. He didn’t look up. “You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.” His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He continued working for a few more seconds, and then he sat back in his chair and let out a dramatic exhale. “Okay. I think I’m done for today.” You grinned. “Took you long enough.” He finally turned to look at you. And then didn’t look away. His gaze dropped to your bare legs curled on the couch, to the faint line of sweat at your collarbone, to the gentle flush on your cheeks. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but forgot what. You just raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?” He stood, grabbing his dress shirt, putting it on again, and held the door open for you with that same crooked, tired smile he always had at the end of a long day. The hallway was empty, the whole building humming quietly. Your footsteps echoed softly as you made your way toward the elevator. Outside, the streetlights were just flickering on. A warm wind blew past, thick with summer and stillness. Heeseung walked beside you, your shoulders occasionally brushing, your hands swinging just close enough to touch.

The hum of the AC buzzed low through the apartment, doing its best against the weight of the summer heat a few days later. The heat seemed to get worse every day, clinging to your skin and making it impossible to breathe. Your AC had sputtered and died two nights ago, and since then, you’d been semi-permanently relocated to Heeseung’s place. Today, after work, you kicked off your socks and curled up on his couch, legs bare, feet tucked under a throw pillow. The oversized t-shirt you wore hung down past your hips. You stole it from him after he spilled tomato juice on your at-home T-shirt the day before. It still faintly smelled like his cologne. Your shorts were barely visible beneath the hem. Heeseung stood in the small kitchen, barefoot in a black tank top and old sweatshirts, elbows braced against the counter while he adjusted something in the blender. You’d watched him add frozen banana, ice, peanut butter, a protein scoop, and almond milk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the button. You flipped a page in the book resting across your thighs. And then didn’t read a single word of it. You were too busy ogling Heeseung in a very professional, not inappropriate way, colleagues? Friends? His muscles were taut from leaning over the counter, jaw set, skin glowing slightly from the walk home, strands of now red hair curling over his forehead from the heat. The edge of his tank had dipped low, revealing the clean cut of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. His arms flexed slightly as he twisted the lid back on. You licked your lips and quickly looked back at your book. He wiped his hands on a towel, completely unaware of the crisis you were currently having ten feet away. Or maybe not, unaware he’d caught you staring once already when he was adjusting the fan, and you swore he smirked. You turned to another page you hadn’t read.

“Still good over there?” he asked, his voice teasing, lazy. “Barely,” you called back. “I'm still melting. I don't even wanna imagine how warm my apartment is right now.” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf. “I expect your eternal loyalty and gratitude for granting you shelter from the heat .” You gave a dramatic sigh. “You get two compliments and one baked good per week. That’s the cap.” “I already get that,” he called back. You smiled to yourself. “Then I’ll consider bringing you lunch to work sometimes.” He froze just long enough for you to see it out of the corner of your eye. Then he laughed, soft and breathless. “Noted.” You peeked up again as he walked over, two glasses in hand. He handed you one, fingers brushing yours, and settled onto the floor, leaning back onto the couch. You stared down at him, still flushed from the heat, or maybe not only the heat. “Comfortable?” you asked, sipping your smoothie. “Very.” He tilted his head back lazily until it rested against your knee. “Book good?” You stared at the unread page. “Incredible.” He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “You haven’t flipped it in five minutes.” You pressed the book gently to his forehead. “Shut up.” He grinned, eyes crinkling. The two of you went silent again, and after a while, your hair slipped into his hair, playing with the dry strands and grazing your nails along his scalp while you actually started reading your book again. Heeseung let out a long, contented breath. “I like having you here.” You paused. Then said, just as softly, “I like being here.”

Half an hour later, the smoothie was half-melted in your glass. Your book sat open in your lap, though you had to re-read the same paragraph three times thanks to the way Heeseung’s arm kept brushing against your side. He was still on the floor, and at one point, you joined him there, the sofa’s velvet texture feeling too warm against your skin. Your whole body was leaning against his, your head resting softly on his shoulder, and your legs draped loosely to the side. From Heeseung’s laptop, which was propped up on his thighs, came the steady pulse of a new track, layered synth, subtle guitar… and a voice. You blinked, looking up. “Wait. Is that Jay?” “Mhm.” Heeseung didn’t turn around, just scrolled through something on his screen. “He dropped by to do a scratch vocal for one of the demos. I haven’t layered the harmony yet, but his tone worked weirdly well.” You stared at the screen. Jay’s voice.

On his song. In this apartment. While you were wearing Heeseung’s shirt and drinking smoothies with your legs tangled against his, and a half-read book in your lap. You let out a quiet laugh and muttered, “My life is so weird.” Heeseung looked over his shoulder. “Good weird?” You met his eyes. And immediately regretted it. Because he was already looking at you the way he always did when you caught him off guard, soft, curious, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but knew he didn’t want to stop. His face was close now, your head still on his shoulder, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt right above where your thigh still pressed against his. “Very good, weird,” you said quietly. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Just for a second. Your heart thudded. But he just moved his head back towards the laptop. The soft sounds of Jay’s vocals looped again from Heeseung’s laptop. You could see it in his profile, that sharp little line between his brows. The tension in his jaw. He was thinking again.

Which meant he wasn’t going to do it. You waited another second. Two. Gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. So you did. You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him. Pressing your lips to his. You didn't even really think about it; it just felt right. He froze for half a second, just enough for you to second-guess it. But then his hand slid to your thigh, fingers tightening. His other reached for your waist, softly grazing against the fabric of the shirt. You pulled back first, just barely, your nose brushing his. He stared at you. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth parted slightly. You smiled and breathlessly muttered. “You took too long.” He blinked. “You–” His voice cracked. “I was trying to be respectful.” “You were being a coward.” “I was waiting for a sign!” “Heeseung, I gave you so many signs.” “I’m not a mind reader!”

You laughed into his neck, warm and breathless and giddy. His arms slipped around your waist properly now, hugging you close, face buried in your collarbone. He mumbled something into your skin. You stilled. “What?” He stiffened. “Nothing.” You leaned back just enough to look at him. “What did you say, Heeseung?” Heeseung stared, wide-eyed. Then blinked once. “Hypothetically. I really want to kiss you again.” You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.” So he did. His lips moved slowly and steadily against yours, and you moved your head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss for a second before he pulled away first this time, breathing heavier than before, his forehead resting against yours.

You could feel how warm his skin was. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smiled. “Yeah. I noticed.” He gave a soft, helpless laugh and bumped his nose gently against yours. “So… now what?” You looked at him, all flushed cheeks and messy hair and wide brown eyes, and knew you never wanted someone else to see him like this ever again. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I like this.” “Yeah?” he asked, eyes searching yours. You nodded. “Yeah. I like you.” He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. Then, with that lazy, crooked half-smile you were quickly learning was dangerous, he said, “Can I kiss you again?” You raised a brow. “You’re asking now?” “I’m being respectful.” You leaned in. “Then yes.” Your hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek when his lips were on yours again. His lips were on yours again before the word even left your mouth. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, palm splayed wide over the soft fabric of your shorts, fingers flexing slightly. You shifted into his lap without thinking, tilting your head, knees brushing his thighs. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it made you smile against his mouth. “Stop laughing,” he murmured. “You make weird noises.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Y/N.” You laughed, soft and breathless, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, not sorry.” He kissed your collarbone next, just a warm brush of lips against skin. Then another, lower this time. Your breath caught.

He pulled back instantly. “Okay?” You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Just… yeah.” His hands found your waist again, more certain now, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your thighs tightened around his lap just slightly. He inhaled sharply. “Y/N,” he said, like it was a question and an answer and a prayer all at once. You kissed him again. This time, you were the one deepening it. Your fingers curled in the collar of his tank top, pulling him in closer, angling your hips until your bodies fit together just a little too well.  You could feel the shift in him, the way his hands stilled, the way his breath hitched when your thighs pressed around his. But he didn’t push. He didn’t even pull you closer. He just let you kiss him, his lips soft and slow, like he’d waited long enough that he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing. Eventually, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips kiss-dumb and smiling. “You good?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.” “I swear,” he muttered, breathless, a little dazed, “I had this whole thing planned out.” You tilted your head. “What thing?”

He gave a weak huff of a laugh and shook his head, cheeks flushed. “To tell you. To ask you out. I didn’t think I’d just..get kissed out of nowhere and completely forget how to speak like a normal person.” You smiled, fingers brushing his wrist. “Heeseung.” “I’m serious,” he said, laughing softly, reaching up to caress your face. “I had it all laid out. I wrote you a song.” Your brows lifted. “A song?” He hesitated. Then nodded and reached for his laptop that was lying forgotten next to the two of you and tapped at the keyboard with one hand, the other never leaving your waist.

“I wrote it like a month ago,” he said quietly. “Kind of… when I realized.” You rested your head on his chest, watching him type. “When you realized what?” you asked. He didn’t look at you. But you saw the corner of his mouth pull up just a little. “That I really like you too, Y/N.” And then he hit play. The track started low, just a few notes of piano, slow and thoughtful. It was… beautiful. You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand slid down to his chest, your palm resting flat just over where his heart was pounding. Heeseung moved his head back slightly to look at you. You leaned in, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and whispered, “I’m really glad I kissed you first.” He laughed, just once, softly and short, and pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared I’d mess it up,” he said into your lips. “I wanted it to be right.” You held him close, one hand carding gently through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up.” He tilted his head, eyes bright. “You think?” “I think,” you said softly, “this might be the best song anyone’s ever written for me.” He smiled and whispered, “That’s good. Because I’m not writing another one about anyone else.” You closed the distance between the two of you again, pressing your lips softly against his.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee

ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹  dear anon, I am so sorry I needed 3 months to write this and I hope you enjoyed reading, regardless of the wait! I also hate tumblr. I just spend one and a half hour formatting this. Also in case someone wants to request anything! Please do! Just know I'll probably do it inbetween my other projects and might need...like 3 months lmao

[mysticaljiminie]

sjy - STRIKES OUT.

A SECRET PREGNANCY/FOUND FAMILY AU - FULL FIC

📌 Synopsis: Five years ago, Jake Sim walked away to chase his soccer dreams, never knowing he left more than just a broken heart behind. Now, he's back—unwittingly running a soccer clinic where his five-year-old daughter is signed up. The daughter he doesn’t know exists.

You tell yourself he won’t notice. You tell yourself he won’t put the pieces together.

Then she grins up at him, dimples flashing, and says: "We have the same last name! Maybe we're related!"

And just like that, your past collides with your present.

wc: 23.5K cw (18+ MDNI) : Secret child trope (yes, we’re here for the drama), Second-chance romance (aka two emotionally constipated people trying to figure it out), Athlete romance (if you like your men sweaty & angsty, this is for you), Unresolved tension & emotional pining, Co-parenting struggles & parental guilt (aka "I should have been there" in HD), A man getting absolutely wrecked by the realization he has a kid, "Why didn't you tell me?" followed by "I should have been there.", Father-daughter bonding that will ruin you (he missed five years and he's making up for every single second), A child who is so excited to meet her new favorite person (aka the man whose entire worldview is shattering in real-time), Unresolved feelings, lingering touches, and the "we were supposed to be forever" tension, Fighting in kitchens, whispering in hallways, standing too close but not touching, "I never stopped loving you" but neither of them can say it yet, Sparks still burning, even after five years apart, "I’m still angry, but I don’t know how to stop wanting you." Explicit sexual content.

-

"I'm making a list."

"Oh God, not this again," Tia's voice crackled through the speaker. "What is it this time? 'Top Ten Pizza Toppings Ranked by Emotional Stability'? 'Compelling Evidence That My Neighbor's Cat Is Plotting World Domination'?"

You snorted, balancing your phone between ear and shoulder as you scribbled on a notepad at the kitchen counter. The house was quiet for once—a rare moment of peace while Jade actually slept in after exhausting herself at soccer practice the night before.

"It's called 'Reasons Why Taking Jade to the Soccer Clinic is a Terrible Idea.' I'm already at number twelve."

"Only twelve? You're slipping. I remember the Great Ice Cream Debate of 2019 hit twenty-seven reasons why chocolate chip cookie dough is superior to mint chocolate chip."

"That's because you were wrong and I needed to be thorough."

"I stand by my controversial mint opinions," Tia said. Then her voice shifted. "Wait. Are you talking about the Jake Sim clinic? The Jake Sim? Your Jake?"

"He's not my Jake," you said automatically, though the words still stung five years later. You stared down at the list, tapping your pen against reason number four: His last name is literally on her registration form.

"Does he know?" Tia asked quietly. "About Jade?"

"Tia, Of course not," you sighed, glancing toward Jade's bedroom door, still safely closed. "We haven't spoken since he left. You know that."

"And you're actually considering taking her to this thing? Have you finally cracked? Do I need to stage an intervention? Because I've been practicing my concerned face in the mirror."

You circled reason number seven: Because YES, I am completely insane.

"Her teacher already told her about it. She's been talking about nothing else for days. You know how she gets about soccer." You drew a little soccer ball in the margin of your notepad. "If I suddenly say no, she'll be devastated."

"So make something up! Tell her you're sick. Tell her she's sick. Hell, tell her I'm sick and you need to come take care of Auntie Tia. I can be very convincing. Remember when I faked food poisoning to get us out of your ex-boss's wedding?"

"That's actually reason number nine," you admitted. "'Fake family emergency.'"

"See? This is why we're best friends. Same brain cell, just passing it back and forth since third grade."

You laughed despite yourself, getting up to refill your coffee. "But then what, Tia? Hide the fact that Jake is doing appearances all over the city this week? Keep her home from school so she doesn't hear about it from her friends? What about next time he comes back? She's obsessed with soccer. Our paths were bound to cross eventually."

There was a rustling sound on the other end, like Tia was sitting up in bed. "Okay, let's think worst-case scenario. You take her to this clinic. He sees her. Then what? You think he's just going to know she's his? Men are oblivious. My brother didn't notice when I dyed my hair purple for three weeks."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Have you seen my child lately? She's his clone. Same dimples. Same smile. Same way of running. She even does this thing with her hands when she's excited—" Your voice caught. "You've said it yourself a hundred times."

"Fine, so there's a resemblance. She could be a really dedicated fan who studied his goal celebrations on YouTube—"

"And her last name is Sim. It's on the registration form. There's going to be two hundred kids there, but how many five-year-old girls named Sim with his exact dimples and soccer style do you think he runs into?"

The silence on the other end confirmed your fears.

"I never should have given her his last name," you said quietly, adding it as reason number thirteen on your list.

"Hey, you were engaged. You were already using Sim yourself half the time. You thought he was coming back." Tia's voice softened. "You couldn't have known."

You closed your eyes, remembering those first few confusing months. The positive pregnancy test two weeks after Jake left. Your decision not to tell him while he was establishing himself with his new team—not wanting to be the reason he gave up his dream. Then the complication with your pregnancy that meant strict bed rest. By the time Jade was born, Jake was already becoming a household name in Europe, and the gulf between your worlds seemed impossible to bridge.

"Maybe I should just tell her we can't go," you said, staring at your list.

"After she's been talking about it for days? Good luck with that. You'll break her heart. And then I'll have to help you hide from a crying five-year-old, and honestly, my witness protection contact is on vacation this week."

You had already added that as reason number three: It would crush her if we don't go.

"I could come with you," Tia offered. "Moral support. Plus, I can create a diversion if necessary. I've always wanted to fake a medical emergency at a public event. I've been practicing my 'woman experiencing convenient fainting spell' face right after my 'concerned intervention' face."

Despite yourself, you smiled. "Thanks, but I think an ambulance might just draw more attention our way."

"You never let me have any fun," Tia pouted. "Fine, we'll go with Plan B. I have a blonde wig and three fake mustaches in my emergency kit."

"Absolutely not."

"Party pooper. So what are you going to do?"

Before you could answer, a bedroom door creaked open down the hall. A moment later, a small figure in soccer ball pajamas padded into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up in all directions, dimples already appearing despite being half-asleep.

"Mom? Who're you talking to?" Jade yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"It's Auntie Tia," you said, quickly flipping your notepad closed. "Want to say hi?"

Instantly, Jade was fully awake. She snatched the phone with surprising speed for someone who had been unconscious thirty seconds earlier.

"Auntie Tia! Guess what day it is! It's soccer clinic day! With a real pro player!" Jade jumped up and down, volume increasing with each word. "He plays in Europe! And he's going to teach us special moves!"

You watched your daughter's face light up, identical to the way Jake's used to when he talked about soccer. Same passion. Same uninhibited joy. Same ability to go from zero to one hundred in seconds flat.

"Uh-huh... uh-huh..." Jade nodded seriously into the phone. "Mom got me new cleats for today! They're blue! And they have special grippy things on the bottom!"

You could faintly hear Tia's animated responses. Your friend might be questioning your judgment, but she'd never let Jade down.

"I know! It's gonna be the best day ever!" Jade spun in an excited circle, nearly dropping the phone. "Auntie Tia wants to talk to you again," she said, thrusting the device back at you before racing off toward her room. "I gotta get ready!"

"She sounds thrilled," Tia said dryly when you put the phone back to your ear. "Ten bucks says she's wearing mismatched socks and her shirt inside out when she comes back."

"Yeah." You watched your daughter disappear around the corner, a tornado of energy and joy. "How am I supposed to take that away from her?"

"You're not," Tia sighed. "Which means you're going to the clinic, and I'm canceling my spa appointment to be on standby for emotional support ice cream and/or bail money."

You looked down at your list one more time before crumpling it into a ball.

"I guess I am."

"For what it's worth," Tia said, her voice serious now, "I think maybe it's time. Five years is a long time to keep a secret this big. And Jake deserves to know he has a daughter."

"I know," you admitted, the words barely audible. "That's the part that terrifies me."

From down the hall came the sounds of drawers being flung open and Jade's voice singing a made-up song about soccer balls.

"What if he hates me, Tia? For keeping her from him?"

"Then he's an idiot," Tia said firmly. "And I'll personally come over there and kick Europe's favorite striker right in his professionally-insured shins. You did what you thought was best at the time. That's all any of us can do."

You took a deep breath. "I better go help Hurricane Jade get ready before she tears her room apart."

"Call me the second anything happens," Tia ordered. "And I mean anything. If he so much as looks at you funny, I want details. And remember, the mustache offer stands."

"I will. The calling part, not the mustache part."

"And hey," Tia added before hanging up. "For what it's worth, I think Jade's lucky to have you as her mom. No matter what happens today."

You ended the call and stared at the crumpled list on your counter. With trembling fingers, you smoothed it out one more time and added a final line at the bottom:

Reason #14: Because it's time.

-

The community soccer field had been transformed into what could only be described as organized chaos. Hundreds of children in various neon-colored jerseys darted between exasperated parents, volunteer coaches with clipboards, and portable equipment stations. Massive banners featuring the logo of Jake's European team fluttered in the breeze, and a professional photography setup had been assembled near midfield.

You gripped Jade's tiny hand a little too tightly as you approached the registration table, your stomach performing Olympic-level gymnastics. Despite your best efforts to dress inconspicuously—baseball cap pulled low, oversized sunglasses, plain t-shirt—you felt like you were wearing a neon sign that flashed "HIDING A SECRET CHILD."

"Mom! Mom! You're squishing my hand!" Jade protested, trying to wriggle free. "I need that hand for high fives!"

"Sorry, sweetheart." You loosened your grip slightly, though every instinct screamed to hold on tighter. Just ahead, two women in matching polo shirts were checking in participants.

You'd spent the entire drive rehearsing what you'd say. Hi, yes, Jade Sim. No relation to Jake Sim. Just a bizarre coincidence. Like how there are probably lots of Smiths who aren't related to Will Smith. Or how all those Kardashians probably have no connection to each other...

"Next please!" called one of the registration volunteers, a perky blonde with a tournament-level cheerful smile.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak, but Jade lunged ahead of you.

"I'm Jade Sim and I'm here to play soccer!" she announced at a volume that made several nearby parents turn. Your daughter had never mastered the concept of an "indoor voice," even when outdoors.

The volunteer's smile didn't falter as she scanned her list. "Sim... Sim... ah, here you are. Jade Sim, age five." She checked something off and reached for a smaller clipboard. "And we have your waiver form... perfect. Here's your name tag, and you'll be in Group C with Coach Marcus."

Jade accepted the sticker name tag with reverence usually reserved for Olympic medals, then immediately slapped it onto her jersey slightly crooked.

"Will the famous player see my group?" Jade asked, bouncing on her toes.

The volunteer's smile somehow brightened even further. "Jake will be rotating through all the groups today. Everyone gets a chance to meet him." She looked up at you. "You can drop her with Group C over by the yellow cones, and parents can watch from the sidelines. We'll have a photo and autograph session at the end."

You nodded, unable to find your voice. This was really happening.

"Come on, Mom!" Jade tugged you toward the field, her excitement generating enough energy to power a small city. "I wanna be first in line!"

As you made your way across the field, you scanned the area for any sign of Jake. There was a small crowd gathered near a tent at the far end—probably where he was waiting. You let out a shaky breath. Maybe you could just drop Jade off, blend in with the other parents, and somehow avoid—

"Look Mom! I see him! I see him!" Jade shrieked, jumping up and down while pointing wildly.

And there he was.

Five years hadn't changed him as much as you'd expected. Same athletic build, same confident stride as he emerged from the tent surrounded by handlers and field staff. He wore his team's training kit, the number 10 emblazoned on his back—the same number that had been on the jersey he'd given you years ago, the one now hidden in the back of your closet.

Even from a distance, you could see his smile—that devastating combination of boyish charm and movie-star charisma that had magazines calling him "soccer's newest heartthrob." The same smile Jade had flashed at you this morning over breakfast.

"He's so cool!" Jade whispered in what she clearly thought was a whisper but was actually at normal human speaking volume. "I bet he can do a bazillion tricks!"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sure he can. Come on, let's find your group."

As you guided Jade toward the yellow cones, you pulled your cap lower and angled your body away from Jake's direction. Group C was already forming, about twenty children ranging from four to six years old, all vibrating with similar levels of excitement to Jade.

"Hi there!" A young man with curly hair and a whistle approached. "I'm Coach Marcus. Who do we have here?"

"Jade Sim!" your daughter announced before you could speak, thrusting out her hand for an aggressive handshake like you'd taught her. "I can kick with both feet!"

Coach Marcus's eyebrows lifted a fraction as he heard the last name, his eyes darting quickly to you, then back to Jade. "That's... impressive. Both feet, huh? Well, we'll definitely put that to the test today." He crouched down to Jade's level. "Any relation to our special guest?"

Your heart stopped.

"Who's the special guest?" Jade asked, genuinely confused.

Relief washed over you. Of course—you'd been so careful never to mention Jake's name around her, never to let her see his games on TV. She had no idea that she shared a last name with the soccer star she was so excited to meet.

"Jake Sim," Coach Marcus said, looking between you and Jade with obvious curiosity. "The professional player who's running the clinic today?"

Jade's eyes went comically wide. "We have the same last name? That is so cool! Mom! Did you hear that? I have the same name as a famous soccer player! Maybe we're related!"

Several nearby parents turned to look. A few were now staring with undisguised interest.

"It's a common name," you said quickly, your voice higher than normal. "Very common. In certain... regions."

Coach Marcus didn't look convinced but thankfully didn't pursue it. "Right! Well, parents can wait over by those bleachers. We'll get started with some basic drills, and Jake will make his way to our group in about twenty minutes."

"Can I stay with her?" you asked, desperate not to leave Jade. "She's never done one of these before, and she might get nervous—"

"I don't get nervous!" Jade proclaimed, already backing away from you toward the other kids. "I'm going to show him my special kick!"

Coach Marcus smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, we've got plenty of volunteers helping out. She'll be fine. Parents actually tend to be a bit distracting for the kids."

You had no choice. With a final reluctant wave to Jade, who was already introducing herself to every child in a five-foot radius, you retreated to the parent area.

The next fifteen minutes were torture. You sat rigid on the edge of the bleachers, alternating between watching Jade (who was currently demonstrating what appeared to be a dance move involving pretending to juggle invisible soccer balls) and nervously tracking Jake's progress through the groups.

He was currently with Group A, showing a technique for dribbling around cones. Even from a distance, you could see how natural he was with the kids—patient, encouraging, that infectious energy drawing them in. He high-fived a small boy who completed the drill, and the child looked like he might never wash that hand again.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Tia:

Has The Dimple Recognition Incident happened yet? Do I need to deploy the mustache?

Despite your anxiety, you smiled, typing back:

Not yet. He's working his way over. Jade just found out they have the same last name and announced it to everyone within earshot.

Three dots appeared immediately, then:

Of course she did. She's a mini nuclear reactor of chaos energy. Just like her dad.

The reminder made your stomach twist again.

You looked up just in time to see Jake finishing with Group B. Which meant he was heading to Group C next. To Jade.

Ten steps. He was ten steps away from discovering he had a daughter.

You couldn't breathe.

Jake jogged over to Group C, high-fiving Coach Marcus. Even from the distance, you could hear his laugh—that same warm sound that used to be the soundtrack to your happiest memories. The children immediately swarmed around him like excited puppies, and he knelt down to get on their level.

Jade, never one to wait her turn, pushed her way to the front of the group.

"Hi! I'm Jade Sim! We have the same last name! That's so cool! Can you show me how to do a bicycle kick? I've been practicing but I always fall on my butt!"

Time seemed to stop.

You watched as Jake's expression shifted from his standard friendly smile to puzzlement. He looked at Jade more closely, taking in her features. The dimples. The eyes. The way she couldn't stand still, shifting from foot to foot with excess energy.

"Sim?" he repeated, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. "Your last name is Sim?"

"Yep!" Jade nodded vigorously. "Just like you! Mom says it's a common name, but I've never met another Sim before, so I think it's special!"

Jake seemed to forget the other children momentarily, his focus entirely on Jade now. "How old are you, Jade?"

"I'm five! Almost five and a half! My birthday is January 22nd!" She held up one hand, fingers splayed wide. "I've been playing soccer since I was three!"

January 22nd. Exactly five years and nine months after you and Jake had said goodbye at the airport.

You could see the math happening behind his eyes, the calendar flipping in his mind. The color drained from his face so quickly several nearby parents glanced at him in concern.

"And... what's your mom's name?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Before Jade could answer, Coach Marcus stepped in, clearly sensing something was off. "Hey, why don't we get started with some passing drills? Everyone line up behind the blue cone!"

The children scrambled to follow directions, but Jake remained frozen in place, his eyes now scanning the parent area. Searching.

You should have run. You should have hidden. You should have done anything except sit there like a deer in headlights.

His eyes found yours.

Recognition dawned instantly, followed by shock, confusion, and something else—something that made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

Five years evaporated in a second.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Jake stood slowly. All around him, children were lining up, coaches were arranging drills, parents were chatting—but between you and Jake, the world had gone silent.

Then Jade's voice cut through everything:

"That's my mom over there! Mom! Come meet Jake Sim! We have the same last name!"

Jake's gaze shifted from you to Jade, then back to you. And in that moment, you saw it happen—the connection being made, the pieces falling into place. His expression transformed into one of absolute shock.

He swayed slightly on his feet.

"Jake? You okay, man?" Coach Marcus asked, noticing how pale he'd become.

Jake's mouth opened and closed without sound. He looked at Jade again—really looked at her—taking in her dimples, her eyes, the way she bounced on her toes exactly like he did before a big match.

"She's..." he whispered, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Jade tugged on his jersey. "Are you going to teach us the special kick now? I've been practicing!"

Jake's knees buckled.

He tried to grab onto Coach Marcus for support, missed, and went down hard on the turf. Several children gasped. A whistle blew somewhere.

"We need a medic!" someone shouted.

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing across the field as a small crowd gathered around Jake's collapsed form. Jade stood over him, looking concerned but also a little excited by the drama.

"Mom!" she called when she saw you. "The famous soccer player fainted! Is he okay? Did I say something wrong?"

You pushed through the circle of onlookers to find Jake flat on his back, eyes closed. A staff member was fanning him while another called into a walkie-talkie for the on-site medical team.

"Give him some space!" Coach Marcus was saying, trying to herd the children back.

Jake's eyelids fluttered, then opened. His gaze immediately locked onto yours, standing above him.

"You..." he managed weakly. "She's... is she...?"

Before you could answer, medical staff arrived with a stretcher. Jake struggled to sit up, still staring at you and Jade.

"Sir, please stay down," a paramedic instructed. "You may have hit your head."

"I'm fine," Jake insisted, his voice stronger now as adrenaline kicked in. He couldn't take his eyes off Jade, who was watching the whole scene with fascination. "I just... I need to..."

He tried to stand again but swayed dangerously. Two staff members caught him by the arms.

"Let's get you to the medical tent," one said firmly.

As they began leading him away, Jake looked back over his shoulder at you, his expression a storm of emotions.

"Wait!" he called out. "I need to talk to—"

"You can talk after we make sure you're okay," the paramedic interrupted.

You stood frozen, Jade's hand in yours, as they escorted Jake toward the medical tent. All around you, parents and children were whispering, phones were out recording, and you knew this incident would be all over social media within minutes.

"Mom," Jade tugged at your hand. "Why did he faint? Is he sick?"

Your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Tia. You could almost hear her saying "I told you so" already.

"I think," you said quietly to Jade, "he was just very surprised about something."

"About what?" Jade asked, her face scrunched in confusion.

You looked toward the medical tent where Jake had disappeared, then down at your daughter—his daughter—with his dimples and his smile and his boundless energy.

"About you, sweetheart. About you."

-

The staff area behind the main tent was hardly private—just a cordoned-off section of the parking lot with a few folding tables and chairs—but at least there weren't two hundred people watching. The clinic had ended fifteen minutes ago, most families already dispersed to their cars, children clutching signed photographs and participation certificates.

You stood with Jade's hand firmly in yours, your heart hammering against your ribs. After Jake's collapse on the field, you'd nearly fled, grabbing Jade and making a run for your car. But a polite yet insistent man in an expensive suit had intercepted you, introducing himself as Jay Park, Jake's manager.

"Mr. Sim would like a moment of your time after the event," he'd said with practiced smoothness. "He was particularly impressed with your daughter's enthusiasm."

The look in his eyes told you he knew exactly who Jade was.

Now you waited, Jade bouncing on her toes beside you, completely oblivious to the life-altering moment that was about to unfold.

"Mom, did you see me score two goals?" she asked for the third time. "And the famous player said my kick was really good!"

"I saw, sweetheart," you managed, scanning the area nervously.

"But then he got sick and had to leave," Jade continued, her face scrunching with concern. "Is he feeling better now? Coach Marcus said sometimes grown-ups get too hot and need to rest."

Before you could answer, movement caught your eye. Jake was approaching, still in his training kit but with a team jacket thrown over it. Beside him walked Jay, whose expression wavered between professional detachment and barely contained curiosity as he glanced between Jake and Jade.

Five years evaporated in an instant. Jake looked both exactly the same and completely different—still the man you'd known, but with something harder in his eyes, something that spoke of stadiums and spotlights and a life lived very far from yours.

Jade noticed them at the same moment you did. "Look! It's him! He's better!" She tugged at your hand. "Can I go say hi? Please, please, please?"

You couldn't find your voice. Jake was close enough now that you could see the storm of emotions on his face as he looked at Jade—wonder, confusion, hurt, and something that might have been joy fighting through the shock.

As they reached you, Jay leaned in toward Jake, his voice low but not quite low enough to miss.

"Jade and Jake. Her name's literally yours with one letter different. How original."

Jake shot him a warning look before turning his attention fully to you and Jade.

"I'll be right over there if you need anything," Jay said, not specifying which of you he was addressing, before walking toward the main tent with a final curious glance at Jade.

And then it was just the three of you.

"Hi again!" Jade broke the silence, her natural exuberance undimmed by the tension crackling between the adults. "I'm really glad you're not sick anymore! Mom says sometimes people faint when they get a big surprise. Did you get a surprise?"

Jake's eyes darted to you, then back to Jade. He crouched down to her level, a movement so natural it made your chest ache.

"I did get a surprise," he said softly. His voice—that voice you'd tried so hard to forget—sounded thick with emotion. "A really big one."

"Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?" Jade asked, head tilted with curiosity.

Jake's smile was immediate, genuine despite the circumstances. "It was a good surprise. The best surprise I've ever had, actually."

Jade beamed at him, dimples appearing in the exact same places as his. "I like surprises too! Especially birthday surprises. My birthday is in January and I'm going to be six!"

"January 22nd," Jake said automatically, then glanced up at you. "You mentioned that earlier."

You nodded silently, feeling like you might be sick.

"How did you know that?" Jade asked, eyes wide. "Are you psychic? My friend Emma says she's psychic but she can never guess what card I'm holding."

Jake looked at a loss for how to answer, his confident demeanor faltering. He glanced at you again, a silent question in his eyes.

"Jade, baby," you finally found your voice. "Why don't you go check out the snack table over there? I think they have cookies left."

"Cookies?" Jade's priorities immediately shifted. "Can I have two?"

"Just one for now," you said. "And stay where I can see you, okay?"

"Okay!" She started to race off, then stopped and turned back to Jake. "Thank you for teaching us cool soccer moves today! I'm going to practice every day until I can bend the ball just like you showed us!"

Jake looked like he might break apart right there. "You're welcome, Jade. And... you were really good out there. You're a natural."

She glowed at the praise before darting toward the snack table, already calling out to one of the volunteers about the promised cookies.

"Five years," Jake said quietly, once she was out of earshot. He stood to his full height, facing you directly for the first time. "Five years."

"Jake—"

"She's mine." It wasn't a question. "She's my daughter."

You nodded, your throat tight. "Yes."

"And you didn't think that was something I deserved to know?"

The hurt in his voice was worse than if he'd shouted. You'd rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head, prepared dozens of explanations, justifications. But now, faced with the reality of Jake standing before you, devastated by the secret you'd kept, all your carefully planned words abandoned you.

"I was going to tell you," you finally managed. "In the beginning. But you had just signed with the team in Europe. It was everything you'd ever wanted—"

"Not everything," he cut in. "Not by a long shot."

You pressed on. "I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you left. The long-distance thing was already so hard. We were already fighting about whether I would eventually join you or you would come back. I didn't want to add this pressure."

"So you decided not to tell me I was going to be a father? That was your solution?" The quiet control in his voice was slipping. "Did you think I wouldn't want to know?"

"I was going to tell you after you got settled," you continued, the words coming faster now. "But then there were complications with the pregnancy. The doctor put me on bed rest. I was scared, Jake. And you were so far away, already becoming this huge star, and I just... I didn't want to be the reason you gave everything up."

"That wasn't your decision to make." The muscle in his jaw ticked. "It should have been our decision. Together."

"I know that now," you admitted. "But by the time Jade was born, months had passed. You were all over the sports news, dating celebrities, living this life that seemed a universe away from midnight feedings and diaper changes. I convinced myself it was too late."

Jake ran both hands through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "So what was your plan? Never tell me? Let her grow up not knowing who her father is? What happens when she's older and sees me on TV? Or finds articles about me online?"

"I don't know," you confessed. "I've been figuring it out as I go. I never expected... this." You gestured vaguely at the soccer field. "When her school announced this clinic, I almost kept her home. But she was so excited, and I thought... what are the chances you'd even notice her among hundreds of kids?"

"Pretty good, apparently, when she has my face and my last name," Jake said with a mirthless laugh. "Why does she have my last name if you were never going to tell me about her?"

You looked away. "We were engaged, Jake. I was already using Sim half the time. And I guess... I wanted her to have that connection to you, even if she didn't know it."

Jake fell silent, his gaze drifting to where Jade was happily munching on a cookie, chatting with animated hand gestures to the volunteer. His expression softened instantly, the anger temporarily giving way to wonder.

"She's incredible," he said quietly.

"She is," you agreed. "She's smart and funny and kind. And she's obsessed with soccer, which I swear has nothing to do with me. That's all you. It's in her DNA or something."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The way she moves on the field... even untrained, she has instincts."

"She practices every day in our backyard. Drives the neighbors crazy."

The moment of connection flickered between you, then faded as reality reasserted itself.

"What happens now?" Jake asked, his voice lower. "Because I need you to understand something. I'm not walking away. Not again. Not from her."

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means I'm her father, and I want to be part of her life."

"You live in Europe, Jake. Your life is press conferences and training sessions and traveling for matches. How exactly do you see this working?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together. Like we should have five years ago."

Before you could respond, a small blur of energy crashed into Jake's legs.

"The cookies are so good!" Jade announced, beaming up at him. "Do you want one? I saved half for you because Mom says sharing is caring."

Jake looked momentarily stunned by the casual physical contact, by this child—his child—offering him a slightly mangled cookie with the same open-hearted generosity he remembered from you.

"I'd love one," he said, crouching down again to accept the offering. "Thank you, Jade."

"You're welcome!" She watched intently as he took a bite. "Good, right?"

"The best cookie I've ever had," he said seriously.

Jade nodded, satisfied with his assessment. "Mom, can we show Jake my trophy? The one I got at mini-league last month? I scored three goals in one game!"

Jake's eyes shot to you, another piece of his daughter's life he'd missed falling into place.

"Jade, honey," you began carefully. "Mr. Sim probably has to get going. He's very busy and—"

"Actually," Jake interrupted, "I'd really like to see that trophy sometime."

Jade's entire face lit up. "You could come over to our house! We have a soccer goal in the backyard and everything! Mom could make her special pasta! She only makes it for very important occasions."

The hopeful look on Jake's face was almost as hard to resist as Jade's. You felt cornered, events spiraling beyond your control.

"Maybe someday," you said vaguely.

"How about tomorrow?" Jake suggested, his eyes never leaving yours, challenge evident in them.

"Yes!" Jade bounced with excitement. "Tomorrow! Please, Mom? Please?"

You looked between them—the identical hopeful expressions, the same dimples, the same way of leaning forward slightly when anticipating something.

This was it. The moment your carefully constructed world collapsed. The moment your daughter's life changed forever. The moment you had to face the consequences of a decision made five years ago.

"Okay," you finally said. "Tomorrow."

Jake's expression was unreadable—a complex mix of triumph, hurt, anticipation, and lingering anger. "I'll bring dessert," he said simply.

Jade cheered, already firing questions at Jake about his favorite foods, favorite colors, whether he liked movies about talking animals. He answered each one with a patience and focus that belied the emotional tsunami he must be experiencing.

Over Jade's head, his eyes met yours—intense, determined, and filled with a silent promise that tomorrow would only be the beginning.

The fairy tale you'd told yourself—that you could keep Jade's paternity secret forever, that your paths would never cross with Jake's again—had crumbled in the space of a single afternoon.

Tomorrow, Jake Sim would walk back into your life.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

-

By the time the doorbell rang at 6:02 PM, you'd changed your outfit four times, cleaned the entire house twice, and nearly canceled the whole thing approximately seventeen times. Only the memory of Jade's excitement—she'd spent the morning making a welcome sign decorated with wobbly soccer balls—had stopped you from texting Jake with some hastily constructed emergency.

"He's HERE!" Jade shouted from the living room, where she'd been perched by the window for the last forty-five minutes. She raced to the door, skidding across the hardwood in her socks, her special occasion dress (chosen after trying on her entire wardrobe) fluttering behind her.

"Wait, Jade—" But she was already yanking the door open, your warnings about stranger danger apparently forgotten in her excitement.

"Hi Jake!" she beamed, bouncing on her toes. "You're right on time! Mom said you'd be here at six and it's six! I've been waiting forever!"

You rounded the corner from the kitchen to find Jake standing in your doorway, looking simultaneously at ease and completely out of place. He'd traded his athletic gear for dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt, but even dressed casually, there was something about him that screamed 'professional athlete.' Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the watch that probably cost more than your car.

"I brought dessert," he said, holding up a bakery box. His eyes found yours over Jade's head, and the careful neutrality in his expression told you he was still processing everything. Still upset.

"And flowers!" Jade pointed out, noticing the bouquet in his other hand. "Are those for Mom? They're so pretty!"

"They are." Jake handed the bouquet to you with a formality that made your chest ache. Gone was the man who used to bring you wildflowers picked from the side of the road, who once filled your apartment with paper flowers he'd made himself when he was broke and couldn't afford real ones. "Thank you for having me over."

The subtext was clear: Thank you for finally allowing me into my daughter's life.

"Come in," you managed, stepping aside. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Jake, do you want to see my room?" Jade grabbed his hand without hesitation. "I have a whole wall of soccer stuff! And my trophy! And my cleats collection! And—"

"Jade," you interrupted gently. "Let's give Jake a minute to get settled first."

"It's okay," Jake said, his eyes softening as he looked at Jade. "I'd love to see your room."

"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist in victory, then tugged Jake down the hallway. "It's this way! The one with the stars on the door! Mom painted them for me because stars are my second favorite thing after soccer!"

You watched them go, Jake's tall frame following your daughter's bouncing form, and felt a wave of emotion so complex you couldn't even name it. Setting the flowers aside—you'd find a vase later—you retreated to the kitchen to finish dinner preparations and gather your thoughts.

Through the walls, you could hear Jade's excited chatter and Jake's deeper responses, though you couldn't make out the words. Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen. Just as you were about to call them for dinner, they reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

Jake's expression had changed. There was still a tightness around his eyes, but something else had softened. He was holding a small framed photo—the one from Jade's nightstand of her third birthday, blowing out candles on a soccer ball cake, her face lit with delight.

"Jade was just showing me her... everything," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "She's got quite the medal collection already."

"Mini league championships," you explained, busying yourself with the pasta. "Her team won last season."

"I showed him my scrapbook too!" Jade announced, climbing onto her usual chair at the kitchen table. "The one with all my important memories!"

Your stomach dropped. The scrapbook had photos from every stage of Jade's life—the hospital, her first steps, first day of preschool—all the moments Jake had missed.

"It was very impressive," Jake said, setting the photo down on the counter. His eyes never left yours. "Very thorough."

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Jade remained blissfully oblivious, swinging her legs and arranging her silverware just so.

"Dinner's ready," you announced, grateful for the distraction. "Jade, can you get the water pitcher from the fridge?"

The meal itself was painfully awkward, saved only by Jade's non-stop commentary. She told Jake about her teacher, her best friend Emma, how she wanted to be a professional soccer player and a veterinarian and maybe an astronaut. Jake listened attentively, asking questions, smiling at her jokes, even as you felt his attention split between Jade's stories and the questions he clearly wanted to ask you.

"—and that's why I'm not allowed to bring frogs in the house anymore," Jade concluded one particularly animated story that you'd only half-heard. "Right, Mom?"

"Right, honey," you confirmed automatically, though you'd missed most of the context.

"Speaking of rules," Jake said, seizing the opening, "I'd love to know more about Jade's routine. What time does she usually go to bed? What's her favorite subject in school? Is she allergic to anything? Does she have any medical conditions I should know about?"

The rapid-fire questions had an edge to them, reminding you that this pleasant dinner was just the surface. Underneath lay five years of absence he was determined to make up for in a single evening.

"I go to bed at eight on school nights and eight-thirty on weekends!" Jade answered before you could speak. "And my favorite subject is P.E., obviously. But I also like art because we get to use glitter sometimes."

"Any allergies?" Jake pressed, looking at you now.

"No allergies," you said quietly. "She had some respiratory issues as a baby—croup that turned into pneumonia when she was about eighteen months. She was hospitalized for three days. But she's been healthy since then."

Something flashed across Jake's face—pain, anger, maybe both. Another crisis he hadn't been there for.

"I was really sick," Jade confirmed solemnly. "Mom slept in the hospital with me and everything. But I don't remember it because I was too little."

"I see." Jake took a careful sip of water.

"I'll put together a file for you," you offered, trying to defuse the tension. "Medical records, school reports, everything."

"That would be... helpful," he acknowledged, though his tone suggested it was the bare minimum.

The conversation shifted to safer topics through the rest of dinner, though you caught Jake studying Jade's mannerisms with an intensity that suggested he was cataloguing every detail, making up for lost time. The way she talked with her hands when excited—just like him. The way she tilted her head when considering a question—also like him. The dimple that appeared on only one cheek when she gave a half-smile—unmistakably his.

After dinner, Jade insisted on showing Jake her soccer skills in the backyard. You watched from the kitchen window as she demonstrated her "special move," a surprisingly coordinated series of dribbles ending with a shot on the small goal set up against the fence. Jake crouched beside her, making subtle adjustments to her form, and you could see Jade soaking up every word like a sponge.

They were so alike it was almost painful to watch.

When they came back inside, you had dessert set out—the chocolate cake Jake had brought, sliced and plated.

"Jade, after dessert it's bath time," you reminded her.

"But Jake just got here!" she protested. "Can't I stay up extra late? It's a special occasion!"

"Actually," Jake interjected, "I was hoping I could talk to your mom alone for a bit after you go to bed."

The way he said it made your pulse quicken. The temporary truce established during dinner was about to end.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" Jade asked, looking up at Jake with chocolate-smeared cheeks and hopeful eyes. "You could teach me more soccer moves! And meet my stuffed animals! You only met half of them!"

Jake glanced at you, a challenge in his eyes. "That depends on what your mom and I discuss tonight."

"Please, Mom?" Jade turned those same hopeful eyes on you. "Can Jake come back tomorrow? And the next day? And the next day?"

"We'll see, sweetheart," you said, avoiding both their gazes. "Let's finish dessert first."

An hour later, after Jade's bath, two bedtime stories (one read by Jake at Jade's insistence), and finally getting her to sleep (complicated by the excitement of having a visitor), you returned to the living room to find Jake standing by your bookshelf, examining the framed photos.

"She's finally asleep," you said, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"Answers," Jake replied without turning around. "I want answers."

You sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "Ask whatever you want to know."

Now he did turn, fixing you with a stare that pinned you in place. "Why didn't you tell me? The real reason. Not what you think I want to hear, not what you've told yourself. The truth."

You took a deep breath. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of everything. Of telling you and having you resent us for complicating your new life. Of telling you and having you give up your dream to come back. Of raising a child with someone living on another continent. Of what would happen to Jade if we tried and failed at making it work."

Jake crossed his arms. "So you decided the best solution was to just cut me out entirely? Not even give me the chance?"

"I told myself I was waiting for the right time," you admitted. "But the longer I waited, the harder it became to imagine how that conversation would go. Weeks turned into months, months into years. And then..."

"And then what? Five years passed and you thought, 'Well, too late now'?"

"It wasn't like that," you protested, though part of you knew he wasn't entirely wrong. "Every birthday, every milestone, I thought about telling you. I almost did, countless times."

"But you didn't." His voice was flat. "Instead, you named her after me, gave her my last name, and kept her a secret. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To discover you have a five-year-old daughter who knows every Disney movie by heart but doesn't know who her father is?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears threatening. "I know that doesn't fix anything, but I am."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar it made your heart twist. "She has a whole life I know nothing about. First words, first steps, first day of school—all of it, gone. I can never get that back."

"I know," you said, your voice small. "And that's on me."

He paced across the living room, energy radiating off him in waves. "What have you told her about me? About her father?"

"Not much," you admitted. "That her dad is a soccer player who lives far away. That he's not part of our lives. She started asking more questions recently, but I've... deflected."

"So when were you planning to tell her the truth? When she's ten? Fifteen? When she googles me one day and puts it together herself?"

The question hit you like a physical blow because you had never had a good answer for it, even in your own mind. "I don't know," you confessed. "I should have had a plan, but I didn't. I just kept pushing it off."

Jake stopped pacing and fixed you with a stare. "Well, time's up. Because I want to be in her life—fully, completely in her life. I want joint custody."

Your heart dropped. "Jake, you live in Europe. Your schedule is insane. How would that even work?"

"I'll figure it out," he said, with the same determination that had taken him from local soccer star to international phenomenon. "My contract has a clause about family emergencies. I can get time now, and when the season's over in three months, I'll have more flexibility."

"And then what? She shuttles back and forth between continents? That's not stability, Jake."

"And growing up without her father is?" he countered. "I missed five years. I won't miss any more."

"I'm not saying you can't be in her life," you clarified. "I'm saying we need to be realistic about what that looks like."

"Realistic," he repeated, the word sharp with disdain. "Was it 'realistic' when you decided not to tell me I had a daughter?"

You had no good answer for that.

"I want everything," Jake continued, his voice calmer but no less intense. "School records, medical history, photos, videos—everything from the last five years. I want to know her favorite foods, her fears, what makes her laugh, what comforts her when she's upset. I want to know what she was like as a baby, as a toddler, every stage I missed."

"Okay," you agreed quietly. "You can have all of that."

"And I want to tell her I'm her father. Soon. Not some vague 'someday' that never comes."

This made your chest tighten with anxiety. "Jake, we need to be careful about that. She's five. This is a lot for her to process."

"And whose fault is that?" The words hung in the air between you, sharp with accusation.

"Mine," you acknowledged. "But that doesn't change the fact that we need to handle this carefully for her sake."

Jake was silent for a long moment, conflict playing across his features. Finally, he let out a long breath. "Fine. We'll talk to a child psychologist, get professional advice on how to tell her. But it happens within the next month. I won't be a stranger to my own daughter any longer than necessary."

You nodded, relieved at this small concession. "That's fair."

"And in the meantime, I want to see her regularly. Every day while I'm in town, and we'll figure out video calls when I go back. I want to be at her games, her school events, everything I can possibly make."

"Of course," you said. "She'd love that."

Jake's expression softened marginally. "She's amazing," he said, almost to himself. "When she was showing me her room, the way she explained everything with such... enthusiasm. She's got this incredible energy."

"Gets that from you," you said without thinking. "She's been like that since she could crawl. Always moving, always excited about something."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The soccer obsession too?"

"One hundred percent you. I swear I never pushed it. She picked up a ball when she was two and that was it. Love at first kick."

For a moment, the tension between you eased, replaced by the shared wonder of the person you'd created together. Then reality reasserted itself.

"I'm still angry," Jake said quietly. "I don't know if or when that will change."

"I understand," you said, meaning it. "You have every right to be."

He checked his watch. "It's getting late. I should go. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, like I promised Jade."

"Okay."

Jake moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. I haven't told my parents yet. About Jade."

Your stomach dropped. Jake's parents had loved you once. You'd been planning a life together, marriage, family. How would they react to knowing you'd kept their grandchild from them for five years?

"When are you going to tell them?" you asked.

"Soon. They're flying in next week. I wanted to meet Jade first, to..." he trailed off, then finished, "to see for myself."

The implication stung, though you couldn't blame him. Of course he'd needed to confirm for himself that Jade was his.

"They'll want to meet her," he continued. "They have a right to know their granddaughter."

"Of course," you agreed, though the prospect filled you with dread.

Jake opened the door, then looked back at you one last time. "For what it's worth, you've done an amazing job with her. She's... perfect."

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

You sank back onto the couch, emotional exhaustion washing over you in waves. Through the half-open door of Jade's bedroom, you could see her sleeping peacefully, unaware that her world had just fundamentally changed.

Tomorrow, Jake would be back. He would continue piecing together the life of his daughter. And sooner than you'd ever planned, Jade would learn the truth: that the professional soccer player she'd been so excited to meet was her father.

The carefully constructed life you'd built was falling apart.

Or perhaps, a small voice in your mind suggested, it was finally coming together the way it should have been all along.

-

"Higher! You have to kick it higher!" Jade called from the backyard, hands on her hips in a pose of exaggerated exasperation that made her look startlingly like a miniature coach.

Jake laughed, adjusting his technique to send the soccer ball sailing high into the air. "Like this?"

"Perfect!" Jade's face lit up as she positioned herself beneath the descending ball, calculating its trajectory with surprising precision for a five-year-old.

You watched from the kitchen window, coffee mug clutched between your hands, as Jade attempted to trap the ball with her chest like she'd seen professional players do. Instead, it bounced off her head and rolled away, sending her into peals of laughter.

The day had started early—too early, with Jade bouncing into your room at 6:15 AM asking if it was "Jake time yet." When he'd arrived promptly at ten, she'd practically dragged him through the house to show him her new soccer cleats, her collection of medals ("Some of them are just for participating but these three are for winning"), and the scrapbook of soccer cards she'd been collecting.

Jake had brought a gift—a professional-grade junior soccer ball with the logo of his European team—which had immediately cemented his status as Jade's new favorite person.

"Mom!" Jade's voice pulled you from your thoughts as she raced toward the back door, Jake following at a more measured pace. "Jake says I have natural talent! That's a real thing that real coaches say!"

"Is that so?" you asked, unable to hold back a smile at her enthusiasm.

"It is," Jake confirmed, ducking slightly to enter through the back door. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his hair was charmingly disheveled from chasing after Jade for the past hour. "She has great instincts. Her spatial awareness is excellent for her age."

"I have special awareness," Jade repeated proudly, though clearly not understanding what it meant.

"Spatial," Jake corrected gently.

"That's what I said! Special!" Jade zipped past you to the refrigerator. "I need a juice box because athletes need to stay hydrated. Jake told me that's very important. Do you want one too, Jake? We have apple and grape and the gross one with vegetables that Mom thinks I don't know about."

Jake caught your eye over Jade's head, amusement dancing in his expression. "I'll take apple, thanks."

You'd expected today to be awkward, tense—a continuation of last night's emotional confrontation. Instead, Jade's presence had created a buffer, her boundless energy requiring both adults to focus on her rather than the complicated emotions between them.

"I was thinking we could all go to the park after lunch," you suggested, pulling sandwich ingredients from the refrigerator. "They have a bigger field there."

"Can we get ice cream after?" Jade asked immediately, strategic as always.

"We'll see," you answered automatically.

"That means yes," Jade stage-whispered to Jake. "It always means yes."

Jake's laugh was genuine, unguarded in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade was his daughter. "Good to know your negotiation tactics."

"What's nego... that word you said?"

"Negotiation. It means figuring out how to get what you want."

Jade nodded solemnly. "I'm very good at that. Mom says I should be a lawyer because I never stop arguing."

"I can see that," Jake said, accepting the juice box Jade thrust into his hands. "You make a strong case for ice cream."

"What's your favorite flavor?" Jade asked, climbing onto her chair at the kitchen table. "Mine's chocolate with the rainbow sprinkles. Sometimes I get it in a cone but that's messier."

Jake shook his head with a small smile. "I don't really eat ice cream much anymore. Sweet things aren't really my thing these days."

Jade looked absolutely horrified, as if he'd just admitted to not believing in gravity. "You don't like ice cream? But everybody likes ice cream!"

"My nutritionist has me on a pretty strict diet," Jake explained, clearly amused by her reaction. "Professional athletes have to be careful about what they eat."

"That sounds terrible," Jade declared with the dramatic conviction only a five-year-old could muster. "When I'm a professional athlete, I'm still going to eat ice cream. And cake. And cookies."

"That's exactly what your mom used to say about diets," Jake said before he could catch himself, glancing at you with sudden uncertainty.

But Jade just nodded enthusiastically. "Mom's really smart about desserts. We have the same taste buds."

You busied yourself making sandwiches, aware of Jake's eyes on you but not ready to meet his gaze. The ease with which he and Jade interacted was both heartwarming and painful—a glimpse of what should have been all along.

"Peanut butter and banana for Jade," you announced, setting a plate in front of her. "Turkey and cheese for the adults."

"Did you cut it in triangles?" Jade asked suspiciously, examining her sandwich.

"Would I dare serve it any other way?" You mock-gasped, hand over your heart.

Jade giggled. "You forgot once."

"And I'll never live it down, apparently," you said to Jake with an eye roll.

"Triangles taste better," Jade explained to Jake with the conviction of someone stating an irrefutable scientific fact. "Rectangles are just wrong."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jake said solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Lunch passed with Jade dominating the conversation, jumping from topic to topic with the frenetic energy that characterized everything she did. She told Jake about her best friend Emma, her teacher Ms. Rivera, the class pet frog she wasn't allowed to bring home ("Mom has a no amphibians rule, which is so unfair"), and her upcoming soccer tournament.

"Will you come to my game?" she asked Jake suddenly, mid-bite. "It's next Saturday. I'm number ten, just like your jersey! Mom got me that number special."

Your eyes met Jake's across the table, a silent exchange passing between you. That number hadn't been a coincidence, and you both knew it.

"I'd love to come to your game," Jake said, his voice warm but with an undertone only you would recognize—the weight of a father being invited to his daughter's game for the first time.

"Yes!" Jade pumped her fist victoriously. "You can meet my coach and my team and show them some of your special moves!"

"We'll see about that," you interjected gently. "Jake might want to just watch."

Jade looked scandalized. "But he's famous! Everyone will think it's so cool if he shows us stuff!"

"Let's talk about that later," you suggested, seeing Jake's expression grow more complex. Neither of you had discussed how to handle his public presence in relation to Jade—not to mention the questions that would inevitably arise if Europe's star striker started showing up at a five-year-old's soccer games.

After lunch, you all headed to the park as planned. Jade insisted on bringing her new soccer ball, clutching it to her chest the entire car ride while peppering Jake with questions from the back seat.

"Do you know how to do a rainbow kick? Can you teach me? How many goals have you scored? Have you ever broken a bone? My friend Tyler broke his arm falling out of a tree but I would never fall out of a tree because I'm a good climber, right Mom?"

You caught Jake's eye as he turned slightly in the passenger seat, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She never stops, you mouthed silently.

Just like me, he mouthed back, and something warm unfurled in your chest at the easy acknowledgment of the traits Jade had inherited from him.

At the park, Jade immediately dragged Jake to the open field, demanding he show her "professional tricks." A few other children gravitated toward them, drawn by Jade's enthusiasm and Jake's obvious skill as he demonstrated simple footwork patterns.

You settled on a nearby bench, allowing yourself a moment to simply observe. Jake was patient, breaking down movements into steps Jade could follow, praising her efforts even when she stumbled. When she finally managed a basic step-over move, his genuine pride matched her excitement.

"Mom! Did you see that? I did it just like Jake!"

"I saw, sweetheart! That was amazing!"

As the afternoon progressed, more children joined their impromptu clinic. Jake seemed in his element, guiding each child with the same attention he gave Jade. You noticed a few parents doing double-takes as they recognized him, whispering to each other and discreetly taking photos with their phones.

Eventually, Jade ran over to you, cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness. "This is the best day ever! Jake knows everything about soccer! And he likes all the same things I like! He even does the victory dance the same way I do! Watch!"

She demonstrated an elaborate celebratory move involving a spin and fist pump that was, indeed, eerily similar to Jake's signature goal celebration.

"That's amazing, honey."

"I didn't even show it to him, Mom! He just does it the same! Isn't that cool?"

"Very cool," you agreed, smoothing back her sweaty hair. "Are you ready for that ice cream now?"

"Yes! Jake, we're getting ice cream!" she called over her shoulder. 

Jake joined you, slightly out of breath but looking more relaxed than you'd seen him since his return. "Ice cream sounds perfect."

"Can I go on the swings first?" Jade asked, already edging toward the playground. "Just for five minutes?"

"Okay, but only five," you agreed, knowing full well it would be at least fifteen minutes before you'd successfully extract her.

As Jade raced off, you and Jake were left alone for the first time that day.

"She's incredible," he said, eyes following her across the playground. "I know I keep saying that, but..."

"She is," you agreed. "And she's completely taken with you."

Jake sat beside you on the bench, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful space between you.

"Thank you for today," he said quietly. "For letting me spend time with her."

"Of course. She's your—" You stopped, glancing around to make sure no little ears could overhear. "She's your daughter. You have every right to know her."

Jake's expression softened. "I was prepared to be angry today. To keep fighting about the past." He watched Jade swinging higher and higher, fearless as always. "But it's hard to stay angry when she's so... full of life."

"She has that effect on people," you said with a small smile. "It's impossible to be in a bad mood around Hurricane Jade."

"Wonder where she gets that from," Jake said, a hint of his old teasing tone returning.

"Oh, that's all you. The energy, the charm, the inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds—pure Sim genetics."

He laughed, and for a moment it was almost like before—before Europe, before the breakup, before five years of silence and secrets.

"I meant what I said earlier, about her having natural talent," Jake said, shifting the conversation back to safer territory. "With the right coaching, she could go far."

"I've tried to encourage it," you admitted. "Signed her up for every age-appropriate program I could find. But there's only so much I know about proper technique."

"I could help with that," Jake offered cautiously. "If you're okay with it."

"I'd like that," you said softly. "She would too, obviously."

A comfortable silence settled between you, both watching Jade as she abandoned the swings for the climbing structure.

"About last night," Jake began.

"I have all the photos and videos organized," you said quickly. "After Jade goes to bed, I can show you everything. Her first steps, first words, birthdays—all of it."

Jake studied your face for a moment before nodding. "I'd like that."

"MOM! JAKE! WATCH THIS!" Jade shouted from the top of the playground, preparing to slide down a pole firefighter-style.

You both instinctively tensed, ready to rush forward if needed, but she executed the move with practiced ease, landing triumphantly at the bottom.

"Your heart stops a dozen times a day with her," you murmured.

"I can see that," Jake said with a mixture of pride and newfound parental concern.

"Ice cream time?" Jade called, already running toward you.

"Ice cream time," you confirmed, standing from the bench.

"Can I get sprinkles and chocolate sauce?" Jade asked, slipping her small hand into Jake's automatically, as if she'd been doing it her whole life.

You saw Jake freeze for just a moment, staring down at their joined hands with an expression of wonder, before he gently squeezed her fingers in response.

"I think this counts as a special occasion," he said, looking to you for confirmation.

"A very special occasion," you agreed, your voice catching slightly as you watched your daughter walking hand-in-hand with her father for the first time.

Jade looked up at Jake with pure adoration. "I've had so much fun with you today! You're really good at everything I like to do. Mom says I'm picky about people, but I think you're the best."

"Well, that's quite a compliment," Jake said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think you're pretty great too."

"Can you come over again tomorrow? And the next day? And maybe forever?"

"Jade," you cautioned gently, seeing Jake's expression.

"I'll definitely come back tomorrow," Jake promised. "We still have a lot of soccer moves to practice."

"And then Mom can show you my baby pictures!" Jade said brightly. "I was super cute."

"Still are," Jake said, swinging their joined hands playfully.

As you walked behind them toward the ice cream stand, you watched Jake bend down to listen intently to whatever world-changing observation Jade was now sharing. Their matching profiles, the same animated way of speaking, the identical dimples when they smiled—it was like seeing double across a generation.

These were the moments you'd imagined in your quietest thoughts over the years, the ones you'd convinced yourself would never happen. Now that they were unfolding before your eyes, you found yourself fighting back unexpected tears.

Whatever happened between you and Jake, however complicated your own relationship might be, today had made one thing clear: Jade had found her father. And despite everything, he was already proving to be exactly what she needed.

The rest would have to be figured out one day at a time.

-

"Higher! Throw it higher!"

Jade's delighted squeals had faded an hour ago, replaced by the peaceful quiet of evening as you sat on your living room floor surrounded by photo albums, memory boxes, and a laptop open to years of digital archives. After a full day of Jake and Jade's energetic bonding, she'd finally crashed, falling asleep mid-sentence during her second bedtime story.

Now, in the hushed stillness, Jake sat across from you, cross-legged on the carpet, holding Jade's first pair of soccer cleats—tiny pink things she'd insisted on wearing everywhere, even to bed.

"She was two and a half when she got these," you explained, sorting through a box of keepsakes. "Saw them at the store and had an absolute meltdown until I bought them. They were two sizes too big."

Jake turned the miniature cleats over in his hands, his expression softening in a way it hadn't when discussing the more difficult aspects of your past. "She was walking by then. Running?"

"Running, jumping, climbing everything in sight. She was an early walker—ten months. Never crawled much." You hesitated before adding, "Just like you."

His eyes met yours, a flash of something—surprise, connection, hurt that he hadn't known this parallel—before returning to the cleats.

"I found it," you said, pulling out an external hard drive. "All the videos. I had everything digitized last year."

You connected it to your laptop, acutely aware of Jake moving closer, his shoulder nearly touching yours as he positioned himself to see the screen. The faint scent of his cologne—different from what he'd worn five years ago, but with the same underlying notes—stirred memories you'd tried hard to suppress.

"I organized it chronologically," you said, opening the earliest folder. "These are from the hospital."

Jake leaned forward, his breath catching as the first image filled the screen: a newborn Jade, red-faced and wrinkled, wrapped in a pink blanket.

"She was so small," he whispered.

"Six pounds, four ounces. Smaller than the doctors expected." You clicked to the next image. "Twenty hours of labor, and then she just... arrived. Changed everything in an instant."

Jake was silent, eyes fixed on the screen as you cycled through those first photos—Jade sleeping, Jade crying, Jade with eyes barely open. You in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant. Every image seemed to hit him like a physical blow.

"I wasn't there," he said quietly.

The accusation from before was gone, replaced by simple grief. You didn't know what to say, so you kept clicking through photos.

"Did you... was anyone with you? During the birth?"

"Tia," you answered. "She held my hand through the whole thing. Called me every name in the book when I refused the epidural at first."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Sounds like Tia."

You opened the video folder, hesitating over the first one. "This is her first day home. I was a mess, hadn't slept in days. It's not exactly America's Funniest Home Videos material."

"I want to see it," Jake said. "All of it."

You pressed play. The video showed your apartment—your old place, before you'd moved to the house—with baby items scattered everywhere. The camera shakily focused on a bassinet where Jade slept, then panned to you curled up on the couch, half-asleep yourself.

Tia's voice came from behind the camera: "And here we have the natural habitat of the New Mom, surrounded by burp cloths and takeout containers. Note the attractive milk stains on her shirt and the distinctive dark circles under her eyes."

In the video, you flipped off the camera without opening your eyes. "I will murder you in your sleep if you don't let me nap while she's napping."

"Just documenting the miracle of motherhood for posterity," Tia's voice singsonged. The camera moved back to Jade, who was beginning to squirm. "Uh oh, the tiny dictator awakens. Your public demands an audience, Your Majesty."

Present-day you cringed, reaching to skip ahead, but Jake gently caught your wrist. "Don't. I want to see."

On screen, you dragged yourself off the couch, hair a mess, wearing what were clearly Jake's old sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. You scooped up Jade, who immediately quieted against your chest.

"She knows her mama," Tia's voice said softly.

Video-you looked directly at the camera, eyes tired but determined. "We're figuring it out, aren't we, little one? Just you and me."

Jake's hand was still on your wrist, his touch burning against your skin. You felt him inhale sharply at your words in the video, felt the subtle tension through his shoulders.

"I should have been there," he said again, but the anger from before had transformed into something more complex—regret, loss, a quiet ache.

"You didn't know," you said softly, no longer defending yourself but simply stating a fact.

He let go of your wrist, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. You clicked through more videos: Jade's first real smile, her first laugh, her determined attempts to roll over. Jake watched them all with fierce concentration, as if trying to absorb every moment he'd missed. He asked questions about each milestone—when, where, how—creating a mental timeline of his daughter's life.

"Wait—go back," he said suddenly when you clicked past a video thumbnail. "Was that...?"

You returned to the previous screen. "Ah. Her first birthday."

Jake pointed to the image. "Is that my jersey?"

Your cheeks warmed. The thumbnail clearly showed Jade sitting in a high chair, cake smeared across her face, wearing a tiny replica of Jake's national team jersey.

"She was going through a phase where she'd only wear red," you explained weakly. "It was the only red thing I could find in her size."

Jake gave you a look that said he didn't believe you for a second. "You kept track of my career."

It wasn't a question. You sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it.

"Yes. I followed your games when I could. Jade was too young to understand, but... I thought someday she should know what her father accomplished." You hesitated. "After you made the national team, I bought the jersey. She loved it—wouldn't take it off for days."

Something shifted in Jake's expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest hint of the smile that used to make your heart race. Before he could respond, you quickly pressed play on the video.

Your living room filled with the sounds of "Happy Birthday" being sung off-key, followed by Jade smashing both hands into her birthday cake with wild abandon. The camera panned to show a small gathering—Tia, your parents, a couple of friends—but focused primarily on Jade, who was now wearing more cake than she'd eaten.

Jake leaned forward, transfixed by the sight of his daughter's joy. When the video ended, he didn't immediately speak, just stared at the frozen final frame of Jade grinning with chocolate-covered dimples.

"She looks exactly like you," you said without thinking.

"She has your eyes," he countered quietly. "Your laugh, too."

The observation surprised you. "You think so? Everyone always says she's your mini-me."

"There's a lot of you in her." Jake turned slightly, studying your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "The way she tilts her head when she's considering something seriously. The little crease between her eyebrows when she concentrates. That's all you."

You hadn't expected him to notice such details about you, let alone remember them after five years. The fact that he had been paying such close attention—not just to Jade, but to you—stirred something you'd long tried to suppress.

"I have more videos," you said, breaking the moment before it became too charged. "Her first steps are somewhere in here."

As you scrolled through folders, Jake reached for one of the photo albums on the floor. "What's this one?"

"Preschool years," you said, recognizing the cover. "Ages two to four."

He opened it carefully, turning pages with a gentleness that contrasted with his athletic build. Each new image seemed to fascinate him—Jade at the beach, Jade finger-painting, Jade dressed as a lion for Halloween.

"She's fearless," he observed, pausing on a photo of three-year-old Jade at the top of a playground structure clearly designed for older children.

"Terrifyingly so," you agreed. "I've gotten more gray hairs from her daredevil stunts than from anything else in my life."

Jake's finger traced the outline of Jade's face in the photo. "I used to drive my mom crazy climbing trees. The higher, the better."

"She does the same thing! Last summer, I found her three branches up in the neighbor's oak tree. Nearly had a heart attack."

He laughed, a genuine sound that caught you both by surprise. For a moment, the weight of the past five years seemed to lift slightly. Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, you were back in your old apartment, planning weekend hikes and arguing over movie choices—before contracts and continents and complications.

"Here it is," you said, finding the video you'd been searching for. "First steps, thirteen months old."

Jake shifted closer as the video began playing. On screen, a wobbly Jade stood holding onto the edge of the coffee table, determination written across her tiny face.

Your voice came from behind the camera: "Come on, sweetheart. Come to Mama."

Jade looked directly at the camera, grinned her already mischievous grin, and took one tentative step away from the table. Then another. Three shaky steps before plopping down on her diaper-padded bottom.

"You did it!" your voice exclaimed as the camera shook with excitement. "Oh my god, you did it!"

The video captured you setting down the camera (showing a sideways view of the living room) and rushing to scoop up Jade, spinning her around as she giggled uncontrollably.

"We have to call Auntie Tia," your voice said. "She's not going to believe—" You stopped abruptly, and even in the awkwardly angled footage, your expression was clear: for a brief moment, you'd forgotten you couldn't share this milestone with Jake.

Present-day Jake noticed it too. His eyes shifted from the screen to your face, questioning.

"I almost called you," you admitted quietly. "So many times. Especially for the big moments."

"Why didn't you?" There was no accusation in his voice now, just a genuine need to understand.

You stared at the laptop screen, where the video had ended on a frame of you holding Jade close. "At first, it was all the reasons I told you before. Then... time passed, and it got harder to imagine how that conversation would go. 'Hi, remember me? Surprise, you have a one-year-old.'" You shook your head. "And then you became this massive star, and the gap between our worlds just seemed... unbridgeable."

Jake was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was different—less the angry man demanding answers, more the person you'd once known better than anyone.

"I would have come back. If I'd known."

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you," you said softly. "You would have given up everything you'd worked for. I couldn't do that to you."

"It wasn't your choice to make," he said, but the harsh edge from before was gone.

"No, it wasn't," you acknowledged. "And I can't change that now, no matter how much I wish I could."

Jake closed the photo album, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I've missed so much."

"You're here now," you offered. "And Jade already adores you."

"She doesn't even know who I really am to her."

"She will. Soon." You hesitated, then added, "For what it's worth, I think she's sensed something was missing. The last few months, she's been asking more questions about her father. It's like she knew something was about to change."

Jake's expression shifted as he processed this. "Kids are more perceptive than we give them credit for."

You nodded, thinking of how Jade had instantly connected with Jake, how natural they seemed together despite having just met.

A comfortable silence fell between you as Jake reached for another photo album, this one more recent. As he opened it, something slipped from between the pages—a small ultrasound image, creased from being handled many times.

Jake picked it up, staring at the grainy black and white image of Jade before she was Jade—just a tiny bean-shaped blob with the promise of a future.

"This was the first picture of her," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Twelve weeks."

Jake ran his thumb over the image. "I should have been there."

"I know."

"No, I mean—" He looked up, meeting your eyes directly. "I should have been there regardless. I shouldn't have left in the first place, pregnancy or not."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implications.

"Jake—"

"I made a choice five years ago," he continued, his voice steady but vulnerable in a way you hadn't heard since the night before he left. "And even before I knew about Jade, I've questioned that choice more times than I can count."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "You never said anything."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, I know we broke up and haven't spoken in years, but I think I made a mistake'?" He shook his head. "You'd moved on. At least, I thought you had."

"I had a child to raise," you said carefully. "That doesn't mean I moved on."

The air between you felt charged, years of unspoken words and feelings suddenly pressing close. Jake's eyes held yours, searching for something that made your breath catch.

"I used to check your social media," he admitted, looking away. "Not in a stalker way, just... I wanted to make sure you were okay. When I didn't see any posts about dating or... anyone new, I assumed you were just private about it."

"There wasn't anyone to be private about," you said quietly. "Between work and Jade, there wasn't time. At least, that's what I told myself."

Jake's eyes returned to yours, a question in them. "And the real reason?"

The honesty of the moment demanded truth in return. "No one compared. To what we had."

The space between you seemed to shrink, the ultrasound photo still held in Jake's hand—tangible evidence of everything that had been lost and found.

He reached out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. A gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest hurt.

"I've missed you," he said simply. "Not just as Jade's mother. As you."

The words unlocked something you'd kept carefully guarded. You leaned forward slightly, drawn by a gravity that had never fully released its hold on you.

Jake's gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might close the remaining distance between you. Instead, he drew back, though his eyes betrayed how much it cost him to do so.

"We should take this slow," he said, voice rough. "There's a lot we need to figure out first."

"I know," you said, both disappointed and relieved. "Jade comes first."

Jake nodded, though his eyes still held yours with an intensity that made your skin warm. "We need to get the father thing right before we complicate it with... anything else."

"Anything else," you repeated, the phrase heavy with possibility.

He smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes and made him look more like the Jake you'd fallen in love with years ago.

"I should go," he said, setting the ultrasound photo carefully back in the album. "It's getting late, and I promised Jade I'd come watch her practice tomorrow."

"Of course," you said, standing up as he did.

At the door, he paused, his hand on the knob. "Thank you for tonight. For sharing all of that with me."

"It's only the beginning," you said. "There's a lot more to show you."

"I'm counting on it," he replied, his voice low with a promise that wasn't just about baby photos.

After he left, you stood in the hallway, heart racing with the realization that whatever had been between you and Jake might not be as buried in the past as you'd thought.

It would be complicated. There were a thousand reasons to be cautious.

But for the first time in five years, there was also hope.Chapter Seven: Soccer Practice

"And that's why the inside of your foot is better for passing," Jake explained patiently, kneeling beside Jade on the sidelines of the community soccer field. "It gives you more control."

"But power shots are with your laces, right?" Jade asked, examining her cleats as if they might hold the secrets of professional soccer.

"Right," Jake confirmed with a smile. "Laces for power, inside for accuracy."

You watched from the bleachers, pretending to focus on your phone while actually stealing glances at father and daughter. Jake had arrived at your house exactly as promised—fifteen minutes before Jade's practice—dressed casually in jeans and a plain t-shirt that somehow still managed to hint at the athletic build beneath.

The way your heart had jumped when you opened the door was concerning. Last night's almost-moment had shifted something between you, created an awareness that buzzed like electricity whenever you made eye contact.

"Jake!" Coach Russell called from the center of the field. "Would you mind demonstrating that passing drill we talked about?"

You tensed slightly. Jake had been recognized immediately upon arrival—of course he had, he was almost a household name in soccer circles—but so far he'd been treated with surprising normalcy by the coaching staff. You suspected they were professionals enough to contain their excitement for the sake of the children.

"Sure thing," Jake called back, giving Jade's shoulder a quick squeeze before jogging onto the field.

Several parents around you whispered excitedly, phones emerging from pockets and purses.

"That's really Jake Sim, right?" asked a mom to your left, leaning closer with conspiratorial eagerness. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it, but my husband is going to freak when I tell him."

"Um, yes," you confirmed, unsure how much to say. You and Jake hadn't discussed how to handle public interactions yet.

"Is he..." the woman hesitated, clearly fishing, "...scouting the team or something?"

Before you could form a response, another parent jumped in. "He's here with the Sim girl." He nodded toward Jade, who was watching Jake with undisguised adoration as he demonstrated proper passing technique to the team. "Same last name. Must be related."

Your stomach tightened. Of course people would make the connection. You should have prepared for this.

"I heard he's her uncle," a third parent contributed helpfully.

You nearly choked on your coffee.

"He's a... family friend," you managed, the half-truth feeling strange on your tongue. You'd been careful never to lie to Jade about Jake being her father, just... selective with details. But these were strangers, and you weren't ready for the inevitable questions that would follow the truth.

Thankfully, the parents seemed satisfied with this explanation and returned their attention to the field, where Jake was now lining up the children for passing practice. Jade bounced on her toes at the front of the line, practically vibrating with excitement.

"My daughter says Jade talks about him non-stop," the first mom said, eyes still on the field. "Since the clinic on Saturday, it's all been 'Jake showed me this' and 'Jake can do that.'"

You smiled despite your nerves. "She's pretty taken with him."

"I can see why," the woman said with a laugh. "If I were twenty years younger and single..." She trailed off, fanning herself dramatically.

You felt a strange flash of something that felt suspiciously like possessiveness.

On the field, Jake was crouching next to Jade, adjusting her stance with gentle hands as she prepared to demonstrate the drill. He said something that made her giggle, then stepped back as she perfectly executed the pass, earning cheers from her teammates.

The pure joy on both their faces made your chest ache.

For so long, you'd carried the weight of your decision alone, convinced you were protecting both Jake and Jade. Now, seeing them together, you wondered how much your fear had cost them both.

"He's great with kids," the mom beside you observed. "Does he have any of his own?"

The question hit like a physical blow. "I... I'm not sure," you stammered, the lie bitter on your tongue.

You were saved from further conversation by the coach blowing his whistle, signaling a water break. Jade immediately raced over, Jake following at a more measured pace.

"Mom! Did you see? I did the pass perfectly! Jake showed me how to position my foot and everything!"

"I saw, honey," you said, handing her a water bottle. "You looked like a pro out there."

Jade beamed, gulping down water with the same intensity she applied to everything.

"She's a quick learner," Jake said, approaching the bleachers. He kept a careful distance, but his eyes held the same intimate awareness that had charged the air between you last night. "Coach Russell says she's one of his most promising players."

"Is that why he asked her to demonstrate?" you asked. "I thought he was just being nice because..."

You trailed off, conscious of curious parents within earshot.

"Because I'm here?" Jake finished, lowering his voice. "No, he told me he'd already pegged her as a natural. Said she has better instincts than most kids twice her age."

Pride washed over you, along with the bittersweet realization that Jake was finally getting to experience these parental moments—the simple joy of hearing someone else praise your child.

"Jake! Are you going to stay for the whole practice?" Jade asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Coach says we're doing shooting drills next!"

"I wouldn't miss it," Jake promised.

"And then can we get ice cream again? You didn't get any yesterday because you said sweet things aren't your thing, but maybe today you could try just a little bit?"

Jake laughed, that full, unguarded sound that had been so rare in recent days. "We'll see what your mom says."

"Mom always says yes to ice cream," Jade stated confidently.

"That's not true," you protested, though all evidence was certainly against you.

Jade gave you a skeptical look that was pure Jake, down to the slightly raised eyebrow.

"Two minutes, everyone!" Coach Russell called. "Back to positions!"

"Gotta go!" Jade handed back her water bottle and raced off, nearly colliding with two teammates in her enthusiasm.

Jake took a step toward the bleachers, then hesitated, as if unsure whether he should join you or return to the sidelines. The moment stretched, charged with all the things left unspoken between you.

"You can sit," you said finally, patting the space beside you. "If you want."

He climbed up and settled next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him but with a careful inch of space between you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, watching as the children lined up for shooting practice, Jade bouncing impatiently in the middle of the queue.

"About last night—" you both started simultaneously, then stopped.

Jake gestured for you to continue.

You took a deep breath. "I just... wanted to say that I appreciate how you are with her. How quickly you've adjusted to all of this."

It wasn't what you'd been planning to say at all. You'd meant to address the almost-kiss, the charged moment that had fundamentally shifted something between you. But the words wouldn't come.

"She makes it easy," Jake said, his eyes following Jade as she moved up in line. "She's so open. So accepting."

"She gets that from you," you said softly. "I was always the cautious one, remember?"

Jake's lips curved into a half-smile. "Is that how you remember it? Because I recall someone climbing onto the roof of my apartment building at midnight because they wanted to see the meteor shower from the 'perfect angle.'"

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks. "That was different. Astronomy requires commitment."

"Uh-huh." His smile widened, eyes still on the field but clearly seeing a different time, a different you. "What about the time you decided we should go cliff diving even though neither of us had ever done it before?"

"You didn't have to follow me," you pointed out, falling easily into the familiar rhythm of your old banter.

"Yes, I did." His voice turned serious, though the smile remained. "Always."

The simple word hung between you, heavy with meaning.

Before you could respond, a cheer went up from the field. Jade had just sent the ball sailing past the junior goalkeeper, then immediately launched into a celebration that was eerily similar to Jake's signature move.

"She watches your games," you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. "I saved them—the important ones. She doesn't know... who you are to her, but she's seen you play. I thought she should know what her father can do."

Jake turned to you, surprise and something softer in his expression. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that."

The moment stretched between you, fragile and significant.

"Mom! Jake! Did you see that?" Jade shouted from the field, breaking the spell. "I scored!"

"We saw!" you both called back in unison, then exchanged a quick smile at the synchronicity.

As practice continued, you found yourself relaxing into Jake's presence beside you. The conversation shifted to safer topics—Jade's school, her friends, her other activities—but beneath it ran a current of shared history and newly acknowledged feelings that neither of you seemed ready to fully address.

When practice ended, Jade ran to you both, sweaty and triumphant.

"Coach says I did really good today!" she announced, dropping her water bottle in her excitement. "Can we go for ice cream now? Please?"

Jake bent to retrieve the bottle, his shoulder brushing yours as he straightened. "I think you've earned it," he said, looking to you for confirmation. "If it's okay with your mom."

"Ice cream sounds perfect," you agreed, hyperaware of how close he stood, how domestic this moment felt—the three of you, a family for anyone watching.

And people were watching. Several parents were openly staring now, clearly trying to puzzle out the exact nature of your relationship to the famous soccer player who had spent the last hour focused exclusively on your daughter.

"Can Jake come back to our house after?" Jade asked, grabbing both your hand and Jake's without hesitation. "I want to show him my new library books. They're about space!"

The easy way she connected you physically, standing between you like a bridge, made your heart stumble.

"I'd like that," Jake said, his eyes meeting yours over Jade's head. "If your mom doesn't mind."

There was a question in his gaze, one that went beyond library books and ice cream.

"I don't mind," you said quietly, answering both the spoken and unspoken.

As the three of you walked toward the parking lot, Jade swinging your joined hands and chattering about which ice cream flavor best represented each planet in the solar system, you couldn't help but notice how right it felt.

How, despite five years of separation and secrets, you, Jake, and Jade had somehow fallen into the family rhythm that might have been yours all along.

It terrified you.

It exhilarated you.

And you weren't sure which feeling scared you more.

-

"Is she finally asleep?" Jake asked as you returned to the living room, wineglass in hand.

After ice cream and an enthusiastic tour of Jade's library books, your daughter had lobbied hard for Jake to stay for dinner. One homemade pasta later, he'd somehow been roped into bedtime story duty—a task he'd approached with the same focused determination he brought to professional matches.

"Three stories, two glasses of water, and one lengthy debate about why the moon doesn't fall out of the sky later—yes, she's out," you confirmed, sinking onto the couch beside him. "I'm pretty sure she was just trying to keep you here as long as possible."

"I don't mind," Jake said, accepting the glass of wine you offered. The soft lamplight caught the angles of his face, softening the features that had graced so many magazine covers. "Today was... good."

"It was."

A comfortable silence fell between you, punctuated only by the distant sound of crickets through the open window. The evening was unseasonably warm, and you'd kept the windows open to catch the spring breeze. Jake had discarded his jacket hours ago, his sleeves now rolled up to reveal forearms that spoke of years of athletic conditioning.

You took a careful sip of wine, hyperaware of his presence just inches away on the couch. Something had been building between you all day—a tension that simmered beneath every glance, every accidental touch.

"I should probably head out soon," Jake said, though he made no move to leave. "I've got a team call early tomorrow."

"Right," you nodded. "The charity match. How long until you have to..."

"Go back?" He finished your thought. "Ten days. Then the European tour picks up again."

The knowledge settled like a weight between you. Ten days before he returned to his other life—the stadiums, the fans, the world that had taken him away five years ago.

"Jade's going to miss you," you said, staring into your wine.

"Just Jade?"

You looked up to find him watching you, his expression open in a way it hadn't been since he'd discovered Jade's existence. The guarded anger had faded, replaced by something warm and familiar that made your heart skip.

"I think I might miss you too," you admitted quietly. "Which is probably a terrible idea."

Jake set his glass down, turning to face you more fully. "Why is that?"

"Because you're leaving in ten days. Because we have a five-year-old who's already getting attached to you. Because we haven't figured out what any of this means yet." You gestured vaguely between you. "Take your pick."

"What if I said I've been thinking about this—about us—since last night? Actually, if I'm being honest, longer than that."

Your pulse quickened. "Jake..."

"I know it's complicated," he continued, his voice low and earnest. "I know we have a lot to figure out. But I can't stop thinking about what you said—that no one compared. Because it's been the same for me."

The confession hung in the air between you, impossible to take back.

"You dated," you pointed out weakly. "I saw the tabloids."

A rueful smile crossed his lips. "Dating isn't the same as connecting. Trust me, Jay tried his best to set me up with everyone from models to athletes. Nothing stuck."

"Why not?"

His eyes met yours, dark and intent. "Because none of them were you."

The simplicity of the statement stole your breath.

"That's not fair," you whispered. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?" Jake shifted closer, the distance between you shrinking to mere inches. "It's the truth."

"Because we're supposed to be focusing on Jade. On being co-parents. On not complicating things further."

"And how's that working out for you?" he asked, his voice gentle but knowing.

You couldn't answer, caught in the gravity of his gaze. The truth was, from the moment he'd walked back into your life, all your careful boundaries had begun crumbling. Every smile, every shared look over Jade's head, every brush of fingers had been dismantling the walls you'd built around your heart.

"I haven't stopped thinking about last night," Jake said, his voice dropping lower. "About what almost happened."

Your eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips. "We agreed to take it slow."

"We did," he acknowledged. "And we should. But slow doesn't mean not at all."

He reached out, fingers trailing lightly along your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The simple touch ignited something that had been dormant for five years.

"Tell me to stop," Jake murmured, leaning closer. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll back off. We'll focus solely on Jade. Nothing more."

You should say it. You should establish clear boundaries, keep things simple, protect yourself from the inevitable pain when he returned to his life across the ocean.

Instead, you found yourself leaning toward him, drawn by a pull that had never truly released its hold.

"I can't," you whispered. "I've tried, but I can't."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip in a gesture so achingly familiar it made your chest tight. "Then don't try."

The first brush of his lips against yours was tentative, questioning. A heartbeat passed where you both hesitated on the precipice of something that couldn't be undone. Then, with a soft sound that might have been surrender, you leaned in, closing the final distance.

Five years evaporated in an instant.

His lips were as you remembered—firm, confident—but there was an edge of desperation that hadn't been there before. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. He groaned softly, deepening the kiss as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

You'd forgotten how perfectly you fit together, how easily your body remembered his. The kiss intensified, years of separation and longing transforming into a physical need that threatened to consume you both. His hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair as he angled your head to deepen the connection.

"I've missed you," he breathed against your lips. "So much."

The words broke something open inside you—a dam of emotion you'd held back for Jade's sake, for your own protection. You responded by pressing closer, trying to convey through touch what you couldn't yet put into words.

Jake's hands were everywhere, relearning the curves and planes of your body with reverent attention. When his fingers skimmed the bare skin at your waist where your shirt had ridden up, you shivered, heat pooling low in your abdomen.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, pausing despite the obvious desire in his eyes.

You nodded, beyond words, and pulled him back to you. The kiss turned hungrier, more urgent. His body shifted, guiding you backward until you were half-lying on the couch, his weight a delicious pressure above you. The feeling of being surrounded by him—his scent, his warmth, his strength—was intoxicating.

His lips left yours to trace a path along your jaw, down the column of your throat. You arched into him, a soft gasp escaping when he found that sensitive spot just below your ear that he'd always known. He still remembered. After all this time, he still knew exactly how to unravel you.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of his back. You could feel the new topography of his body—harder, more defined than before, testament to years of professional training. Yet underneath the changes was the same Jake, the man whose heartbeat you'd once fallen asleep to countless nights.

"You're even more beautiful," he whispered against your skin. "How is that possible?"

Before you could respond, a distant thump from down the hall froze you both. You listened, hearts racing for a different reason now, until the house settled back into silence. No patter of small feet, no curious voice calling out.

Jake pressed his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. "That was..."

"Close," you finished, reality crashing back in. "Too close."

Reluctantly, he shifted his weight, helping you sit up though his hand remained intertwined with yours. The loss of contact left you feeling oddly bereft, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire.

"I should probably go," Jake said, though his eyes told a different story.

"Probably," you agreed, equally unconvincing.

Neither of you moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened and what had almost followed.

"This complicates things," you finally said, stating the obvious.

Jake's thumb traced circles on the inside of your wrist, sending renewed shivers up your arm. "I think things were already complicated. We're just admitting it now."

You couldn't argue with that. From the moment he'd locked eyes with you across that soccer field, something inevitable had been set in motion.

"What happens now?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just the remainder of the evening.

"Now," Jake said, raising your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, "I'm going to leave before I lose the willpower to do so. But not because I want to."

The restraint in his eyes, the obvious tension in his body, sent another wave of heat through you. The knowledge that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him was both thrilling and terrifying.

"And tomorrow?" you pressed.

"Tomorrow I pick up Jade for the park like we planned. We keep building this—whatever this is—one day at a time." His eyes held yours, serious now. "I meant what I said about taking it slow, about doing this right. Jade comes first."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding despite the frustration still thrumming through your veins. "Jade comes first."

He stood, reluctantly releasing your hand. You followed him to the door, hyperaware of every movement, every glance. At the threshold, he turned back to you, his expression a mix of desire and something deeper, more profound.

"For the record," he said quietly, "I've never regretted anything more than walking away from you five years ago. And I don't intend to make the same mistake twice."

He forced himself to step back, putting a responsible distance between you.

"Goodnight," he said, the word carrying far more weight than its two syllables should allow.

"Goodnight," you echoed, leaning against the doorframe as he turned to leave.

He made it halfway down the front walk before stopping abruptly. You watched, confused, as he spun around and marched back to you with sudden determination. Before you could ask what he was doing, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his expression was different—lighter, almost boyish, a glimpse of the Jake who existed before world tours and professional pressures. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, looking strangely pleased with himself.

"I forgot something," he said, his voice carrying a playful quality you hadn't heard in years.

"What was that?" you asked, unable to keep the smile from your own voice.

He shrugged, walking backward toward his car while maintaining eye contact. "Just making sure you don't forget about me before tomorrow."

The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet, so contrary to his usual composed demeanor, that you found yourself laughing—a genuine, surprised sound that seemed to delight him. In that moment, he wasn't international soccer star Jake Sim, but just Jake, the boy who used to leave silly notes in your textbooks and race you to the corner store for ice cream.

"As if that were possible," you called after him, feeling a rush of something light and warm in your chest.

He flashed you one more smile before getting into his car, and you remained in the doorway until his taillights disappeared down the street. Only then did you close the door, pressing your back against it, fingers touching your cheek where the innocent kiss still seemed to tingle.

The gesture had shifted something—added a dimension to the complicated tangle of desire, regret, and hope between you. Somehow, that simple kiss on the cheek felt more intimate than the passionate ones you'd shared earlier, a reminder of the many facets of the man you'd once known so well.

Ten days until he returned to Europe.

Ten days to figure out if what you'd just rekindled was strong enough to withstand the distance that had broken you before.

Ten days to decide if you were brave enough to risk your heart a second time.

-

"Dr. Winters thinks we should be straightforward but gentle," you explained, pacing the length of your kitchen. "No elaborate metaphors or complicated explanations."

Jake nodded, his fingers drumming nervously against the countertop. "Simple truth. I can do that."

A week had passed since that night on your couch—a week of soccer practices, ice cream trips, bedtime stories, and carefully controlled moments between you and Jake after Jade fell asleep. The tension between you had only grown, tempered by the mutual understanding that Jade's well-being came first.

Yesterday, you'd both met with Dr. Winters, a child psychologist who specialized in family transitions. She'd been reassuring, explaining that five was actually a good age for this revelation—young enough that Jade would adapt quickly, old enough to understand the basics of what it meant.

"She already adores you," you said, stopping your pacing to look at Jake. "That's half the battle."

"But what if knowing changes things?" Jake's concern was evident, the confidence he showed on the soccer field nowhere to be found. "What if she's angry we didn't tell her sooner?"

You crossed the kitchen to stand before him, surprised to find yourself in the position of reassuring Jake rather than the other way around. "She's five, not fifteen. And Dr. Winters said children this age are remarkably adaptable."

Jake took a deep breath, reaching for your hand. "I just don't want to mess this up."

"You won't," you said softly, squeezing his fingers. "We won't."

The sound of cartoons from the living room suddenly ceased. Jade had been given special permission for morning TV while the adults "talked about boring grown-up stuff" in the kitchen.

"Mom? Jake? Are you done with your meeting yet?" Jade called. "The show ended and I'm starving!"

You exchanged one final look with Jake—equal parts determination and terror—before calling back, "We're done, honey. Come on in. We want to talk to you about something."

Jade appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas despite it being nearly noon. You'd deliberately kept the morning relaxed, following Dr. Winters' advice to have the conversation during a calm, unhurried time.

"Are we having pancakes?" she asked hopefully, climbing onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Because it's Sunday, and Sunday is sometimes pancake day."

"We can have pancakes," you agreed, taking the seat across from her while Jake settled beside you. "But first, we wanted to talk to you about something important."

Jade's expression immediately turned serious, her eyes darting between you and Jake with unexpected perception. "Is it about why Jake comes over all the time now?"

You blinked, surprised by her intuition. "Actually, yes. It is."

"I knew it," Jade said, nodding sagely. "Emma says when grown-ups have special friends, they spend lots of time together. Is Jake your special friend, Mom?"

Jake coughed, clearly trying not to laugh despite the gravity of the moment. You felt your cheeks flush.

"Jake is special to both of us," you said carefully, "but not exactly in the way Emma means."

"Jade," Jake began, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it. "Do you remember asking your mom about your dad? About where he was?"

Jade's eyes widened slightly, her full attention shifting to Jake. "Yeah. Mom said he's a soccer player who lives really far away. That's why he can't visit."

Jake glanced at you, a silent confirmation passing between you before he continued. "I've been living far away, in Europe. Playing soccer professionally."

Jade stared at him, her brow furrowed in concentration as her quick mind worked through the implications. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until—

"Are you my dad?" she asked directly, her voice small but steady.

Jake's breath caught audibly. "Yes, Jade. I am."

For a heartbeat, Jade was perfectly still—an unusual state for her perpetually moving body. Then her eyes began to shine with tears. "Really? For real and true?"

"Really," Jake confirmed, his own eyes glistening. "For real and true."

"But... but why didn't you visit me before?" The question held curiosity rather than accusation, and it broke your heart nonetheless.

"Because I didn't know about you," Jake explained simply, just as you'd rehearsed. "When your mom found out she was going to have you, I had already moved to Europe to play soccer. She didn't tell me about you until we met at the soccer clinic."

Jade turned to you, her expression confused. "Why didn't you tell him about me, Mom?"

You'd prepared for this question, knew it was coming, but it still felt like a knife to the heart. "I thought I was doing the right thing," you said carefully. "Your dad had just started his big career, and I didn't want to make things harder for him. But I was wrong not to tell him, and I'm very sorry for that. To both of you."

Jade considered this with the serious contemplation of a judge weighing evidence. "So when you saw me at the soccer clinic," she said, turning back to Jake, "that's why you fainted? Because you were surprised that I was your daughter?"

"That's exactly why," Jake admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Finding out I had such an amazing daughter was the biggest surprise of my life."

Jade's face suddenly lit up with realization. "That's why we have the same last name! And the same dimples! And do the same victory dance! Emma says she looks like her dad too. She has his nose."

The mood in the room shifted, the tension giving way to something lighter as Jade began connecting dots with infectious enthusiasm.

"And that's why I'm so good at soccer!" she continued, practically vibrating in her seat. "Because you're good at soccer too! It's in my DNA! Mrs. Rivera taught us about DNA—it's the stuff inside you that makes you who you are!"

"That's right," Jake said, relief evident in his voice. "You got your soccer skills from me. But you got your brains from your mom."

Jade beamed at this, then suddenly her expression turned serious again. "Are you going to live with us now? Because Emma's dad lives in a different house. He comes on weekends and Wednesdays."

You and Jake exchanged glances. This part you'd deliberately left flexible, knowing that Jade's reaction would guide your next steps.

"I have to go back to Europe in a few days for work," Jake explained gently. "But I'll be coming back to visit as often as I can. And we can video call every day if you want."

"And when my soccer season ends in a few months," he continued, his eyes meeting yours briefly, "we'll figure out a more permanent arrangement. But no matter where I live, I'll always be your dad."

Jade seemed to process this, her legs swinging rhythmically under the chair. "But you'll come to my soccer games when you're here? And my school play? I'm going to be a star in the sky. I only have three lines but they're very important lines."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Jake promised, and you could see the emotion he was struggling to contain.

Jade slid off her chair suddenly, coming around the table to stand in front of Jake. With the directness of a child who hadn't yet learned social hesitation, she asked, "Can I hug you now? Since you're my dad?"

Jake's composure finally broke. "Yes," he said, voice thick. "I would really like that."

Jade threw her arms around his neck with the same wholehearted enthusiasm she brought to everything. Jake's arms wrapped carefully around her small frame, and over Jade's shoulder, his eyes met yours, filled with wonder and gratitude.

You felt tears streaming down your own cheeks as you watched your daughter and her father embrace for the first time—at least, the first time with both of them knowing what they were to each other.

After a long moment, Jade pulled back, studying Jake's face with new interest. "I think I'll call you Dad now, not Jake. Is that okay?"

"That's more than okay," Jake managed, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Jade's ear—the same gesture he'd used with you so many times.

"And can we still have pancakes?" Jade asked, switching gears with the fluid adaptability of childhood. "Because I'm stillstarving. Maybe Dad can help make them? I bet he makes good pancakes."

"I make excellent pancakes," Jake confirmed, the new title bringing a fresh sheen of tears to his eyes. "It's another thing you inherited from me."

"Along with your inability to sit still for more than thirty seconds," you added, wiping away your own tears.

Jade grinned, looking between you with a satisfaction that suggested, in her five-year-old mind, things were exactly as they should be. "This is the best day. I got a dad and I'm getting pancakes!"

As the three of you moved around the kitchen, falling into a surprisingly natural rhythm of pancake preparation, you caught Jake's eye over Jade's head. The gratitude in his expression mirrored your own feeling of relief—relief that amidst all the complications of your adult relationship, this most important revelation had gone better than either of you had dared to hope.

There were still countless details to figure out—custody arrangements, Jake's travel schedule, what would happen after his season ended, and not least, the undefined something that had been rekindling between you. But for now, watching Jake teach Jade the "perfect pancake flip" while she giggled uncontrollably, it was enough to know that your daughter finally had her father.

And maybe, just maybe, you had found your way back to each other too.

-

The last golden light of evening stretched across your backyard, casting long shadows as Jade chased fireflies in her pajamas, giggling each time one of the glowing insects landed briefly in her cupped hands.

"Five more minutes, then bedtime!" you called, though you were reluctant to end this perfect moment. Jake's departure for Europe loomed tomorrow morning, casting a bittersweet shadow over what had been an extraordinary week.

Since telling Jade the truth, everything had shifted. She'd taken to calling Jake "Dad" with the natural ease of a child who'd simply been waiting for permission to use the title. Her friends at school had been informed with five-year-old directness ("My dad is back from Europe and he's REALLY good at soccer!"), and Coach Russell had gently handled the sudden flurry of interest from other parents when Jake attended her final practice before leaving.

Now you sat beside Jake on the back porch steps, your shoulders touching as you watched your daughter—your shared creation—dart across the lawn with boundless energy despite the late hour.

"She's never going to sleep tonight," you murmured, sipping from a glass of wine.

"It's a special occasion," Jake replied, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy. "Last night before..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Tomorrow morning, he'd board a plane back to his team, his contract, his other life.

The past three days had been a whirlwind of lawyers and paperwork—establishing formal acknowledgment of paternity, setting up emergency travel provisions, discussing international custody considerations. All of it driven by Jake's determination to have everything properly in place before he left.

In private moments after Jade was asleep, you'd found yourselves drawn together with increasing intensity, as if trying to store up enough connection to last through the coming separation. But you'd been careful to keep things from progressing too far, both acutely aware of Jade just down the hall, both hesitant to define exactly what was happening between you.

"Have you told her what time your flight leaves?" you asked, watching Jade attempt to do a cartwheel she'd been practicing all week.

"I told her I'd be gone when she wakes up," Jake said. "I thought that might be easier. No drawn-out goodbyes at the airport."

You nodded, remembering how hard airport goodbyes could be. Five years ago, you'd stood at a similar departure gate, forcing a smile as Jake headed toward his new life, neither of you knowing you carried the beginning of another life inside you.

"She made you something," you said, reaching for a folded paper on the step beside you. "She wanted me to give it to you after she went to bed. For the plane."

Jake accepted the slightly crumpled drawing, unfolding it carefully. In Jade's distinctive artistic style—which meant lots of color and minimal adherence to proportion—she'd drawn three figures holding hands: a small one in the middle with pigtails, and two larger ones on either side. "ME," "DAD," and "MOM" were labeled with painstaking capital letters, and across the top, "MY FAMILY" had been written with evident pride.

"She worked on it all afternoon," you said softly. "I think she wanted you to have something to take with you."

Jake stared at the drawing, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss so much being there instead of here."

The weight of that statement hung between you. Three months until his season ended. Three months of video calls, of Jade asking when Dad was coming back, of navigating a relationship across continents.

"We'll make it work," you said, though the exact shape of that "work" remained undefined.

"Mom! Dad! Look how many I caught!" Jade called, running toward you with cupped hands. She opened them carefully to reveal a single firefly crawling across her palm.

"That's a good one," Jake said, his voice impressively steady despite the emotion you'd seen in his eyes moments before. "But it's probably time to let him go home to his family now."

Jade nodded solemnly, walking a few steps away to release the insect. "Bye, Mr. Firefly!" she called as it flew away, then turned back to you both. "Is it bedtime?"

"I think so, sweetheart," you confirmed.

Usually, this would trigger negotiations for more time, more stories, more anything to delay the inevitable. But tonight, Jade simply nodded again. "Okay. But Dad has to read the bedtime story."

"Deal," Jake agreed, standing and offering his hands to both you and Jade, pulling you up from the steps.

Bedtime routine passed in a blur of toothbrushing, pajama straightening, and the promised story—which became three stories, each with different voices that Jake performed with theatrical commitment, drawing delighted giggles from Jade.

When the final story ended, Jade looked up at Jake from her pillow, suddenly serious. "You won't forget about me when you're in Europe, right?"

"That would be impossible," Jake said firmly, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I've spent five years not knowing about you, and I'm not missing another minute that I can help. I'll call every day I can, and before you know it, I'll be back."

"Promise?" Jade asked, holding up her pinky finger.

"Promise," Jake confirmed, linking his pinky with hers. "Dad promises."

Satisfied, Jade reached for the stuffed soccer ball that had become her favorite bedtime companion. "G'night, Mom. G'night, Dad."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," you both answered in near-perfect unison, a synchronicity that was becoming increasingly common.

Jake lingered a moment longer by her bedside, seeming to memorize every detail of her face before reluctantly following you out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar as Jade preferred.

In the hallway, the weight of his impending departure descended fully. Tomorrow he would be gone, and the precarious balance you'd found over the past week would need to be recalibrated across time zones and international borders.

"Drink?" you offered, hoping to postpone the inevitable goodnight that would follow.

"Please," Jake nodded, following you to the kitchen.

You poured two glasses of wine in silence, hyperaware of the ticking clock, of moments slipping away. When you handed him his glass, your fingers brushed, and the simple contact sent a now-familiar current up your arm.

"I've been thinking," Jake said abruptly, staring into his wine rather than meeting your eyes.

"That sounds dangerous," you attempted to joke, earning a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"These past ten days..." he began, then paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "When I came back, I was angry. Hurt. I couldn't understand how you'd kept Jade from me all these years."

You nodded, accepting the pain you'd caused. "I know."

"But now," he continued, finally looking up at you, "I understand better. Not completely—I still wish you'd told me—but I understand you were trying to protect something you thought was important. My career. My dream."

"I was wrong," you said softly. "I should have let you decide."

"Yes," Jake agreed. "But I also made choices that brought us here. I left. I chose a contract overseas over what we had. I put distance between us that made it harder for you to reach out when you found out about Jade."

The honesty of his words caught you off guard. In all your guilt about keeping Jade secret, you'd rarely considered how Jake's initial departure had shaped everything that followed.

"So where does that leave us?" you asked, the question encompassing far more than just this conversation.

Jake set down his glass, closing the distance between you with deliberate steps. "That's what I've been thinking about. What happens after tonight."

Your heart quickened. "And?"

"I don't want to leave you again," he said simply. "Either of you."

"You have to," you reminded him gently. "Your contract—"

"I know I have to go back tomorrow," he clarified. "But I don't want it to be like last time. A goodbye that turns into five years of silence and separate lives."

He took your hands in his, his touch warm and steady. "I want you both to come to Europe. Not tomorrow—I know that's impossible. But soon. When the school year ends. For the summer, at least."

Your breath caught. This wasn't what you'd expected. "Jake—"

"Just hear me out," he pressed. "Jade could see where I live, where I play. You both could experience that part of my world. And I'd look for opportunities closer to home for next season. There are teams that have been interested."

"You'd consider leaving your European team?" The magnitude of what he was suggesting stunned you. "But you've worked so hard to get there."

Jake's expression softened. "Five years ago, playing in Europe was all I ever wanted. Now..." he glanced toward Jade's bedroom, "now my priorities have changed."

The implications of his words hung between you, heavy with possibility.

"And us?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are we in this scenario?"

Jake's hands tightened slightly around yours. "I think you know how I feel about you. How I've always felt, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise."

"Say it anyway," you urged, needing to hear the words.

"I love you," he said without hesitation. "I never stopped. Not when I left for Europe, not during five years apart, and certainly not now, seeing you as Jade's mother—seeing how amazing you are with her, how you've built this life."

Tears filled your eyes, the simple truth of his words unlocking everything you'd held back. "I love you too. I tried not to, tried to move on, but..."

"But no one compared," Jake finished, echoing your words from days earlier, his smile reaching his eyes this time.

"No one compared," you confirmed.

He released your hands only to frame your face gently between his palms. "So, what do you say? Will you and Jade come to Europe this summer? Give us a chance to figure out what our family looks like going forward?"

The question was enormous, encompassing practical concerns about Jade's schooling, your work, living arrangements—a thousand logistical details you'd need to consider. But underneath all that was a simpler choice: forward together, or back to separate lives?

"Yes," you heard yourself say, the certainty of it surprising even you. "We'll come."

The joy that transformed Jake's face was worth any uncertainty the future might hold. He pulled you close, his kiss conveying everything words couldn't—relief, gratitude, love, promise.

When you finally separated, both slightly breathless, Jake pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll call every day until you get there. And I've already told Jay to start looking at teams back here for next season."

"You were that confident I'd say yes?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jake laughed softly. "Not confident. Hopeful."

A small noise from the hallway made you both turn. Jade stood in her doorway, stuffed soccer ball clutched to her chest, looking sheepish at being caught out of bed.

"I had a question," she said, though her sly expression suggested eavesdropping had been at least partly intentional.

"What's your question, sweetheart?" you asked, stepping back from Jake slightly, though his arm remained around your waist.

"Are we really going to where Dad lives? In Europe?" Her eyes were wide with excitement that told you she'd heard more than just that part of the conversation.

Jake looked to you, clearly unsure whether to confirm what she'd overheard. You nodded slightly, and he crouched down to Jade's level.

"Would you like that?" he asked carefully. "To come visit me in Europe this summer? To see where I play soccer?"

"Will I get to see a REAL game? With a REAL stadium?" Jade was practically vibrating with excitement now.

"Several games," Jake promised. "And maybe you could even help me practice sometimes."

"YES!" Jade pumped her fist in victory. "Can we go tomorrow?"

You laughed, moving to join them. "Not tomorrow, honey. Dad has to go back first, and we have some things to figure out here. But soon, after school ends."

"How many days is that?" Jade demanded.

"Forty-three," Jake answered promptly, earning surprised looks from both you and Jade. "I counted."

The simple admission—that he'd been counting the days until he could potentially see you both again—made your heart swell.

"That's a LOT of days," Jade observed with a dramatic sigh.

"We'll count them together," you promised. "And Dad will call us every day."

"And then we'll be a real family? All together?" Jade asked, her perceptiveness once again catching you off guard.

You and Jake exchanged a look over her head—a look full of promise, determination, and shared understanding of all that had been lost and found.

"We're already a real family," Jake said softly. "We're just figuring out the details."

Jade considered this, then nodded with the solemn acceptance only a child could manage. "Okay. But can I sleep in your room tonight?" she asked, turning to you. "Since Dad's leaving tomorrow?"

You recognized the request for what it was—not just a child's desire to delay bedtime, but a need for closeness on this night of transition. "Just for tonight," you agreed.

Later, as Jade slept peacefully between you in your bed, Jake's hand found yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining above your daughter's sleeping form.

"Forty-three days," he whispered.

"Forty-three days," you confirmed.

Tomorrow would bring separation, challenges, logistics to navigate. But for the first time in five years, you weren't facing the future alone. The family that had begun by accident, been divided by circumstance, and reunited by chance now had a direction—forward, together.

Whatever form that took, it would be enough.

It would be everything.

-

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"But WHY can't I have a baby brother RIGHT NOW?"

Jade's question echoed through the kitchen with the dramatic flair of an eight-year-old who had recently discovered the power of logical debate. She stood with hands on her hips, soccer uniform still grass-stained from her Saturday morning game, her expression a perfect mirror of Jake's determination.

"Because that's not how it works, sweetheart," you explained, exchanging an amused glance with Jake across the kitchen island. "Even if we decided to have another baby, it takes time."

"Emma's mom had a baby and she said it took NINE WHOLE MONTHS. That's FOREVER!" Jade flopped dramatically onto a chair. "I'll be practically a TEENAGER by then."

Jake choked back a laugh, disguising it as a cough when Jade shot him a suspicious look. Three years of fatherhood had taught him that showing amusement during one of her serious discussions was a tactical error.

"Nine months isn't quite that long," he said, maintaining an impressively straight face. "But your mom's right. These things take time and planning."

Jade narrowed her eyes, a look that had become increasingly effective as she grew older. "Are you guys planning it? Because I heard you talking in your room last night."

Now it was your turn to choke slightly. You and Jake had indeed been discussing the possibility, late at night, after assuming Jade was sound asleep. Apparently, her soccer-enhanced hearing had other ideas.

"It's something we've been thinking about," you admitted carefully. "But it's a big decision."

"I think you should decide YES," Jade stated with the absolute confidence only children possess. "I'd be an AMAZING big sister. I already know how to change diapers from when we babysit Emma's brother."

"You held the wipes once," Jake pointed out.

"That's an IMPORTANT job!" Jade protested. "And I could teach a baby all about soccer and stars and dinosaurs."

"All essential life skills," you agreed, unable to keep from smiling.

The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell, followed by the sound of the front door opening.

"Where's my favorite soccer superstar?" Tia's voice called from the entryway.

"AUNTIE TIA!" Jade abandoned the sibling discussion instantly, racing toward the sound. "I scored TWO GOALS today!"

"Is that all? I thought we were working on a hat trick," Tia teased as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Jade already attached to her side like a barnacle.

"Coach said my second goal was good enough to count as TWO," Jade explained seriously.

"Ah, well, if Coach said so." Tia winked at you and Jake. "Speaking of coaches, I believe I was promised brunch with famous people in exchange for helping with yesterday's team pizza party. Twenty second-graders hopped up on cheese and soda is not something I do for free, you know."

"Reservations at Westfield in twenty minutes," Jake confirmed. "Though I dispute the 'famous' part."

Tia snorted. "Your face is literally on a billboard downtown right now."

"It's for a charity event," Jake protested, the same way he'd been downplaying his celebrity status for three years now. The transfer to the stateside team had somehow only increased his profile, especially after leading them to the championship in his second season.

"Dad, can I wear my medal to brunch?" Jade asked, already halfway to her room.

"Of course," Jake called after her. "But grab a clean shirt first!"

When Jade disappeared down the hall, Tia raised an eyebrow at both of you. "So... baby brother discussions? Is there something you two want to share?"

You shook your head. "Just Jade lobbying for a sibling. Though I think she'd be equally happy with a puppy at this point."

"Don't let her hear you make that comparison," Jake warned. "We'll end up with both."

"Considering how she has you wrapped around her finger? I'd say that's inevitable," Tia said, helping herself to coffee. "Remember when she convinced you a trampoline was an essential training tool for soccer footwork?"

"It improved her agility," Jake defended, though his smile acknowledged the weakness of his position.

"Face it, Sim. You're a pushover where that child is concerned."

"Like you're any better," you pointed out. "Who bought her professional-grade astronomical telescope for Christmas?"

"That was educational!" Tia protested.

The comfortable banter flowed naturally, a rhythm established through years of Sunday brunches and family dinners. Tia had remained Jade's favorite aunt and your closest confidante, seamlessly incorporating Jake into her circle of merciless teasing and unwavering support.

Jade reappeared wearing a clean shirt, her medal from the recent junior tournament proudly displayed on her chest, and a soccer ball tucked under her arm just in case an impromptu game broke out during brunch.

"Ready!" she announced. "Can we take the CONVERTIBLE?"

Jake glanced out the window at the perfect blue sky. "I think that can be arranged." The sports car—his one concession to professional athlete stereotypes—was reserved for special occasions and particularly good weather.

As you collected your things, Jade sidled up to Tia with the exaggerated casualness of a child with an agenda. "Auntie Tia, did you know that babies take NINE MONTHS to come? That's almost a YEAR. I could have a baby brother or sister for next Christmas if Mom and Dad would HURRY UP."

Tia's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline as she looked between you and Jake. "Is that so? Well, maybe your parents are waiting for the right time."

"NOW is the right time," Jade insisted. "I'm already EIGHT. Soon I'll be too old to teach them important things."

"What important things are those?" Jake asked, unable to resist.

Jade rolled her eyes with the supreme exasperation only a pre-tween could muster. "How to do a RAINBOW KICK, obviously. And how to win at Monopoly, and which dinosaurs could beat other dinosaurs in a fight."

"All crucial life skills," you agreed solemnly, catching Jake's eye over her head.

The silent communication between you had only grown stronger over the years—the ability to have entire conversations with just a look, a small nod, a smile. This particular exchange carried the weight of late-night discussions, of quiet hopes, of "maybe it's time" whispered in the darkness.

At the restaurant, seated at your regular table on the patio, Jade regaled Tia with a play-by-play of her morning's soccer triumph while simultaneously stealing Jake's french fries. The spring sunshine caught the wedding rings on your and Jake's left hands—simple, matching bands that you'd exchanged in a small ceremony two years ago, with Jade proudly serving as both flower girl and "best daughter."

The path to this moment hadn't always been smooth. Jake's travel schedule, though less demanding than his European days, still required adjustments. Your careers had needed careful balancing, boundaries had been drawn and redrawn, and you'd both had to learn to parent together after years of you doing it alone. There had been arguments about discipline (Jake was indeed the softer touch), disagreements about schools, and the occasional clash about handling Jake's public profile.

But through it all, the foundation remained solid. The family that had formed in those first chaotic weeks had only grown stronger, more certain of its shape.

"Dad," Jade said suddenly, turning her focus from Tia to Jake, "do you want another kid? Mom said you guys have to BOTH want it."

Jake nearly choked on his water at the direct question. He caught your eye, seeking permission or guidance, but you simply raised an eyebrow, curious yourself about his unfiltered response.

"I do," he said finally, his voice softer than usual. "I think about it a lot, actually."

"See, Mom?" Jade turned to you triumphantly. "Dad wants one TOO."

"It's not quite that simple, Jade," you began, but Jake's hand reached for yours across the table.

"Maybe it is," he said quietly. "Maybe we're overthinking it."

A current passed between you—three years of building a life together, of watching Jade grow, of creating something stable and beautiful from what had once been broken.

"Maybe we are," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face.

"So it's DECIDED!" Jade declared, pumping her fist in a celebration move inherited directly from Jake. "I'm getting a sibling!"

"Hold on there, soccer star," Tia laughed. "These things take time, remember?"

"Well, they should start RIGHT AWAY then!" Jade insisted with impeccable eight-year-old logic. "Can we go home after brunch so they can get started?"

Tia burst out laughing as both you and Jake turned interesting shades of red.

"I think," Jake said carefully, finding his composure first, "that your mom and I will need to have some grown-up conversations about this."

"More conversations?" Jade sighed dramatically. "Grown-ups talk WAY too much."

"Sometimes talking is important," you explained, squeezing Jake's hand. "But I promise we won't talk forever."

Jake's eyes met yours, warm with promise and possibility. So much had changed since that day at the soccer clinic—since the moment he'd looked at Jade and seen himself reflected back. The anger and hurt of those first days had long since transformed into something you couldn't have imagined then: a partnership deeper than before, tempered by separation and stronger for having been tested.

"So if you have a baby," Jade said, her mind already racing ahead as usual, "can I name it? Because I have some REALLY good dinosaur names picked out."

"Absolutely not," you and Jake responded in perfect unison, then broke into laughter at your synchronicity.

Some things never changed. Some things never would.

Later that night, after Jade had finally surrendered to sleep (following three bedtime stories and one "very important" discussion about what makes a good big sister), you found Jake on the back porch, gazing up at the stars that had become a shared fascination between him and Jade.

"She's persistent," you said, settling beside him on the porch swing. "Wonder where she gets that from."

Jake smiled, drawing you closer. "No idea. Must be from your side."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the gentle rhythm of the swing matching your synchronized breaths.

"Did you mean what you said at brunch?" you finally asked. "About wanting another child?"

"I did," Jake said, his arm tightening around you. "I missed everything with Jade—the pregnancy, the birth, those first years. The idea of experiencing all that with you this time..." He trailed off, emotion making his voice rough. "But only if you want it too."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, thinking of the past three years—the challenges, the joy, the family you'd built together. "I do want it," you said softly. "I've been thinking about it more lately. Seeing you with Jade, how natural you are as a father... I keep imagining you with a baby."

Jake pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "So we're really considering this?"

"I think we're past considering," you admitted with a smile. "I think we're deciding."

Jake shifted to face you, his expression a mix of hope and certainty that reminded you of the night he'd asked you and Jade to come to Europe, the moment everything had changed. "Then let's decide," he said simply. "Let's expand our team."

You laughed at the soccer metaphor, so perfectly Jake. "Does this mean I should stop taking my birth control?"

His answer was a kiss that held the promise of the future you were choosing together—a family that had begun with a secret and a soccer clinic, with mistakes and courage, with finding each other again across years and continents.

"I love you," Jake murmured against your lips. "More than I did three years ago, more than I did yesterday."

"I love you too," you whispered back. "Always have. Always will."

Inside the house, your daughter slept peacefully, dreaming perhaps of soccer glory or dinosaur battles or the sibling she'd soon begin waiting impatiently for. And on the porch, wrapped in starlight and each other, you and Jake made the decision to grow the family that had fought so hard to find its way together.

Nine months might be forever in eight-year-old time.

But in the grand scheme of your lives together, it was just the beginning of a new chapter.

fin.

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[mysticaljiminie]

SAFE & SOUND — enhypen (m)

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 142k words

genre: dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, ANGST

status: completed! (15/01/25 – 05/04/25)

warnings: depictions of graphic violence, blood, death, and loss, horror themes, usage of strong language and profanities, descriptions of gore, killing, weaponry use, survivor guilt, trauma bonding, morally gray characters/ideologies, and basically anything and everything that comes with a zombie apocalypse. readers' discretion is advised. please click out if you have a weak heart, I MEAN IT.

disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. If any context is similar to any other stories, it's either inspired (in which credit will be given) or just a coincidence. the characters' personalities, words, actions and thoughts do not represent them in real life. any resemblance to any real life events or person, present or past, are purely coincidental. i apologise in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

notes from nat: some plot points and zombies are inspired by the walking dead franchise. also inspired by safe & sound—mother swift's soundtrack for the hunger games. actually lowkey want to kms for writing this.

part 1 - rotten

part 2 - warmth

part 3 - whispers

part 4 - blood

part 5 - people

part 6 - dusk

part 7 - hope

extra cuts - jungwon's pov

Copyright© 2025 thatfeelinwhenyou All Rights Reserved

[mysticaljiminie]

him, revisited (how much i believed in the future) // jake

You didn’t realise your ex-boyfriend Jake Sim was still your emergency contact. Or that he’d show up when you needed him.

at a glance: exes to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader, jake best boy

words: 2.6k

warnings: hospital setting, y/n has an unspecified medical condition, mentions of iv drips and blood (very mild), swearing

@k-films

——————————

The light above you is too white, too sharp, a blinding fluorescent harshness that forces your eyelids shut the second you open them. A steady beep in the background. The sharp smell of antiseptic. A sting in the back of your hand.

You open your eyes again, slower this time, and feel around you. Your palm glides across the thin, crinkly surface of a hospital bed, only to be pulled back by something attached to your hand. An IV drip, tangled in a mass of wires and cords you can just barely make out through your blurred vision.

“You’re awake.”

Even from deep within your haze, you recognise his voice immediately.

“Jake?”

Out of focus, a figure makes its way to the side of your bed.

“Hey,” he says softly, as if afraid his breath will knock you over. “How do you feel?”

You push yourself up on shaky elbows and a bolt of pain instantly shoots up your spine, sending you falling back down onto the bed.

Jake catches you, his hands on your back to cushion your fall. “Careful.”

In his strong grip, your weak form seems to turn to clay. He gently sits you upright and inclines your bed with the crank of a handle and props your pillows up for you to lean against.

It takes a few seconds for your vision to stop spinning, for the pain in your head to ease slightly, before your eyes focus enough for you to actually see him.

“Jake? Why are you… what’s going on?”

He looks the same as when you last saw him — six months ago, in his kitchen, breaking up with you. When he told you he couldn’t be what you needed, couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved. Even though he was the only man you’ve ever wanted to follow to the end of the world, to the peak of a mountain, anywhere he wished.

“I don’t know. They called me,” Jake says, adjusting one of your pillows. “I came as fast as I could.”

A throbbing ache sits just behind your eye sockets, making it supremely difficult to register anything he says. And the constant beeping of your heart monitor only makes it worse. You glance around the room, at him, at the chair beside your bed with his black bomber jacket thrown over the back of it. The one he used to wrap around your shoulders on cold nights.

How long has he been waiting for you to wake up?

“They called you?” you ask, your mind still lagging about ten steps behind his.

Jake breathes in slowly, like he doesn’t want to give you an answer, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was your emergency contact,” he says. “Or I still am, to be exact.”

“…Oh, I’m sorry. That’s embarrassing,” you mumble. Another lash of pain radiates up the back of your neck, a tongue of fire searing your vertebrae.

Six months. Six whole months have gone by, and you haven’t changed your emergency contact.

Noticing you wince from craning your neck to look up at him, Jake pulls the chair closer and sits down right beside your bed, fingers curling around the metal bed rail.

“No, it’s not,” he says. Kind, quiet.

It’s a strange feeling, seeing him again after half a year — this person who’d been the centre of your world for so long before vanishing into the ether all at once — and learning you still remember every contour of his face. The angles of his brows, his nose, his chin, the warm brown hue of his eyes that crackle like firewood, the delicate slant of the corners of his lips.

“You could’ve just called Siah,” you say, face flushed, “but thank you for coming.”

Jake smiles. “Of course. It’s good to see you.”

You pull at your scratchy hospital gown and attempt in vain to tidy your hair, wondering which mythical forest gremlin you look like the most. “It’s good to see you, too.”

You probably weren’t ready back then for that serious a relationship, too eager to throw yourself head first into the lake that was Jake Sim. And neither was he. He seemed almost frustratingly well-adjusted compared to you, maybe everyone did — but you needed him and he needed to feel needed. You like to think you’re more sensible now. More self-sufficient. Less difficult to love.

“So…” Jake begins, scratching the back of his neck, “are you okay?”

The IV in your hand shifts, stings, makes you flinch. Beneath the clear adhesive dressing holding it in place, your skin prickles. You lift your hand and squint to see swelling around the site and a small amount of blood flowing back up into the line.

“I think so. I don’t remember what happened,” you admit, scratching around the edges of the dressing. “This thing is so fucking itchy.”

Jake pushes your other hand away and presses the call button by your bed. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice is weak. “I just…”

His hand circles gently around your left wrist, holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. His touch is grounding, soothing, in a way only he can manage.

“Let me help you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a plea than an offer.

Your love for him has faded somewhat. It’s become a sort of dull ache that sweeps across your heart whenever you think of him, which is often, and whenever you miss him, which is always. But the ache is bearable. You’re used to it, the scars of first love.

Except maybe it isn’t bearable, because as you watch him examining your IV site, eyes brimming with worry, gentle fingertips brushing across the back of your hand, the ache returns — stronger than you remembered.

“It’s swollen. And a little red,” he says, calm. Forever the steady anchor to your chaotic ship. “Do you think it’s the same thing that happened last summer? When you fainted and got all that bloodwork done, and that heart tracing.”

“…You remembered,” you breathe. He’s still holding your hand.

“Of course I remembered.”

It’s such a soft phrase that you almost can’t tolerate it. What are you meant to do with it, with the knowledge that someone has carved out a space in their heart just to hold on to the things you’d said and done and gone through?

That summer, Jake spent many a date carrying you home on his back when you were too weak to walk, staying awake with you when you were curled up in bed with excruciating migraines and stroking your hair, singing quietly to you when waves of nausea struck you down and incapacitated you.

If you were Jake, you might have broken up with yourself much earlier. Not because you were sick, but because you were a mess — neglecting your health and throwing yourself head first into your work to (pathetically try to) convince everyone you were fine. Insecure and utterly incapable of believing him when he told you he loved you.

Jake brushes his thumb over your knuckles, a sickeningly familiar action that makes you look up at him in a flash. There had to be a last time he did that, just like there was a last time he held you in his arms and a last time he tied your shoelaces. Before you became strangers, strangers who knew everything about each other. He always brushed his thumb over your knuckles when he had your hand in his, to soothe you when you were nervous or remind you he was right by your side.

Catching you staring, he bites his lip and lets go of your hand as a nurse walks through the door.

“Hello, dear, you’re awake,” she greets with a smile. She’s neither old nor young, perhaps slightly older than your parents, with kind eyes and a soft voice.

“Hi,” you say, your mouth dry.

“I think there’s something wrong with their IV,” Jake says. Protective, worried, because he knows you won’t say it yourself. The thought almost makes you want to pull away from how sweet it is.

The nurse looks at your hand. “It’s just a little bit of inflammation in your vein and some backflow,” she tells you, clearly unconcerned. “I’ll flush the line for you now. You’re booked in for a CT scan, so I’ll hook you back up after.”

She detaches the IV port from the line and pushes a syringe of isotonic saline into your vein, the pressure of the cold fluid under your skin making you wince. Jake takes your hand in his again, runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it comforts you anyway. You remember this feeling; your skin does, a return to form of sorts.

“How long have you been married?” the nurse asks casually, a clear attempt to distract you from the pain.

“Oh, we’re not-”

“I’m their boyfriend,” Jake answers with a sweet smile, cutting you off. He squeezes your hand gently, like it’s easy. Like he does this all the time. Like your hand belongs in his. It had, once.

And with three words he brings it all rushing back. Boyfriend. A title he held with great pride — until he didn’t.

“Don’t ever let this sweetheart go, dear. You should’ve seen him when he came. I’ve never met someone more worried,” the nurse says.

She doesn’t notice the confused glance you cast in Jake’s direction, or the way he looks back at you with nothing but cautious lovelights in his eyes.

“I’ll come back in a minute to take you up to CT.” The nurse begins to leave, turning back only briefly to tell Jake, “You can wait here.”

Jake nods. “Sure, thanks.”

As the door to your room slides shut, slow enough to be just slightly awkward, you prod at the back of your hand.

“Jake…” you trail off, his name leaving your lips before you even know what you want to say next. “You don’t have to stay.”

“But I want to.”

It’s a simple statement, one you instinctively feel compelled to assume is a lie — even though it almost certainly isn’t. He still has those big brown doe eyes, blinking at you from beside your bed. And they still work on you.

Jake, who dropped everything to race to the hospital when they called. Jake, who knew you needed him to be there for you because you wouldn’t let anyone else be. Jake, who reaches over the side rail of your bed to work out the knots in your hair.

Loving, reassuring, dependable Jake. The perfect complement to your neuroses, your high-strung nature, your impatience.

The room is quiet now — the nurse gone, the door closed, your IV line disconnected and no longer beeping every ten seconds. You shift around in the bed, trying to sit up straighter, look more presentable. For him.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jake asks. A question braced with uncertainty, hope, even.

Your heart races, which is embarrassingly displayed right onto the giant heart monitor screen right beside you.

Which one of these stupid sticker things is doing that? Maybe the- it probably isn’t wise to start pulling random wires and electrodes off your skin and/or out of your body, so you stop.

“No,” you reply, embarrassed, knowing he’s far too polite to point out the spike in your heart rate. But he surely notices it. “Are you?”

“No,” he answers, instantly. He pauses. Waits. Pushes his fingers through his shiny, magazine-ready hair. When your eyes meet his, he looks away. “I- uh- haven’t gotten over you, I guess.”

“You broke up with me,” you say, the pointed reminder flowing out of you before you even have a chance to process what he’s revealed.

That’s the reason Jake has always been too good for you. You’re petty, you hold grudges, you assume the worst of people. He forgives and forgives and forgives.

Jake coughs, touches his hair again; it’s a habit of his. “Yeah, I know. It’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

His voice is gentle and quiet, one of those voices without a single sharp edge, sounding like warm honey even on the exceedingly rare occasions he raises it. But it’s even softer and quieter now, almost confessorial in its vulnerability. It disarms you, completely.

Once it becomes clear your silence has dragged on for far too long, reducing the poor Jake to staring straight down at the floor like his shoes have just transformed into the most interesting things in the world, you tap the back of his hand.

“Can you come here?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to the foot of your bed, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart when he looks at you. “My neck hurts turning to see you.”

An invitation. Your way of telling him it’s okay. That you’re reaching for him, too, in your own guarded manner.

Jake smiles, only slightly — but it’s so often the nuance that matters with him — and sits down at the end of your bed. He folds one leg under him, shifting as best he can to face you. His lip is red from biting it.

“So, yeah. The door’s still open, if you feel the same way. You-” he hesitates, adjusting your sheets to occupy his restless hands, “You haven’t let my mind since we broke up. Since we met, actually.”

His gaze is trained on you, oddly intimate. You sit up straighter in your hospital bed, eyes glinting. “Neither have you.”

“You don’t have to answer me right away,” he adds, carefully laying his hand on the expanse of your bed between you and him. If you want to hold it, you can, he seems to imply. He smiles again. “I know you have bigger things to worry about. Your health. How itchy your hand is.”

“It’s quite pressing, that itchiness,” you say, trying to sound funny, not painfully earnest. “Once I get out of here…”

And when I look less ugly, you think. Dressed in your Sunday best, not in a hospital gown. With colour returned to your lifeless lips and cheeks. Sallowness gone from the dark crescents under your eyes.

“I’ll take you out,” Jake finishes. It’s effortless, the way you fall back in sync. “It’ll be our second first date.”

He took you ice-skating on your actual first date. He brought an extra pair of gloves for you to protect your fingers from the cold, an extra pair of thick socks to protect your feet from blistering in your rented skates. You laughed at him every time he fell, gave him a kiss on the cheek when he pouted. Kissed him for real when he walked you home.

“I’d like that,” you say, giddy as a fool.

Jake smiles, the same familiar, soft smile he used to give you when you were younger and dumber and wildly in love.

Had either of you actually fallen out of love? The way he looks at you, with his entire heart in his eyes, suggests the answer is no. And all your favourite things about him are still there — and he’s still the only person you’ve ever loved.

You don’t believe in soulmates, divine intervention, destiny. You despise the notion of being a cosmic plaything, your fate all set out in the stars for you to execute. No, whatever you do, you do it deliberately. You fall in love deliberately. You choose deliberately. You would’ve found your way back to Jake eventually.

——————————

thanks for reading!

-minastras <3

[mysticaljiminie]

(🔐)🖇 ༘ ⋆"How to Date Discreetly"

' ╰┈ "the day that i met you i started dreaming"

' ' 박성훈 x fem!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Kingston (Faye Webster)

♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: idol!sunghoon x idol!reader, ice prince x reckless rookie, secret & established relationship, enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, smut (2nd part) – MDNI, angst (minor), a pinch of comedy ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: NSFW WARNINGS ON CHAPTER 2 (no smut on this part) ! smut, slight jealousy (m), language, detailed explicit scenes, angst (minor), reader on the pill (birth control), mutual hate that’s just actually horny confusion, mild hate (online), – ugh, theyre so in love, its intoxicating ✩‧₊˚ wc: 6472 –1/2 (mini series) ੈ♡ a/n: lol this is peak delusion. dont like, dont read. also, im open for constructive critisism but fact checks or logical expected outcome are out of the picture, come on yall, this is fanfiction. also, wtf. shit, i really made this? hoon is so fucking adorable, argue with me if you disagree :p . uploading part two tomorrow 5pm kst :) part two is up and posted *^★ playlist: kingston (faye webster), lowkey (niki), august (taylor swift), soft spot (keshi), always (daniel caesar), best part (daniel caesar & h.e.r.), almost is never enough (ariana grande & nathan sykes)

dating was never hard for you.

you breezed through high school with a boyfriend for every semester, each one a lesson in love. you weren’t heartless—you did like them. maybe not enough to cry after the breakups, but enough to smile while it lasted.

you were living the easy life. pretty, popular, and always in love with something… or someone.

but all of that changed on a thursday afternoon.

you’d just turned down a free meal from your friends (and it was their treat, ugh) because your sister texted you, “buy the skincare stuff i told you about. only from that store near the station. they run out fast.”

so there you were, dodging pedestrians, phone in hand, a bit annoyed, very hungry.

you sighed, glancing at your screen for the third time—no calls, no new texts.

and then you noticed her.

a woman, maybe mid-thirties, blazer and red lipstick, standing across the sidewalk and watching you.

your brows knit instinctively. weird. you kept walking.

but then she followed.

“excuse me,” she said, heels clicking as she caught up to you.

you turned. “uh… yes?”

she smiled, like she already knew you. “sorry if this is random. i’m a manager at (-) entertainment. and… have you ever thought of becoming an idol?”

you blinked.

“me?”

“you’ve got the face. the vibe. we’re recruiting trainees right now. it’s competitive, but i think you have a real shot.”

you stared. was this real? was she legit?

she pulled out a card, glossy and gold-trimmed. it looked expensive. official.

“call this number,” she said. “auditions are still required, but… i can pull a few strings.”

and just like that, she walked away.

later that night

you sat at the dinner table, card on your lap, phone in your hand, still processing.

“what’s that?” your sister asked, peering over.

“uh… a manager gave it to me,” you muttered. “she wants me to audition. to be a trainee.”

your mom nearly dropped her spoon.

your dad blinked like he misheard.

“a what now?” he asked.

your sister grabbed the card, eyes wide. “no way. (-) entertainment? they’re huge. that’s, like, the company.”

“it’s probably fake,” you said quickly. “i mean, i haven’t even danced in public before.”

your mom smiled gently. “if it’s something you’re curious about… we’ll support you.”

“what if i’m not good enough?”

“then you’ll try. and if it’s not for you, you’ll walk away knowing you tried.”

your sister nudged your arm. “do it, loser. if you debut, i can brag about you.”

you laughed, but your heart was pounding.

a few weeks later, you stood backstage after your audition, heart thumping, palms sweaty.

the evaluator handed your file to someone behind them.

“she’s raw,” the woman murmured. “but i like her. give her the green light.”

that night, you got the call.

you were officially a trainee.

you were late.

again.

you burst into the practice room, sneakers squeaking against the floor, hair sticking to your forehead. seven other trainees glanced up—some sympathetic, some smug. the trainer didn’t even look surprised.

but he did.

sunghoon.

he was leaning against the mirror, arms crossed, black sweatpants, white shirt clinging to him like he’d already been at it for hours. perfect posture. flawless control. and the most judgmental eyes you’ve ever seen.

“this is the third time this week,” he said flatly.

you rolled your eyes, dropping your bag. “thanks for counting, mom.”

a snicker echoed from someone in the back. the trainer sighed.

“five laps. now,” she barked.

you groaned and started running.

sunghoon turned to the trainer. “i don’t know why you waste time on people who can’t take this seriously.”

you stopped mid-lap, heart racing for a new reason.

“excuse me?”

he glanced at you, cool and unbothered. “you heard me.”

“you don’t even know me.”

“i don’t have to. it’s obvious.”

you wanted to throw your shoe at him. or maybe yourself—how dare he look like that while being such an ass?

“you know, not everyone got trained with a silver spoon in their mouth,” you snapped. “some of us have to catch up.”

his jaw clenched. oh. that got to him.

“then maybe catch up quietly.”

later that week

“again!” the vocal coach yelled. “you're off tempo!”

you bit your lip, trying to hide how winded you were. sunghoon stood beside you, breathing steady, voice perfect, hair annoyingly perfect.

when the session ended, you stayed behind, muttering the chorus under your breath, trying to fix it. your body ached, throat dry.

“you’re holding your breath wrong,” he said suddenly.

you jumped. “oh my god—can you not sneak up like that?”

he leaned against the doorframe, arms folded again. why was he always doing that?

“i’m not sneaking. you’re just slow.”

“and you’re just insufferable.”

he walked over, stopped behind you.

“breathe here,” he said, lightly tapping your stomach. “not up here.” he tapped your chest.

you tensed. “if you’re going to insult me again, don’t bother.”

he sighed. not annoyed. tired. softer than you expected.

“look. i don’t think you’re bad. i just think… you’re distracted.”

you turned, suspicious. “and what would you know about me?”

he shrugged. “nothing. yet.”

your heartbeat did the most annoying little skip.

“for next week’s evaluation,” the trainer said, scribbling on the board, “you’ll be performing in pairs.”

groans. whispers. panic.

sunghoon raised his hand, calm as ever. “do we get to choose partners?”

the trainer gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“no.”

and then she said your name.

and then she said his.

dead. silence.

sunghoon’s head snapped toward you. you were already staring, wide-eyed, mouth open like someone just told you santa wasn’t real and sunghoon would be your new stepdad.

“what?” you said.

“no.” he said at the same time.

the trainer arched a brow. “you two clearly have chemistry.”

“hate-mistry,” you muttered.

“professionalism, park,” she said. “and you, too, y/n. if either of you screws this up, you’re both out of the showcase.”

that shut you up real fast.

day one of practicing together

you stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, glaring at him.

he mirrored you, looking about three seconds from snapping.

“you need to follow my lead,” he said.

“and you need to drop your ego.”

“i’ve been training for years.”

“cool, i’ve been dancing since i was five.”

“not the same.”

“let’s find out.”

music blasted through the speaker—some upbeat, sexy number that had no business making this situation worse.

and yet—you kept up. every move. every beat. matching him step for step, hips snapping, body sharp. when you spun and ended up right in front of him, close enough to feel his breath—

he blinked. stunned. just a little.

you smirked.

“not bad,” you said.

his ears went pink.

day three

you both ran the routine again. and again. until sweat dripped from your jaw and your hair clung to your temples.

the trainer clapped slowly from behind.

“didn’t expect that,” she said. “y/n—your control improved. and sunghoon, i’m glad you finally look like you're dancing with someone instead of against them.”

your lips twitched.

he side-eyed you. “don’t let it go to your head.”

you grinned. “you’re just mad i’m good.”

he didn’t respond.

later, as you wiped your face with a towel, he walked over—less guarded. still annoyingly perfect.

“you really haven’t trained before?”

you shook your head. “just picked things up. why?”

he hesitated.

“…you’re a fast learner.”

you looked up, surprised.

“and you don’t hesitate. most new trainees wait for permission to mess up.”

you blinked. “…was that a compliment?”

he smirked, turning away. “no.”

(yes.)

the music cuts. your breath is caught somewhere between your chest and throat. sunghoon’s hand is still on your waist. your head is tilted back, lips just barely parted—and his eyes are on you. unreadable.

nobody moves.

"are they dating or something?" someone whispers too loudly.

"wow?" another trainee mutters.

the trainer exhales like she just witnessed art.

“that…” she starts, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “was beyond what i asked for.”

you try to catch your breath. your body still buzzing from the adrenaline. from the dance. from him.

you don’t look at sunghoon when you mutter, “told you i wasn’t just a pretty face.”

but you feel it—how his grip on you lingers just a beat too long before he lets go.

you’re surrounded before you can even step off the floor. compliments, questions, stares—all of it buzzing in your ears.

“that was insane—”

“i didn’t even know she could dance like that.”

“how did they sync so well?”

“isn’t she new?”

you brush past it. you’re used to attention, sure. but this? this is different. this is real.

you find your way to a bench, just as someone flops down next to you.

“you’re kind of a show-off,” yeonjun says, nudging your arm.

you scoff. “jealous?”

“nah, just impressed. you looked like you were born on stage.”

you grin. “thanks.”

he pauses. “...but dancing that close to sunghoon? bold move.”

you roll your eyes. “wasn’t like i had a choice.”

across the room, sunghoon watches. sighing.

“you good?” jay asks, sipping his water bottle.

sunghoon’s averted. “he’s touching her.”

jay raises an eyebrow, finding you and a man together on a bench. “you mean yeonjun?”

“who else would i mean?”

jay blinks. “you do realize you sound like a jealous boyfriend right now?”

sunghoon scoffs. “i’m not jealous.”

“sure.”

“i’m not,” he repeats, harsher this time.

you pass by just in time to catch that last line.

you freeze. look back. sunghoon doesn’t see you.

but now you’ve seen him. and something about that look on his face—it doesn’t match the version of him you’ve built in your head.

your knee twinges wrong during a routine—small misstep, sharp sting. you hiss, stumble, fall back on the floor.

the door creaks open.

you tense—expecting a trainer or staff. instead, it’s sunghoon. of course it’s sunghoon.

“what the hell are you doing here alone?” he asks, stepping in.

you glare. “i could ask you the same thing.”

he walks over anyway. crouches beside you. “you could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“i didn’t,” you mutter, but the way you’re holding your leg says otherwise.

without another word, he grabs the first aid kit from the wall. wraps your knee like he’s done it a hundred times before.

you watch him. confused. curious. quiet.

“…you really care about this, huh?” he says eventually, not looking at you.

“about what?”

“training. performing. dancing.”

you shrug. “is that surprising?”

“a little.”

“why? because i don’t break my back trying to look perfect in front of the trainers?”

“because you make it look easy.”

you pause. “it’s not. i just don’t let anyone see when it’s hard.”

that makes him glance at you. just for a second. then—

“…you’re good, you know.”

you blink. “what?”

“you’re good. at this. i just didn’t want to admit it before.”

you laugh, breathless. “was that… a compliment?”

he stands up, tossing the bandage wrapper in the bin.

“don’t get used to it,” he mutters.

but he doesn’t leave.

and neither do you.

sunghoon was irritated. no—scratch that. he was pissed.

you were laughing at something yeonjun said, all wide-eyed and glossy-lipped, head tilted back like he just told the funniest joke in existence. maybe he did. maybe he didn’t. either way, hoon didn’t like the view from across the room.

he wasn’t sure what ticked him off more—the way your fingers brushed yeonjun’s arm, or the way yeonjun let them.

“you good?” jay asked beside him, noticing the stiff jaw, the tight grip on his water bottle.

“fine.”

a lie.

jay wasn’t stupid.

“you’ve got a weird definition of fine if it includes staring daggers at yeonjun’s face.”

sunghoon didn’t respond. just looked away. jay chuckled.

“she’s cute, huh.”

hoon scoffed. “please. she’s a walking red flag.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. too bold. too flirty. i don’t get how she always gets praise like that.”

jay grinned knowingly. “you mean, praise like she danced better than you yesterday?”

sunghoon gave him a flat look. jay laughed again. “man, just admit it. you like her.”

what he didn’t know was that you were behind the door, holding your breath. oh, you heard that. every word.

so the next day? you stepped on the gas.

“sunghoon,” you greeted, your voice all sugar and sin. “nice to see you glaring at me from across the room again. missed my face that much?”

his eyes narrowed. “you wish.”

“oh, i know you do,” you said with a smirk, stepping just a little too close. “you get jealous so easily. it’s kinda cute.”

“you’re delusional.”

“mm, maybe. but i’m also winning this little game we have.”

“what game?”

“oh, so you do admit we’re playing one.”

he didn’t answer. you leaned in, lips near his ear.

“catch up, sunghoon. or i’ll flirt with someone else again.”

the hallway was dark except for the faint glow bleeding under one door.

you already knew it was him.

you hesitated, then knocked—lightly, like a whisper.

inside, the music wasn’t playing. just silence. and when you opened the door and peeked in, you found him sitting with his back against the mirror, sweat-drenched shirt clinging to his skin, eyes heavy like they hadn’t rested in days.

he looked up. tired. annoyed, maybe.

“what do you want?”

you raised a brow. “aw, you missed me that much?”

he didn’t laugh. just huffed, dropping his head back against the mirror.

you walked in anyway.

“heard your team’s debut’s getting real close,” you said, plopping down next to him on the floor, knees brushing. “congrats.”

he didn’t respond.

you looked at him sideways, voice gentler now. “you okay?”

he nodded, but his fingers were twitchy—fiddling with his rings, bouncing his knee. anxious.

“you don’t look okay.”

he let out a breath. it shook a little.

you leaned forward, peeking at his face. “when was the last time you even slept?”

“don’t remember.”

you reached into your bag and tossed him a mini water bottle. “hydrate, superstar.”

he caught it, glanced at you. “why are you even here?”

you shrugged. “i could say i was worried. or that i heard music earlier and came to see what you were working on.”

you paused. “but honestly? you looked like a kicked puppy lately. i thought i’d put you out of your misery.”

he snorted. actually snorted.

progress.

you beamed. “there it is! that cute little laugh.”

“wasn’t a laugh.”

“was a laugh,” you said firmly. “i have excellent ears. dancer ears. and that? that was a giggle.”

he shook his head, hiding the smile pulling at his lips.

you fell quiet for a bit. then, in a softer voice:

“must be scary. having everything come at you at once. pressure. cameras. fans. and barely anyone who really knows what you’re going through.”

his jaw tensed.

you leaned your head back, mirroring him.

“i think about it sometimes. how that might be me in a year or two. training ‘til i drop. debuting and... still feeling alone.”

you glanced at him. “but hey. at least you’re not alone right now, right?”

sunghoon turned to you.

your face was relaxed. you weren’t being kind out of pity. this wasn’t charity. it was just... you.

for a second, he forgot about everything else.

“you’re really annoying, you know,” he mumbled.

“and yet you look like you’d die without me.”

he looked away, but not before you saw the smile he tried to hide again.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the hallway was loud again. busy. debut-season chaos in full swing. managers barking schedules, stylists dragging suitcases, trainees practicing lines and formations in every corner.

you stood off to the side, sipping banana milk like you were just background noise.

“look alive, rookie,” someone called, nearly bumping into you.

you gave a lazy salute. “yes sir.”

just another day of not being noticed.

sunghoon passed by with his group—a cluster of stylists, staff, and busy energy. he didn’t look your way.

not that you cared.

but you didn't see the way he glanced back at you.

“people come and go,” you muttered, raising your banana milk like a toast. “that’s showbiz, baby.”

and then you tripped on a suitcase a stylist must've left there, you didn't see or too distracted to notice.

the banana milk went flying. your knees nearly kissed the floor. and when you looked up—sunghoon was right there.

of course he was.

he blinked down at you, eyebrows raised, and said nothing.

you, sprawled like a tragic mop, just smiled. “hi.”

he blinked, eyebrows raised. “you good?”

you held up the now half-empty drink. “well, the banana milk isn't.”

he bit back a smile. “that’s your third time tripping in front of me this month.”

you raised a brow. “you count my embarrassments now?”

“it's starting to feel intentional.”

you got up, brushing yourself off. “please, if i were trying to get your attention, i’d go bigger. maybe a cartwheel. or a dramatic monologue.”

“the floor dive was convincing.”

you smiled. “i like to keep it original.” then, a little quieter, “you’ve been busy lately.”

his smile faltered just slightly.

you waved it off. “no, seriously. you’ve got fans and press and a glam team. i’ve got... banana milk.”

“sounds like a solid support system.”

you laughed, but your smile faded when he glanced down the hall. his team was already moving.

“you should go,” you said. “hair and makeup’s waiting.”

he hesitated. “you sure?”

you nodded. “go be famous.”

he looked at you like he wanted to say more. but then he just nodded, and walked away.

you watched him leave. then looked down at your shoe.

still sticky.

“tragic,” you whispered.

a few days later

the vending machine blinked angrily at the girl in front of it.

the girl—probably thirteen, maybe fourteen—had her tiny fists clenched and was glaring up at the machine like it had insulted her ancestors.

you crouched beside her, trying not to laugh. “did the evil robot eat your money again?”

“yes!” she huffed. “i pressed the peach drink but it gave me black coffee! that’s not even close!”

you gasped, clutching your chest. “that’s betrayal. you’ve just been betrayed.”

“i don’t even like coffee! It tastes like burnt sadness!”

you dramatically nodded. “we must avenge you.”

she grinned. “you think I can sue?”

“only if you’ve got a lawyer. or at least a really angry eonni (older sister) .”

she tilted her head. “you’ll do.”

at that moment, you kicked the machine gently (totally just a little tap, you’re not trying to go viral for violence). and... silence. the drink didn't fall. awkward.

the little girl snorted, holding her laugh with all her might.

you smiled, laughing under your breath and kicking the vending machine again, a little love tap and—miraculously—the peach drink clunked down into the bin.

both of you screamed.

“victory!!” “you’re a vending machine master!”

you laughed. “told you i can save you.”

a low chuckle behind you made you freeze.

you turned, slow-motion style, to see sunghoon standing there with a water bottle. heeseung stood beside him, sweaty from practice and grinning.

heeseung gave a thumbs-up. “iconic vending machine diplomacy.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “burnt sadness, huh?”

you stood up straight. “i—she didn’t mean—”

“she meant it,” the girl said proudly, sipping her drink. “she says it tastes like regret in a cup.”

you stared at her, betrayed. “you were supposed to have my back.”

sunghoon laughed. like, really laughed. the kind that made your stomach twist a little.

“didn’t know you were mentoring now.”

you shrugged. “somebody’s gotta fight for the little ones. didn't know you were keeping tabs on me now.”

heeseung grabbed his drink, still chuckling. “i’m hanging out here more often.”

sunghoon lingered, eyes still on you. “you’re good with kids.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he smiled, soft and small, before heading off. “try not to start a vending machine riot next time.”

you stood there, stuck.

the girl tugged your sleeve. “...you like him, huh?”

you looked down at her. “no idea what you’re talking about.”

she narrowed her eyes. “peach tea never lies.”

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

“i feel like i keep seeing her everywhere lately,” sunghoon said later, on their way back to the practice room.

heeseung gave him a look. “more like you keep noticing her.”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. just stared ahead, thoughtful.

heeseung nudged him. “you’re smiling, dude.”

sunghoon wiped the smile off his face immediately. “no, i’m not.”

“you’re so obvious.”

he didn’t say anything for a while.

but later, he’d find himself glancing down hallways a little more. wondering if banana milk girl would be there.

just... wondering.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

you hadn’t cried in weeks. not since training got serious.

but tonight? the moment the studio door clicked shut behind you, the tears came.

your hands were sore. your voice was gone. and no matter how hard you trained, you still felt behind—like everyone else had a head start and you were just catching up, slipping on a treadmill that wouldn't stop.

the mirror felt cruel. it always did when you weren’t at your best.

and then—

a knock. soft, careful.

you wiped your face fast, spinning around like nothing happened. “practice room’s full. try the one on the second floor.”

“already did.”

your breath hitched.

sunghoon stood in the doorway, hoodie pulled over his head, cap low. casual. unbothered. he should be prepping for stage performances, meetings, shoots—life after debut.

but he was here.

you blinked. “aren’t you like, super busy?”

he shrugged, stepping in. “don’t tell my manager.”

you let out a small laugh. it cracked.

he sat beside you like he belonged there. like no time had passed.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he said softly.

“i’ve been busy.”

“so have i.”

you didn’t say anything.

he nudged you. “talk to me.”

you bit your cheek. “what’s there to talk about?”

he looked at you, really looked at you.

“you’re scared.”

you looked away. “i’m not.”

“you are.” he reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered just a second longer. “i was too.”

you met his eyes. they weren’t teasing or smug. just... warm.

“hoon, i’m the last trainee to enter and they expect me to keep up with girls who’ve been doing this for years. i feel like i’m constantly proving that i deserve to be here.”

“you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“except everyone.”

he took your hand—held it. his thumb brushed yours like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

“you think i didn’t feel the same before i debuted?” he asked, voice hushed. “you think i don’t still feel like that sometimes? like i’m faking it, or like i’m not enough?”

you stared at him.

“you’re more than enough,” he said. “you were the only one who saw me before all this. let me be that for you now.”

and just like that, the tears were back. but you didn’t hide this time.

you leaned into him. he let you. his arms came around you like a shield, like home, like this was always meant to happen.

“this doesn’t mean i’m falling for you or anything,” you mumbled into his chest.

he smiled against your hair. “sure. and i’m not hopelessly in love with you either.” it was a lie.

ONE MONTH LATER

your body ached. your shirt clung to your back. the playlist on the studio speakers had looped for the third time now, but you weren’t done yet. not even close.

you wiped sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, hair tied up haphazardly like your last brain cell had done it for you. two turns, down, pop—reset. again.

then the studio door opened.

you blinked, already preparing to snap at whoever thought now was a great time to interrupt—only to freeze.

sunghoon.

cap on. mask half-down. that dumb post-debut glow still clinging to him like glitter. he looked like a k-drama lead showing up in your lowest moment with no right to be that good-looking.

you squinted. “are you... lost?”

he didn’t smile.

he stepped in, quiet. closed the door behind him. took a breath.

“go on,” you said, gesturing vaguely at your unfinished choreo. “you came to judge my pirouettes or what?”

he scratched the back of his neck. “actually…”

pause.

“i wanted to ask you something.”

you raised a brow, waiting. arms crossed. heart racing.

“do you...” he hesitated, then stepped closer. “wanna go out with me?”

you blinked.

was he out of his damn mind?

you looked down at yourself. hair in chaos. sweat-drenched shirt. left sock halfway sliding off. “like... right now?”

he laughed softly, but there was a nervous tremble to it. “no. i mean... soon. when you’re free. like, a real date. just us.”

you stared at him. the air felt too quiet.

he looked serious. almost nervous. not like the usual sarcastic, biting sunghoon who annoyed you daily—this was the one who held your hand when no one else was looking. the one who showed up when you were breaking.

you let out a long sigh, walking past him to grab your water bottle. you took a sip. gave him a look.

“sunghoon,” you said flatly, “you realize i’m one month away from possibly debuting through a televised hunger game for trainees, right?”

he gave you a sheepish smile. “yeah.”

“and you’re busy being an idol or whatever.”

“also yeah.”

you raised an eyebrow. “then why now?”

he didn’t flinch. “because I like you.”

…

you stared at him. like, really stared. and god—he was really standing there. asking you out while you looked like a dehydrated noodle. and it should’ve been dumb. it should’ve been ill-timed.

but he meant it. that was the stupid part.

you sighed again, dramatic. wiped your face.

then, you looked up at him with a small smirk.

“fine,” you said, shrugging. “one date.”

his eyes lit up.

“but if it sucks, I’m ghosting you.”

“deal.”

you narrowed your eyes. “and you’re paying.”

“always.”

“and no kissing—unless I say so.”

he grinned. “so you will say so.”

“shut up,” you muttered, tossing your towel at him—and missing.

ONE WEEK LATER

first secret date

you almost laughed when you saw him.

cap pulled down low. hoodie up. mask on. sunglasses too. like he was about to rob the convenience store instead of take you on a date.

he looked left, then right. then spotted you.

and you—well.

you were in simple jeans, a tucked white tee, lowkey makeup, and your hair done just enough to look effortlessly good. no flash. no glam. just enough to look soft and gorgeously dangerous.

sunghoon blinked under his cap. “wow.”

you tilted your head. “wow?”

“i thought we said casual.”

you smirked. “i am casual.”

he blinked again. “casual doesn’t usually knock the air outta someone’s lungs.”

you bit your lip to hide the smile. “then breathe better.”

he laughed under his mask, tugging it down slightly as you both started walking. he had chosen a small side street near the han river, early evening, sun soft in the sky. not too crowded. not too exposed.

it wasn’t fancy. no candlelit tables. no bouquets. just two kids sneaking time together between a debut and a dream.

and somehow, it was perfect.

“are you really allowed out?” you asked, nudging him. “i don’t wanna be the reason you get exiled from your group.”

he scoffed. “i’ve snuck out for worse.”

you squinted. “like what?”

“like ramen.”

you cackled. “you’re risking your career for cup noodles?”

“if they’re spicy enough, yeah.”

you rolled your eyes, but your hand brushed against his as you walked. he noticed. he didn’t say anything—but he didn’t move it away either.

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

later, on a park bench near the river

you sat next to him, knees barely touching. the sun had dipped lower now, painting the water gold.

he was quiet.

so were you.

until—

“you know,” he said, “i wasn’t sure this would work.”

you looked at him.

“i’m busy. you’re about to be busier. and all the pressure—fans, survival shows, cameras…” he exhaled. “we’re barely even normal people anymore.”

you nodded slowly, biting your lip. “so… why’d you ask me out then?”

he looked at you.

“because even when I’m not sure about anything else… I’m sure about you.”

you blinked.

okay. rude.

he was not allowed to drop lines like that while you were emotionally vulnerable, sweaty from practice last night, and wearing your second best sneakers.

you tried to play it off, heart punching your ribs. “you’ve been practicing that in the mirror, huh?”

he grinned. “nah. you’re just that inspiring.”

you stared at him, lips twitching.

then, casually, you reached over and hooked your pinky with his.

that was it.

that was all.

he squeezed gently.

after the date — back at the dorms

you got a text. just as you slipped into the trainee dorm’s hallway.

sunghoon: home safe? you: just got in. you? sunghoon: still outside. walking around like a loser who just got his crush to say yes you: you are a loser. but like. a cute one i guess sunghoon: say that again i’ll screenshot it you: goodnight, hoonie sunghoon: night, pretty girl.

you stared at the screen, face flushed.

then threw your pillow at the bed and let out a scream into your blanket.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

you barely made it through the last eight-count. your legs were jelly, your ponytail was falling apart, and your throat was screaming for water—but more than anything, your brain was fried. you didn’t even notice someone step into the practice room until you heard a low, familiar voice.

“psst. trainee of the year.”

you turned, and there he was.

sunghoon.

with a hoodie pulled up and a mischievous glint in his eye… holding a snack-sized bag of chips and a chocolate bar like they were illegal contraband.

you blinked. “hoon—what are you doing here?!”

he smirked. “looking out for someone who forgot how to rest.”

“i’m on a diet,” you whispered, eyeing the chocolate like it was your long-lost lover.

he stepped closer. “then pretend i didn’t bring snacks. just come with me for five minutes.”

you followed him to the vending machine hallway—dead center between the boys’ and girls’ dorm floors. no cctv. no trainers.

just buzzing machines, flickering fluorescent light, and the sound of your heart thudding louder than it should.

he leaned against the wall, opening the chocolate and breaking off a square.

you stared at it.

“i said i’m on a diet.”

“i said i don’t care.” he offered it again.

you took it. obviously.

a beat of silence passed. then another. you sighed.

“i’ve never dated someone in secret before,” you mumbled, fingers fiddling with the wrapper. “do you think it’ll work out?”

sunghoon didn’t hesitate.

“I’m actually an expert in secrets…” he said, tone suddenly lower, softer.

he leaned in, closing the already-small space between you.

“...especially dating.”

your breath hitched.

he was close—too close—his scent all cozy detergent and warm skin, his lips ghosting a little too close to your cheek.

“i’ll teach you how.”

you were in the middle of laughing—like, full-on cracking up with the other trainees in the dance room. someone made a joke about one of the trainers being secretly in love with their reflection, and you had tears in your eyes.

you didn’t even realize your phone buzzed until you were finally alone, tying your hair up again, everyone else already off to shower or sleep.

sunghoon: u free? sunghoon: dance room. come before i fall asleep on the floor.

you stared. then blinked. then immediately bolted.

the second you opened the door to his group’s practice room, you saw him sitting there on the floor, back against the mirror, head tilted up like he’d been waiting hours.

he looked up.

“hey.”

just that one word and you were melting. it’s been weeks. actual weeks. and yet, there he was—same hoodie, same tired smile, same boy who made you forget how to breathe.

you walked in slowly. “so you miss me, huh?”

he scoffed, but the smile said it all.

“i’m not gonna lie. i might’ve forgotten what you looked like.”

“rude.”

“well, i remember now.” his eyes swept over you.

you rolled your eyes, trying not to combust.

you sat next to him, shoulders barely touching, and it was quiet for a second. not awkward. just… warm.

“you’ve been working hard,” you said quietly.

“you too,” he murmured. “i see it in the practice logs.”

you raised a brow. “you stalk me?”

he smirked. “maybe.”

he stood up a little while later, stretched, then turned to you again.

“come here.”

“why?”

“just—” he waved you over.

you got up, brushing imaginary dust off your sweatpants. “if you prank me, i swear—”

“i’m not. just come.”

he walked backward, tugging you gently by the wrist until you both slipped behind the tall mirror divider that split the practice room—probably put there for storage or stage simulation. barely any light. no one would check there.

you opened your mouth to ask what is this, but he was already leaning in.

and then—

footsteps.

two voices. familiar.

heeseung. jake.

you froze. sunghoon cursed under his breath, then pulled you closer—closer—until your back hit the mirror and his body shielded you completely.

your heart did a full somersault.

“shhh,” he whispered, breath fanning across your ear. “they’re just grabbing their stuff.”

heeseung’s voice echoed faintly. “you think sunghoon left already?”

“probably. dude’s always staying too long.”

you held your breath, heartbeat racing. he was so close. his hands rested on either side of your head, and he kept glancing down at you like he might actually—

once the door shut and the voices faded, silence fell.

you stared at him.

he stared right back.

then he grinned.

“i wasn’t gonna kiss you, you know.”

“…right.”

“…but now i kind of want to.”

you raised a brow. “you sure about that? we haven’t even had a second date.”

“so?” he whispered, leaning in again. “we’re behind a mirror. does it count?”

you were this close to shoving him playfully, but your breath hitched when he tilted his head just enough.

his lips brushed yours.

soft. tentative.

dangerous.

but then you kissed him back.

just once. quick. stupid. electric.

you pulled away with a shaky breath. “you’re so annoying.”

“you like it.”

“i hate it.”

he grinned. “i’ll teach you how.”

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the call started with you lying flat on your bed, hair down, face fresh from a shower, hoodie oversized and barely clinging to one shoulder.

“you look tired,” you mumbled, frowning into the screen.

sunghoon was on his dorm bed too, hair pushed back with a headband, cheeks still flushed from rehearsal. “you look pretty.”

you blinked. “that’s not the point—”

“but it’s true,” he said, smiling. “also. i am tired. i miss you.”

you flopped your head dramatically against your pillow. “ugh, i miss you too. stupid idol schedules.”

he laughed. then sighed. then just stared at you for a second longer than necessary.

the silence was comfortable. until your phone buzzed.

you glanced at the notification. trainee gc.

someone: you looked cool in practice today someone else: your form’s improved a lot lately and then: wanna hangout sometime? just chill, talk about training n stuff?

sunghoon raised a brow. “who’s that?”

you snorted, a little too amused. “hm? just the group chat.”

“your phone’s lighting up a lot,” he said, too casually.

you tilted your screen to the side, showing the flood of not-so-subtle messages.

sunghoon squinted. “that guy. the one who complimented your jumps last time. he’s the one who sent the hangout thing, right?”

you blinked slowly. “hoon. are you jealous?”

“no,” he lied, immediately, like a liar.

“you so are.”

“i’m not,” he repeated, suddenly invested in adjusting the blanket on his lap.

you smirked. “you’re sulking.”

he didn’t respond.

“hoon~”

“i’m just saying,” he said, voice all pouty now, “he doesn’t even stretch properly before practice. what does he know.”

you wheezed.

“oh my god.”

“i’m just—i’m just watching out for you, okay?” he said, flustered, biting his lip. “i don’t like how they act around you.”

you rolled onto your back, giggling into your sleeve.

“you’re adorable.”

“no, i’m serious,” he grumbled. “i can’t even talk to you in public, but they’re out here throwing compliments like confetti.”

you peeked at the screen again. his lips were pursed. eyes narrowed. sulk level: maximum.

you reached out like you could actually pinch his cheek through the screen.

“you know you’re the only one i want to hear compliments from, right?”

his gaze softened.

“...really?”

“really,” you said, smiling. “but also, you’re kinda hot when you’re jealous. not gonna lie.”

he hid his face in his hoodie.

“stop.”

“never.”

you grinned.

“hoooon,” you whined through the screen, “can’t you just teleport here? like now? please? i’ll pay.”

he snorted. “what with? ramen and protein bars?”

“yes.”

he smiled, soft and lazy, eyes crinkling. “i wish i could.”

“me too.”

your voice had dropped, just a little. tired. yearning. and his fingers twitched like he wished he could reach through the screen and pull you into his chest.

but then—

“hyung! dinner’s ready!”

jungwon’s voice, right outside his door.

sunghoon groaned, rolling onto his side with a quiet, “just five more minutes!”

“are you still on call with y/n?” jungwon asked, then cracked the door open like he already knew the answer.

sunghoon quickly angled the phone to his chest, like a whole dad caught texting his crush in middle school.

but jungwon just leaned in and waved toward the screen. “hi, y/n!”

“oh my god,” you said, hiding your face with a hand, laughing. “hi wonnie.”

then sunoo appeared in the hallway too, leaning over jungwon’s shoulder. “tell her i say hi too!”

“i did already!” jungwon argued.

niki popped in last, chewing on something. “you’re not slick, hyung. we all know you’ve been heart-eyes emoji for like, three months now.”

sunghoon nearly died on the spot.

“get out,” he hissed.

“we’re going,” sunoo grinned. “but don’t kiss through the screen or anything. the wi-fi’s lagging.”

and they vanished.

you wheezed. “your roommates are literally chaos.”

“they’re menaces.”

“but cute menaces.”

“fine,” he mumbled, trying not to smile again. “but i’m the cutest, right?”

“you’re the cutest and the hottest.”

“and you’re the reason my heart’s doing cardio without moving.”

you blinked. “that was so cheesy.”

“i know,” he grinned.

a few nights later – secret car hangout edition

he picked you up in a manager’s car, hoodie low, cap on, mask covering most of his face. when you slid into the front seat, your eyes met and for a second neither of you said anything.

then you both burst into giggles like schoolkids sneaking out past curfew.

“you’re insane,” you whispered, shutting the door.

“you’re prettier in person,” he whispered back.

“you’re biased.”

“i’m in love.”

you froze. blinked. stared at him.

he blinked back, wide-eyed. “i mean—i—i said that out loud, didn’t i.”

you bit your lip, suddenly warm.

“yeah,” you said. “but… same.”

his hand reached for yours between the seats. fingers laced. thumbs brushing.

you two just sat there for a while. soft music playing. headlights passing. the world rushing around you, but in here, time stilled.

“you’re leaving again tomorrow?” you asked.

he nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “fanmeet. then music show. then filming.”

“you’re everywhere.”

“except here,” he murmured. “with you.”

your heart tugged.

“then make the most of tonight.”

he turned to look at you.

eyes locked.

“yeah?” he whispered.

you nodded.

then you climbed over the center console like it was nothing, and next thing you knew, you were on his lap, hoodie and all, faces close, lips brushing. giggling quietly, almost getting caught when a van drove past and made the headlights flash inside.

you kissed like the world didn’t know.

you laughed like no one could hear.

and when he pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm, he whispered—

“i’ll teach you how.”

then just like that, you two were back to kissing. he kept a hand on your chin to angle your head in the perfect position. his tongue slipping in your lips, tasting you like he'll never get a chance to again.

and that's when you two made out recklessly in the car, breath heavy, and in love.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

the survival show started before either of you could even process it.

you were waking up at 5 a.m., rehearsing until midnight, crash-napping in dance studios, living off energy drinks and willpower.

sunghoon was across the world—london, tokyo, la, award shows, en-oclock, fanmeets, and endless nights of soundchecks.

the phone calls slowed.

the messages became one-word replies.

then one-sided.

then nothing.

but not because you stopped caring.

it was just life.

it was debut season.

dreams were happening in real time.

you both were flying so fast that you didn’t even realize you were flying past each other.

months later

you were back. not just in seoul, not just in the same time zone—but here.

and you were debuting.

you made it into the final group.

four girls. you were the visual, the ace, the one people couldn’t stop looking at.

and the moment you saw his name pop up on your schedule—same venue, different floors—you knew.

you had to see him.

so you did.

your steps were slow but steady. nerves in your chest like fireworks waiting to go off.

he looked up when you entered the hallway. paused.

you smiled.

his mouth parted. just a little.

then you ran—fast, too fast—and wrapped your arms around his middle like you were afraid he’d disappear again.

his arms came around you instantly. like muscle memory. like home.

“i made it,” you whispered into his chest, voice trembling.

he didn’t say anything at first. just held you tighter.

then—

“i know,” he said quietly.

you blinked up at him.

and he smiled, eyes a little glassy, cheeks a little pink. “i saw every performance.”

you laughed through your tears. “you did?”

“mhm.” he nodded. “even the boot camp episode. and your level test. and the one where you cried after your vocals cracked—”

“shut up.”

“i cried too.”

“shut up.”

“i saved the fancam.”

you slapped his shoulder, but your grin couldn’t be wiped off.

“and i saw yours,” you whispered, pressing your palm to his chest like you could feel all the places he grew while you were away. “every award. every encore. every fancam. you were so… amazing.”

“you too,” he murmured. “we both made it.”

and for a second, it didn’t matter that the world was watching.

that you had bodyguards and managers and contracts now.

that there were rules and rumors and cameras always watching.

because right here, in this small hallway of a massive building—

it was just the two of you again.

“missed you,” you said.

“teach me how to get over you,” he whispered.

and you shook your head.

“no,” you whispered back. “i’ll teach you how to keep me.”

a/n: posting part 2 tomorrow 5pm kst ! if you want to be tagged, please reblog so you can be added (that would help me much too hh). i already have a reserved taglist, so if you want to register, just click my forms :>> loveyallsosomuchh

chapter 2 is posted !

<to read next chapter tap the underlined>

taglist: @kpoplover-19 @kpoppiesofinternet

[mysticaljiminie]

Please help

Your support means the world to me right now. I’m just 3 days away from my college submission deadline, and I’m still short on the funds I need. I’m doing everything I can working two part-time jobs but I can’t do this alone.

If you can, please consider purchasing a tarot reading or making a small donation. Even if you can’t contribute financially, sharing this message can make a huge difference.

Your help would help me achieve the dream I’ve been working so hard for. Any support means you’re helping me take a big step toward my future.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart

[mysticaljiminie]

sagittarius placements (esp. mars), mars or rahu or sun in 9H, sun or rahu in 12H, pisces placements

[mysticaljiminie]

MB🌅

Will my travel abroad be fulfilling?

Hierophant, ace of s, magician

Yes

Although there might be some structure or rules in place than can seem significant but you will make the most of it in the end and end up feeling fulfilled.

[mysticaljiminie]

is anyone else’s February sucking already. like it feels like I’ve been ran over 1000 times and will continue to be every day