4linos

[4linos]

your timing is perfect because part 2 was just posted today 😝.

i know how much you enjoyed crossroads so i can’t believe changbin’s fic made it to your favorites. i’ll let you read part 2 before i say some of my thoughts. 🧐 Lol

i’ve definitely read it, but i completely forgot about this one. i need to go back and reread her fics soon 🤭.

thank you for reading 💛

[4linos]

when the past knocks 2

seo changbin x f!reader, kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: you left to protect your son and yourself. but healing gets complicated when old ghosts return… and one of them still makes you laugh.

genre/warnings: angst, infidelity, emotional manipulation, grief, jealousy, unresolved feelings, slow burn, hurt/comfort.

wc: 16,998.

[when the past knocks part 1]

The morning felt like it had arrived too soon, dragging its weight across your chest, suffocating you with its inevitability. You had barely slept, your mind cycling through the words you and Seungmin had exchanged the night before, the look in his eyes when he saw the texts, the way everything seemed to snap so suddenly, everything falling apart in ways you never thought possible. You tossed and turned, trying to find some comfort in the bed that used to feel like home. But tonight, it felt like a cold, empty void between the two of you.

You had hoped maybe things would be different when you woke up. Maybe Seungmin would be there, sitting on the edge of the bed, tired from the fight but still here, still trying. But no.

The bed was already cold on his side.

You blinked, feeling an uncomfortable lump form in your throat as you pushed yourself up, rubbing your eyes, trying to force your body into action despite the exhaustion that clung to your limbs. The room felt too big, the silence almost suffocating.

You checked the bathroom connected to the bedroom, still expecting to see him there, even though you knew, deep down that he wouldn’t be. But maybe… maybe there would be something. A reason to hope that things hadn’t gone as far as they felt. But the bathroom was empty, and so was the small corner where he had placed his bag the night before.

His things were gone.

The clothes he had brought back with him, the ones he hadn’t bothered to put back in a suitcase, but had just tossed over the back of a chair were no longer there. There was no sign of him at all.

It felt like something heavy and sharp pressed against your chest. Not anger, not even frustration. Just hurt.

You wanted to be angry. You wanted to tell yourself that you should be relieved, that this was for the best. But you couldn’t. You loved him. You still loved him. And despite the lies, the betrayal, and the damage he’d done to you and your son, you couldn’t erase the love. You hated how it still clung to you, how it refused to leave, no matter how broken things were.

You called out for him softly, almost like a question. “Seungmin?”

There was no answer.

You walked downstairs slowly, feeling the weight of every step. You knew your mother would be down there by now, probably waiting with a warm breakfast as she always did. She was still trying to hold things together. You could feel the weight of her expectations, the hope in her eyes every time you walked in, the way she didn’t want to admit that something might be wrong.

When you got downstairs, your mother was in the kitchen, moving around the stove. Roan’s laughter echoed from the other room, a reminder of how normal everything was on the surface. But you felt like you were living in a different world. You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, but the words still came out quieter than you intended.

“Mom, have you seen Seungmin?”

She paused, turning slightly, her expression unreadable. And then it softened, just a little, though it didn’t stop her from giving you a look. A look that wasn’t judgment, but concern. The kind of concern that mothers reserve for their children when they’re trying so hard to hold everything together, even when it’s falling apart.

“He left early this morning,” she said, a quiet finality in her voice. “Caught him leaving around 4 a.m. Said he had to go into the office today. He thanked me for letting him stay.”

Your stomach turned.

You nodded, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt to hear that. Trying to act like it was fine. “Okay,” you muttered, your voice thin and strained.

But she didn’t buy it. She stepped closer, crossing her arms in a way that told you she wasn’t going to let you off that easy. She studied you for a second, searching your face like she was trying to read some kind of clue.

“What’s going on with you two, huh? I thought you’d be working things out by now. I really thought it was just a bump in the road. After all these years, I figured it would be fixable.” Her voice cracked just a little, and it caught you off guard.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to just collapse right there in front of her. You felt the weight of everything you hadn’t said. The weight of everything you had been holding back.

And for a brief moment, you almost thought about telling her everything, the truth, raw and exposed. That Seungmin had destroyed your trust, that the marriage was over, that there was no easy fix to this. But when you looked at her, you saw the years of hope, the way she had loved Seungmin like her own son. You saw the way she still believed in the “happy ending” for the family she’d always dreamed of.

You couldn’t break her, too.

So you lied.

“It’s fine, Mom. We’re just… working through things. It’s been tough, you know? But we’re figuring it out.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t push either. Her eyes softened, but she couldn’t hide the doubt in them.

“Well,” she said, her voice tightening, “he left early this morning, said he wanted to give you some space. I heard you two arguing last night.” Her voice dropped a little. “You didn’t seem like things were fine then.”

Your heart skipped. She heard you?

But you couldn’t react, not now. Not when everything felt like it was already on the edge.

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly. “We’re just… having a hard time communicating right now. But we’ll be okay. I’m sure we will.”

Your mother didn’t press further. She crossed her arms and looked at you with that knowing expression. “You’re sure? Because I’ve never seen you like this. You don’t have to keep pretending everything’s fine if it’s not.”

But before you could respond, Roan came bounding into the kitchen, his hair messy from sleep, a bright smile on his face. “Mom! I’m ready for breakfast!”

The moment was over, broken by the sound of your son’s excited voice. And you felt an immediate pang of guilt for lying in front of him, for pretending to be okay when everything felt like it was crumbling.

You forced yourself to smile at Roan, pushing the sadness deep down. “Okay, buddy, let’s get you something to eat.”

But your mother’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer, as if waiting for something you weren’t ready to say. Then she turned and started preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of motions. You got Roan dressed and ready for school, the conversations were light, forced, and polite. But in the back of your mind, you could feel everything shifting. The truth you weren’t telling. The love you weren’t ready to let go of.

-

The ping of your phone broke the quiet stillness of the morning. You were sitting at the kitchen counter, slowly sipping your coffee, eyes unfocused, trying to drown out the weight of everything. It was too early for this. The morning felt like a battle between the pull of comfort and the sharp sting of everything unraveling around you. You hadn’t heard from Seungmin all day after the night’s argument, and despite your internal pleading not to think about him, your mind had been consumed by him, by everything he was, everything you once had together.

You pulled your phone toward you. The message was from Seungmin.

It was a simple text: “Hey, can I call Roan tonight? I just want to check in on him and hear his voice.”

You stared at the message for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen. It hurt to even acknowledge that he wasn’t here. You’d been waiting for him to step up, to take accountability, to make things right, but it wasn’t like that, was it? He had left. And now he was giving you space. Space you didn’t even know if you wanted, but were probably going to have to learn to live with.

You couldn’t blame him for needing space. You needed it too. But how do you move forward from this? How do you separate the love that’s still so strongly rooted in your heart from the anger, the betrayal, and the overwhelming sadness? You missed him so much that it physically hurt. But there was so much damage between you two.

You quickly typed a response, something simple “Yeah, that’s fine. Roan will be happy to hear from you.”

Then came the barrage of texts that you hadn't expected, each one coming faster than the last.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I left early this morning because the argument from last night made me realize we both need space.” The words were clear and deliberate, almost as if he was trying to make himself sound reasonable, calm.

“I’m going to give you all the space you need for now. Whenever you’re ready, we can sit down and talk about what’s going to happen with us… and with Roan.”

A strange, hollow feeling spread through you as you read his words. You hadn’t expected him to leave. It was just too… final. But here he was, sending these texts, acting like everything could still somehow be fixed. And deep down, you didn’t know if you wanted that. You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you let your phone sit on the table while you mindlessly stirred your coffee. The silence was deafening, and you felt the ache in your chest grow. Was he right? Was space the answer? Could you and Seungmin really talk about the future? And even more confusing, did you want to?

You loved him. You still loved him. That love hadn’t faded, even in the wake of everything that had happened. Even now, despite the anger and betrayal, it felt like your heart refused to let him go.

You hated that it hurt. You hated how badly you still wanted to fix things, to hold onto the family you once had. You wanted to feel that warmth again, the kind that was once so certain between you and Seungmin. You wanted to believe it could all go back to how it was before.

But something had changed. Something else had wormed its way into your mind. And it wasn’t just Seungmin anymore.

Changbin.

His face flashed in your mind, sharp and bright like a sudden storm cutting through the fog.

It wasn’t just that you remembered him. It wasn’t just the memories of the past, of high school, of how he had always been there for you, how he'd always understood you. It wasn’t even the fact that you had spent time with him recently, reconnecting and laughing over old stories.

It was the way you felt now, in the silence after Seungmin’s texts.

The way you smiled at your phone after reading his message. The way your chest felt lighter with every word he sent, the way your thoughts drifted to him and not Seungmin.

Suddenly, you were questioning everything. The connection with Seungmin that you had once believed was unbreakable, it felt less solid now. More fragile. As though it was built on sand.

You hadn’t meant for things to get complicated again. You didn’t want to feel this pull toward Changbin. Not now. Not when everything with Seungmin was already so volatile. But it was like trying to fight the current, your thoughts kept returning to him. To the way he made you feel seen, understood, and even happy. There was no bitterness, no tension, no past mistakes haunting the space between you.

The thought of Changbin now felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating weight of the relationship with Seungmin.

And it wasn’t just about the past. It was now. You’d spent hours talking to him, laughing with him, reconnecting in ways you hadn’t expected. And even though the friendship was unexpected, there was this undeniable connection. An attraction that had been buried under the weight of your life with Seungmin, but now seemed to bubble back to the surface.

Your thoughts were scattered, tangled between the man you had married and the one who once held your heart, the one who was still somehow here, slipping back into your life.

A sharp ping broke your reverie. Another message from Seungmin.

“I just wanted to remind you that I’m here when you’re ready. For you. For Roan. Don’t shut me out.”

You felt the familiar sting of guilt. You wanted to respond. To tell him that you didn’t know what you wanted anymore, that you didn’t know if you could fix things. But you didn’t. Instead, you set your phone down and stood up.

The pull toward Changbin had unsettled you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t deny it either.

The more you tried to push it down, the more it crept up. He was becoming a constant thought. The more you thought about him, the more the idea of Seungmin and what you had with him seemed less and less certain.

You loved Seungmin. You did. But you didn’t know if the love you had was enough to fix everything. You didn’t know if it was enough to erase the years of resentment, the lies, the unspoken words between you two.

And now, a part of you was wondering if it was possible to love someone else, someone who could actually see you. See you in a way Seungmin never had.

You leaned against the counter, feeling the weight of the decision hanging in the air, heavier than anything you had ever faced before. Would you even allow yourself to love again? Would you be willing to take the risk? Or would you bury everything, hoping that time and space would somehow heal the broken pieces of your marriage?

You couldn’t decide. Not yet.

And so, you pushed it all down, Seungmin’s texts, Changbin’s face, your emotions.

But you couldn’t escape the ache, the pull, the uncertainty.

And as the day dragged on, the questions remained.

What would you do next?

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled shadows over the park as you sat on the blanket, surrounded by a picnic spread. Roan and Yuna were playing on the swings and climbing frame with the other kids, their laughter ringing through the air. It felt like a rare moment of peace, a fleeting escape from everything that had been weighing on your heart for the past few weeks.

But the conversation you were having with Changbin was the highlight of your day, as it always was. Changbin had just finished recounting one of his favorite stories from high school, one that had you laughing so hard you almost spilled the lemonade you were holding. The way he told it, with his wide grin and exaggerated gestures, made it feel like it happened yesterday.

You’d almost forgotten about that time. You and Changbin had been inseparable during those early years, always getting into some kind of trouble. But the one memory that always seemed to stand out was the time he’d tried sneaking into your room late at night, only to have your dad catch him in the act.

Changbin grinned at the memory, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I thought I was going to be a goner that night,” he laughed. “I was halfway through the window when your dad came storming in like a SWAT team. I don’t even know how he heard me. I thought I was being so sneaky!”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you remembered your dad’s furious face. “You were terrible at being sneaky,” you teased. “I told you not to come through the window. It was too obvious. But you still thought you could outsmart my dad.”

Changbin snorted, the memory still clearly amusing to him. “I swear, I never saw him coming. He just barged in like some kind of ninja. Then he grounded you for a month, right? It felt like a year, honestly. I couldn’t even talk to you outside of school. That was brutal.”

You nodded, your smile widening as you remembered the long, quiet days after that. “It was. My parents were furious when they found out what was going on. They never trusted you after that, especially my dad. He probably still tells that story to anyone who will listen.”

Changbin laughed again, a rich, deep sound that made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. “I can’t blame him. I deserved it. But I’d do it all over again if it meant I got to hang out with you. It was worth it. Every second of it.”

His words hit you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed hearing Changbin talk like this so open, so genuine. He had always been the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve, and even though so much had changed since high school, it still felt like you could talk to him without any pretense.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt something like warmth spread through you. A comfort you hadn’t realized you were craving. It wasn’t just the carefree way he talked about the past, or the teasing banter, or even the fact that he was just here, present and sharing this moment with you, but something deeper, something that felt like a connection you hadn’t realized was waiting to be rekindled.

Since Seungmin had left, you had been living in a quiet sort of limbo. Every day had felt like a blur of uncertainty. Your interactions with Seungmin had become limited to brief texts and calls about Roan. He had asked about you a few times, but those conversations were brief, awkward, and mostly focused on logistics how Roan was doing or if he could speak with him. And while part of you appreciated the space Seungmin was giving you to think, it also left a hollow feeling in your chest.

But here, with Changbin, it felt different. You didn’t have to pretend. You didn’t have to act like everything was fine or like you had everything figured out. With Changbin, everything felt like it could be uncomplicated again, just two old friends, reminiscing about the past and sharing laughs without the weight of expectations.

You glanced over at Roan and Yuna, who were giggling as they played tag. The scene felt almost too perfect. You didn’t want to overthink it, but you couldn’t help but notice how nice it was. Roan had been so happy lately. Maybe he didn’t fully understand the complexities of what was happening between you and Seungmin, but he felt secure in the routine you had established.

You turned your gaze back to Changbin, who was still in the middle of telling another hilarious story about high school, something about the time he had accidentally ruined a school play by tripping over the curtain during his big moment on stage. You laughed and shook your head, appreciating the simplicity of the moment. It was a stark contrast to everything else that had been happening in your life lately.

You weren’t sure when things had started to shift between you and Changbin, but now it felt undeniable. The way you found yourself smiling more easily when he was around, the way he seemed to fill the space left by the absence of Seungmin’s presence. It wasn’t that you didn’t still love Seungmin. You did. That love was still buried deep in your chest, like a flickering flame that refused to go out. But what you were beginning to realize was that you couldn’t ignore the fact that being around Changbin made you feel something new, something you hadn’t felt in so long.

You had always thought that after everything that had happened with Seungmin, your heart would be closed off, shut tight. But with Changbin here, with his easygoing nature and the familiarity of old memories, it was like something inside of you was starting to open again. You didn’t know what that meant, or what would come of it, but for the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful even if it was just a little.

The conversation shifted as you both fell into a comfortable silence, watching Roan and Yuna. You could feel Changbin’s eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to meet his gaze immediately. Instead, you focused on the moment, the quiet warmth of the afternoon, the soft rustle of the leaves above, the laughter of the kids echoing in the distance.

When you did turn to face him, he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place like he was carefully considering something. You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“What?” you asked, your tone light.

Changbin seemed to hesitate for a moment, his smile faltering just slightly before he spoke. “I’m just glad we’re doing this.”

You blinked, not quite understanding. “Doing what?”

He shrugged, a little sheepish now. “This. Hanging out. It feels good, you know? Like it’s... easy. Like it always should have been.”

You felt something catch in your chest at his words, but you didn’t know what to say. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat suddenly tight. The silence stretched between you both, but it was a comfortable one, a shared understanding that something more was blossoming between you. Something you weren’t ready to name yet, but something you couldn’t ignore either.

And for the first time in a long while, the weight of your life didn’t feel quite so heavy.

-

The atmosphere between you and Changbin shifted subtly when he asked about Seungmin. The once-easy banter faltered, replaced by a quiet tension that neither of you could ignore. Changbin’s voice was careful when he spoke, as if weighing his words before asking.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he began, “but... what happened with Seungmin? If you’re okay sharing, that is. I just... I want to understand.”

He paused, letting the silence settle, as if giving you the space to decide how much, if anything, you wanted to share. You could see it in his eyes, a mix of concern, empathy, and the deep care he always had for you. It made the weight of your emotions even heavier.

You took a deep breath, looking over at Roan as he ran around the playground, his laughter ringing in your ears. He was so full of life, unaware of the storm you were weathering on the inside. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been holding in until that moment, how much had been left unsaid for weeks. Now, with Changbin’s patient gaze on you, it felt like the dam was finally starting to crack.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you said, your voice quiet. You reached for the bottle of water in front of you, your fingers trembling slightly as you picked it up. The coolness of the bottle felt oddly grounding. “I guess... I started noticing something was off about four months ago.”

Changbin’s eyes never left you, his expression soft but expectant. He wasn’t rushing you, but you could tell he was hanging onto every word you said. You drew a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as the memory unfolded.

“It was subtle at first. Just... little things. He came home one night, and I could smell this strong perfume on him. It wasn’t mine. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, just some mistake. But I knew something was wrong. I never doubted Seungmin. How could I? He’d never given me a reason to, not once in all the years we’ve been together. But that night, I couldn’t ignore it.”

You paused, glancing at Roan again, his carefree joy in stark contrast to the ache you were feeling. You pushed through the tightness in your chest and continued, the words feeling heavier the more you spoke.

“Then, there was this one day, I had to borrow Seungmin’s car because mine was in the shop. I was just picking up lunch for him when I found something, something that didn’t belong to me. A necklace. It had a letter on it. Her initial. The woman he’d been seeing behind my back.”

Your voice caught at the end, but you fought to keep it steady. Changbin’s face had shifted, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, as if he could feel the hurt radiating from you. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly, signaling for you to keep going.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t what I thought it was. That I was just being paranoid. But then... I met her.”

The words were hard to get out, like they had been sitting in your throat for so long, just waiting to spill out. But now that you were saying them aloud, it felt like the weight on your chest was increasing by the second. You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry.

“I went to Seungmin’s office one day to drop off a file he’d forgotten for him. And there she was. Wearing the exact same necklace. The one I found in his car. And Seungmin—Seungmin introduced us like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a huge blow to everything I thought I knew about him. It... it hurt more than I could even explain.”

You paused, squeezing your eyes shut, not wanting to relive it but unable to stop the memories from flooding in. The way Seungmin had smiled at you when he introduced you both, like he didn’t even know how badly it would shatter you. How the world seemed to spin out of control in that moment.

“I didn’t know what to do. I was surrounded by his coworkers. I didn’t have the courage to confront him, not there, not in front of everyone. I just—” you stopped yourself, taking another shaky breath. “I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t. But later that night, I heard him on the phone with her. I just... I don’t know. It all started to spiral from there. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I knew what was going on. I knew he was seeing her.”

Changbin’s expression darkened as you spoke, his fists clenched slightly in his lap, clearly frustrated at the whole situation. He leaned forward, his voice low and steady as he spoke.

“You didn’t deserve that, you know?” he said, his words filled with genuine anger. “I don’t know how someone can do that to you. To betray your trust like that. You trusted him. You gave him everything, and he threw it away.”

You nodded, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you expected. You had been trying to hold it together for so long, but hearing Changbin’s words, hearing the sincerity in his voice, broke something inside you. You exhaled slowly, trying to push the tears back.

“I never expected it from him. Everyone always said Seungmin was head over heels for me. And for the longest time, I believed it. I felt it too. He made me feel like I was the only one in the world. But somewhere, somewhere along the way, he fell for someone else. And that was the hardest part.”

Your voice cracked as the weight of that realization settled in. You had loved Seungmin with everything you had. You had built a life together. A family. And to see him so easily slip away from you for someone else felt like the ground had been ripped out from under your feet.

Changbin’s hand reached out instinctively, resting gently on yours. The contact was warm, grounding, and it felt like a lifeline in the sea of confusion you were drowning in. You looked at him, grateful for his presence, for his understanding.

“I can’t believe he did that to you,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your hand in a comforting gesture. “You’re worth so much more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are. Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. And I hate that he didn’t see that.”

The words were a balm, soothing a part of you that had been raw for so long. For a brief moment, you let yourself lean into the comfort of Changbin’s presence. You couldn’t fix the past, and you weren’t sure where things would go with Seungmin, but you felt a flicker of hope for the first time in a long time, and it scared you.

But it also made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you had been holding onto a broken piece of your heart for far too long. And perhaps it was time to let it go, to allow yourself to heal, to move on.

You didn’t know what the future held. But right now, with Changbin by your side, with Roan laughing in the background, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you could start to breathe again.

You sat there for a few more moments, with Changbin’s hand still resting on yours. The sunlight was warm on your face, and the sounds of Roan and Yuna’s laughter filled the air, but it felt like everything else around you had momentarily faded. You didn’t have to say anything, because somehow, you knew Changbin understood. He wasn’t pressing for more details, nor was he making you feel like you had to explain yourself further. He was simply there, being the kind of person you’d always hoped for someone who didn’t shy away from the hard things but stayed right alongside you when they needed to be faced.

You glanced up at him, catching the way he was looking at you, his expression soft but intense, as if he were silently willing you to let go of the weight you had been carrying for so long.

“I never wanted to be in this situation,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice carrying the weight of everything unsaid up until this point. “But somehow, I ended up here. I don’t even know how to fix things with Seungmin anymore.”

Changbin squeezed your hand lightly, offering you a gentle smile. “You don’t have to fix everything right now. It’s okay to be uncertain. It’s okay to not have all the answers. I think you’ve been carrying the burden of that relationship for so long that you haven’t been able to see what you deserve outside of it. But whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?”

The sincerity in his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to tell you that it was okay to not have everything figured out, that you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone. You had been so focused on trying to keep everything together, on being the strong one for Roan, for your family, that you hadn’t even given yourself permission to feel the depth of the hurt, the confusion, the loss.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but Changbin heard it. And that was enough.

For a long while, the two of you just sat there in comfortable silence, watching Roan and Yuna run back and forth across the playground. It felt like the world had, in some small way, started to right itself. Maybe not everything was fixed yet, but for the first time in a while, you could see the potential for it.

At some point, Roan and Yuna ran back to you, both of them breathless and flushed from all the running around. Roan immediately climbed up next to you, his small body pushing against yours as he asked for a sip of your water. You laughed softly, ruffling his hair and handing him the bottle.

“What were you two up to?” you asked, keeping your voice light, your mind momentarily distracted by the sight of Changbin’s easy smile as he chatted with Yuna about something funny that had happened while they were playing.

Roan took a long sip from the bottle before answering, “We were pretending to be superheroes! I was saving Yuna from the bad guys, and she was helping me stop them!” His eyes were wide with excitement, and for a moment, you just let yourself soak in his joy, feeling the weight of your earlier conversation lift just a little bit.

“Sounds like a good time,” you said, smiling at both of them.

As the afternoon wore on, you found yourself feeling a little lighter. The heaviness that had been in your chest wasn’t gone, but it felt less suffocating. You spent the rest of the time at the park talking to Changbin about random things, movies you’d loved, music you’d both forgotten about. Every now and then, Changbin’s eyes would flick to you, that soft, understanding look never leaving his face. You caught it once or twice, and it made your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

But you didn’t pull away. You let yourself feel it. The way he was there for you. How his friendship, his steady presence, made you feel like maybe you could take the next step forward, even if you weren’t sure exactly what that step was.

Eventually, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, and it was time to leave. Roan reluctantly agreed to head home, his energy starting to wane from all the running around. You packed up the blanket and snacks, your mind still wrapped in the thoughts of Seungmin, but also the subtle comfort of the moment you had shared with Changbin.

Life with Changbin was easy. Too easy, sometimes. You found yourself laughing more, smiling more, and just... feeling more than you had in a long time. It wasn’t that you were actively seeking a distraction, but it almost felt like everything that had been broken in your life was being patched up with something as simple as a few hours spent with him.

When he texted you, you felt that warm flutter in your chest. It was like a light breeze that made everything feel less heavy, less... suffocating. His jokes, corny as they were made you laugh like you hadn’t in years. And you knew it wasn’t just because of the jokes themselves. It was because of the way he looked at you when he said them, like you were the only one in the world who could possibly get how funny he was, even if his humor was a little goofy at times. And the way he smiled after making you laugh... it was like he was seeing you again, not just the person wrapped up in the struggles of life, but the person who had been buried under the weight of a marriage that had long lost its spark.

You tried not to think too much about it. Tried not to get caught up in the way he made you feel. Because you didn’t have feelings for him, right? That would be impossible. You were still married. You were still living in a home with Seungmin. You still had a son who needed stability. The idea of starting over, of letting go of everything you’d built even if it had been built on shaky ground felt too impossible to entertain.

But the more time you spent with Changbin, the more those lines blurred.

It was the way he noticed you in a way that no one else had. The way he’d listen to every word you said, paying attention to the smallest details, the things you thought no one else would care about. When you helped him with Yuna, making sure she was fed or entertained. It felt natural, like it was just something you were meant to do. And even more than that, Changbin would thank you in the most genuine way, making you feel like your efforts actually mattered. Every thank you, every smile he gave you made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t know you were capable of.

And when you realized he was taking time out of his own busy schedule to spend with you, even when it was just hanging out and talking about random things, it felt comforting. You found yourself looking forward to it. Waiting for his messages, his calls, and the next time you’d get to see him.

But here’s the thing. You didn’t have feelings for him, right?

You would try to convince yourself of that every time your heart skipped a beat when his name popped up on your phone. You would dismiss the way your stomach fluttered when he complimented you, or when he offered to drive you home from the grocery store just because he wanted to spend more time with you. You told yourself it was just friendship. That was all it was. You were still figuring things out with your marriage, still trying to keep everything together for Roan. Everything you had with Changbin was just a distraction, you thought. Nothing more.

But you couldn’t ignore how natural it felt when he was around. The way your conversations flowed effortlessly, the way you could talk to him about anything, even the things you didn’t feel comfortable sharing with anyone else. With him, you could be yourself in a way you hadn’t felt like you could be with anyone in a long time.

The simple truth was, it felt too good. It was too easy. You found yourself grinning every time you saw his name light up your screen. And yet, in the back of your mind, there was this nagging feeling, a voice reminding you that you still had a husband. A family to protect. A son who deserved a stable environment.

So, what was this? What was it that was pulling you towards him?

Maybe it was that, in all the chaos of the past months, he was the one thing that made sense. With Seungmin, everything was complicated, a mess of hurt feelings, betrayals, and unspoken words. With Changbin, it was simple. It was carefree. It was a reminder of who you used to be, the person who had felt loved and wanted, who had laughed without hesitation and smiled without second thoughts.

But you didn’t have feelings for him, right?

You told yourself that again. But this time, it didn’t feel as convincing. You had liked Changbin back then when you were in high school. But that was a long time ago. You were different now. You had a son, responsibilities. Your life was no longer about chasing feelings or fleeting moments of joy. Your life was about keeping things steady, for Roan’s sake, for Seungmin’s sake.

Yet, every time you saw Changbin, that line between friendship and something more seemed to blur just a little bit more. You found yourself wanting to stay in that moment, just a little longer. You didn’t want to leave when he dropped you off after dinner or when you’d walk out of a store and he’d offer to carry your bags for you. Those little gestures made you feel... special. Like maybe you hadn’t lost everything after all.

But you weren’t in love with him.

Right?

The sound of your phone buzzing in the dead of night made your heart leap, and for a brief second, you almost let it go to voicemail. It was late, and Seungmin never seemed to understand the boundaries of your new reality, calling you at odd hours of the night, pulling at strings you had carefully kept taut. You knew he’d probably just leave a message, something along the lines of “I’ll call in the morning.” But this time, something in you made you answer it. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the fact that despite everything, you still cared for him, and you didn’t want to cut him off entirely, even if that meant dealing with the same emotional tug-of-war that had been going on for months.

"Hello?" you said softly, your voice still rough from sleep.

The first thing he said, before even asking how you were, was, "I miss you."

Your throat tightened. You didn’t say anything, couldn’t bring yourself to. His voice had that familiar tone again, that soft vulnerability that used to make your heart ache in all the right ways, and yet now felt like a weight in your chest.

“I’m... I’m laying in bed,” Seungmin continued, his words dragging, like he was unsure of how to say what was on his mind. “The bed we used to share... I wish you’d come back. I miss you so much. And Roan, I miss him too.” His voice faltered, the emotional rawness unmistakable.

You could hear the rustling of sheets on his end, and then the quiet, barely-there sniffle that followed. It hit you harder than you thought it would. Despite all the hurt, despite what he did, you still felt for him. You wished you could hold onto the anger that had kept you steady, but in this moment, the hurt felt like it was leaking through the cracks.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a pause, as though he could sense something in your silence. You couldn’t lie to him. Not now, not after everything.

You didn’t answer immediately. Your mind was racing. Roan. Seungmin. Everything. You had to keep this together for Roan, but the weight of the past few months seemed to press down on your chest.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered softly, your voice distant. “I still don’t know how I feel about being around you.”

“I understand,” Seungmin said, his tone quieter now, almost apologetic. “I just... it’s been unbearable not having you here, not having you around. I miss coming home to you after work, seeing you and Roan. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The words burned. You wished you could say it didn’t matter, that it was his own fault, that you had every right to shut him out and leave everything in the past. But the truth was, there was still a part of you, however small that ached for what had been lost. You couldn’t help it.

“Well,” you said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping in, “I’m surprised you’re not keeping her there while I’m gone.”

There was a long pause on the other end. A tense, uncomfortable silence. You could practically hear him swallowing his pride.

“She’s not staying with me,” he finally said, his voice tight, like he was trying to hold back his emotions. “It was just a one-time thing. Please, can we just... let it go already?”

Let it go? How could you? How could you let it go when everything you thought was solid and permanent had been shattered in a matter of weeks? He had let you down. He had let both of you down. But despite everything, you could feel the temptation, the pull to forgive him. To believe that this could be fixed, that the person who had once loved you with so much intensity could still be there.

You let the silence linger. "It’s only been a few months," you said softly. "How am I supposed to let that go when you’ve been with her for who knows how long?"

“I understand,” Seungmin replied quietly. “But I’m telling you, it was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”

You didn’t say anything after that. It felt like the same old circular conversation you’d been having for months now. You both had been here before. Neither of you seemed to be getting anywhere.

Then, Seungmin brought up something that stopped you in your tracks. “I was thinking about coming over,” he said, his voice hopeful. “Maybe we can talk. For Roan’s birthday coming up. I don’t want to miss it.”

You immediately felt a knot in your stomach. The thought of him coming over again, especially with everything still so raw felt like the worst idea imaginable. You’d barely made it through the last few weeks without breaking. The idea of facing him in your parents’ house, knowing how much time you’d been spending with Changbin lately, was a mess waiting to happen. You didn’t want to deal with that. But at the same time, you knew he had every right to want to be there for Roan, especially if his son had been asking about him.

You sighed, long and drawn-out, before speaking. “I... I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to come over. Things are still... complicated.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But it’s for Roan. I promise. I just want to see him. Please.”

You thought about it, your mind running through all the possible scenarios. Your heart wasn’t ready for the confrontation it would bring, but you also didn’t want Roan to feel caught in the middle of it. You sighed again, this time more reluctantly. “Okay. Fine. But it’s only for Roan. Nothing more.”

Seungmin’s voice brightened at that, and for a brief moment, you could almost feel his relief through the phone. “Thank you. I’ll be on the road first thing tomorrow.”

You didn’t respond, only nodded as if he could see you. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, but you managed to keep your voice steady as you said, “Okay. We’ll talk soon.”

You hung up, your finger lingering on the screen before finally setting the phone down. It felt like everything was spiraling again. A part of you wanted to stay angry. You wanted to keep your distance. But another part, the part that still loved him just wanted peace. And that made everything feel even more confusing.

But in the end, no matter what you told yourself, you still didn’t know what you wanted.

Seungmin’s arrival that morning had an almost surreal quality to it, as if the events of the past few weeks hadn’t happened at all. The door swung open with a soft creak, and before you could even react, Roan’s excited voice echoed through the hallway, “Dad!”

Your son came running, his small feet slapping against the hardwood floors, his eyes wide with disbelief and joy. He didn’t know Seungmin was coming, and when your father opened the door, Roan practically flew into Seungmin’s arms, as though no time had passed at all.

Seungmin caught him easily, pulling him in close, his face breaking into that familiar, soft smile that always seemed to melt away the stress of the day. Roan wrapped his little arms around Seungmin’s neck, pressing his face into his father’s shoulder. You could see the emotion in Seungmin’s eyes, how much he’d missed Roan. And despite the anger, the hurt, the chaos swirling in your own chest, you couldn’t deny it. Seungmin loved Roan. That was undeniable.

Your chest tightened as you watched the tender moment unfold. It hurt. It hurt in ways you couldn’t put into words. You had been through so much so much that you weren’t even sure if there was any way back to where you once were. But Roan was always at the heart of it, wasn’t he? He deserved this, to have his father in his life, to feel that love, even if everything between you and Seungmin had become so fractured.

Your mom greeted Seungmin with an excited smile, giving him a quick hug. Your dad followed suit, a warm handshake followed by a slap on the back, as if this was just another visit, another day when nothing had changed. As though everything was still fine.

Then, Seungmin turned to you.

For a moment, there was hesitation in his eyes. You could see him searching your face, trying to gauge your reaction. And then, without a word, he pulled you into a hug. You didn’t pull away. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hold you, but the guilt of pushing him away in front of your parents weighed on you. You didn’t want to make a scene not now, not in front of them.

So you held him back. Just for a second. It was stiff, forced, but you allowed the hug. He kissed your temple softly, his lips lingering for a moment longer than they should have, and you felt the old ache stir in your chest, the one that had never truly faded.

But that wasn’t enough to erase the anger and betrayal. Not by a long shot.

By the time the evening came, you were exhausted, mentally, emotionally. Roan was finally in bed, tucked in with his favorite stuffed animal, and your parents had gone out for a wine night with some of their old friends. The house felt quieter now, the calm before the storm.

Seungmin and you were left alone, with nothing but the thick, unsettled air hanging between you. You sat in the living room, the TV playing softly in the background, but you couldn’t focus on anything. Not the shows, not the quiet hum of the house. All you could focus on was him. Seungmin.

He reached for your hand, the gesture slow, almost tentative, as if he wasn’t sure if you would pull away. But you didn’t. You let him take your hand, and when he pulled it gently to his lap, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that made your heart drop.

The wedding ring. The one you had left at home, the one you hadn’t worn since the night you packed your things and left.

“Seungmin, no,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

But he ignored your words and carefully slid it onto your finger. You stared at the ring, feeling the cold metal settle into place, and it was like your entire past came rushing back at once the promises, the dreams, the life you thought you’d built together.

You tried to pull your hand away, but he held it there, not roughly, but firmly. You didn’t want to wear it. You didn’t want to be reminded of everything you were still struggling to let go of. But his grip softened as he looked up at you, his expression raw.

“Please don’t take it off,” he said quietly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

You swallowed hard, the anger rising in your chest, but you fought to keep it at bay. “What does that even mean, Seungmin?” Your voice cracked slightly. “What does ‘making things right’ look like? Because right now, just looking at you makes me angry. Every time I look at you, I see her. I hear her name in my head, and it makes me sick.”

Seungmin’s eyes softened, his hand shifting to lift your chin, gently but firmly, so you had to meet his gaze. He didn’t let go of your hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you in a way that felt so intimate, so familiar.

“Look at me,” he said softly, almost a whisper. “Really look at me.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to give him that. But you did. You looked into his eyes, and for a moment, you saw the man you used to love. The one who had stood by you when everything seemed impossible. The one who had held you when you cried, the one who promised you forever.

His thumb gently brushed away a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek, and he took a deep breath. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I hurt Roan. But please, don’t shut me out completely. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”

The words were like a balm to a wound that had never fully healed. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that he could fix everything, that the man in front of you wasn’t the same one who had betrayed you.

But then, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours softly. It was gentle at first, the kind of kiss that spoke more of longing than of passion. But it lingered. And it hurt. You hadn’t realized how badly you missed his touch until you felt it again. The warmth of him, the closeness you hadn’t had in so long.

Your heart pounded, conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You wanted to pull away, to stop the kiss, to remind him of the pain he’d caused, but something held you there. Something you couldn’t quite define.

When the kiss ended, he didn’t pull away right away. His forehead rested against yours, and his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Just please... don’t walk away from me completely.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. Everything in your body screamed that you couldn’t forgive him, that you couldn’t go back to the way things were. But another part of you, one that still ached for the life you once had with him, wanted so desperately to believe that you could make it work.

But you didn’t know if you could.

“I don’t know what to do, Seungmin,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know if we can fix this. I’m so tired of being hurt by you. I don’t know if I can forget.”

Seungmin didn’t pull away, didn’t argue. He simply held you, his hands gentle on your shoulders, as if he was waiting for you to make the decision for both of you. He didn’t press. He didn’t beg. He just stayed there, waiting for you to decide.

And in that moment, you realized that you were at a crossroads. Your heart was torn between the life you had built and the possibility of something new, something that you weren’t sure you were ready for. You didn’t know if you could ever truly forgive Seungmin for what he’d done. But you didn’t know if you could keep running from him, either.

You pulled away slightly, looking up at him one last time before saying, “I need time, Seungmin. I need more time.”

He nodded, his face softening with understanding. "I’ll wait. As long as you need."

And you didn’t know how long that would be. But for the first time in months, you felt like you had time. Time to figure things out. Time to make the decisions you needed to make.

What came next was uncertain. But for the first time in a while, you felt like you had the space to breathe.

-

The night passed quietly, and despite Seungmin sleeping so close to you, it was a strange kind of tension that filled the space between you two. It wasn’t the same as it once was, the comfort you used to find in his presence. You both respected the silence and the space that now existed, and yet, there was a subtle tension that reminded you of everything that had happened the betrayals, the hurt, and the unresolved feelings. Seungmin didn’t try to hold you or pull you closer. He simply slept close, not intruding, but not exactly distant either. It was almost like a truce, a fragile attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you without truly addressing the distance that had grown in your relationship.

It was almost too quiet. The kind of quiet that made everything louder. Your thoughts. The memories. The pain.

You didn't sleep soundly, tossing and turning for hours as the weight of your emotions lingered. Every time your mind would start to settle, you’d remember something new, something you hadn't processed yet whether it was a memory of Seungmin before everything fell apart or the unexpected closeness you felt with Changbin, the one who made you feel like you could breathe again.

But you couldn’t let yourself think too much about Changbin. Not now. Not with Seungmin here, trying to make his way back into your life.

-

When you woke up, Seungmin was already downstairs, most likely with your parents or spending time with Roan. You were grateful for the space, the chance to take a breath without feeling the weight of him looming over you. You stretched, trying to push back the thoughts that wanted to swarm, but it wasn’t easy. You needed to talk to someone. You needed to hear a familiar voice.

The buzz of your phone broke your concentration, and when you saw Changbin’s name flashing on the screen, your heart gave a little flutter. You hesitated for just a second before answering.

"Hello?" You tried to sound normal, though there was an unspoken layer of tension hanging in your words.

Changbin's voice came through the speaker, warm and comforting as always. "Hey, you up? You wanna do something today?" He sounded casual, like he was just checking in, but there was a slight edge of anticipation that made you pause.

For a brief moment, you felt a flutter of hope, a momentary feeling that you could escape everything that was happening in your life just by being with him. But then reality hit. Seungmin was here.

You sighed softly, feeling the weight of the situation. "Seungmin's actually here. He arrived yesterday morning," you said, trying to keep it light, though you could feel the disappointment creeping into your voice.

There was a long pause on the other end. Changbin’s usual upbeat tone faded, replaced by a soft hum. The sound of disappointment was subtle, but it was there. "Ah," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "I see."

You knew he wasn’t thrilled about the situation. Changbin had been there for you in ways Seungmin hadn’t been in months. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that telling Changbin about Seungmin’s sudden reappearance would change things between you two. You didn’t want to push him away.

You quickly tried to change the subject, to salvage what was left of the conversation. "You know, Yuna mentioned wanting to go dress shopping with me recently. I promised her I’d go. And maybe you could hang out with Roan, do some boy stuff together while Yuna and I do that. I’m sure he’d love that."

But before you could say anything more, Changbin cut you off, the disappointment heavy in his voice. "Actually, I just remembered I have something come up. I... I gotta go." His tone had shifted, and you could tell he was trying to keep his words neutral, but there was a tightness there that wasn’t normal for him.

You blinked, feeling a pang of confusion and hurt in your chest. "Oh," was all you could say. You had been expecting something different, perhaps a little more understanding or at least some reassurance that it was okay. But that wasn’t what you got.

"Yeah, sorry. I gotta go," he said, and before you could respond, the line went quiet. The call ended abruptly, leaving you holding your phone in the middle of your room, feeling strangely abandoned.

You stared at the screen for a moment, your heart sinking. That was... different. Changbin had never ended a conversation like that before. He’d always been patient, always made sure you had the last word, always seemed so willing to spend time with you no matter what was going on. But today was different.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, replaying the conversation in your head. Was it something you’d said? Something you hadn’t said? The disappointment in his voice had been unmistakable, and the suddenness of his departure from the conversation stung more than you cared to admit.

Maybe he was just trying to give you space, he knew Seungmin was around, and maybe he didn’t want to make things more complicated. But the sudden shift in tone made you wonder if there was more to it, something you weren’t seeing.

You didn’t know what to make of it. You had spent the last few weeks leaning on Changbin, allowing yourself to laugh, to forget for a moment about all the hurt surrounding you. He had become this unexpected source of warmth, a reminder that not everything in your life was broken. But now, his abrupt departure from the conversation left you questioning where you stood with him, too.

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind. You couldn’t focus on this now. You had too many other things going on. Too many things to figure out.

But as you got up and walked toward the door, heading down to join Seungmin and your parents, the weight of the conversation lingered in the back of your mind. Something had shifted with Changbin, and you weren’t sure if it was something you could fix.

Changbin had been in denial for weeks, pushing down his feelings as best as he could. At first, it had been easier, he told himself that what he was feeling toward you was just sympathy, maybe a lingering sense of care for someone he had always been close to. After all, you and Seungmin were married, and despite everything that had gone wrong between you two, he couldn’t have possibly seen you as anything more than a friend. His heart had already been through too much, and he didn’t think he was ready for anything more.

But then, the last time he saw you, something shifted. He had been watching you laugh, the sound so familiar and comforting, yet different in a way. It wasn’t like before, there was more lightness, more joy in your voice than he had heard in years. The way you had made him laugh, teasing him like you used to back in school, brought back a flood of memories. You were the same person he had once been hopelessly in love with, but time had changed both of you.

That was when he realized it. He had feelings for you again. And not just a little crush either, but something deeper. Something that terrified him.

It had been the first time in years that he allowed himself to feel something for someone other than Sua. His wife, Sua, who had passed away two years ago, and after her death, Changbin had completely shut himself off from the possibility of loving anyone else. He had convinced himself that he would never be able to love anyone like he loved her. That maybe the kind of love he shared with her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. He had grieved deeply, and his heart had healed in its own time, but the scars were still there. He wasn’t sure if he could open up to someone new without betraying the love he had for Sua.

But then there was you, someone he had known intimately in a past life, someone who had been with him through his teenage years. He had seen you go through so much Seungmin’s betrayal, your struggles, the hurt that still haunted you. He wanted to be there for you in a way he hadn’t been before, but somewhere along the way, the friendship turned into something more.

When you had called him earlier that morning and mentioned Seungmin, it hit him harder than he expected. A tight knot twisted in his stomach. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but inside, something dark stirred a mix of frustration, jealousy, and fear. The thought of you still being so close to Seungmin, still entangled in your past, ignited a deep sense of possessiveness. He had told himself it wasn’t his place to feel this way, but hearing Seungmin’s name, Seungmin, the man who had hurt you, the man who had been the reason for so much of your pain felt like a slap to his chest.

He had been so careful, keeping his feelings to himself, pushing the idea of a future with you aside, but hearing that Seungmin was there, staying with you… it felt like a betrayal, even though he knew it wasn’t. You and Seungmin shared history, a history that Changbin wasn’t a part of, no matter how much he wanted to be. It made him feel small, like an outsider who didn’t belong in the picture anymore.

The moment you mentioned Seungmin’s arrival, Changbin’s chest tightened. He couldn’t keep the disappointment from leaking into his voice. “Ah, I see,” he said, his words soft, almost like he was trying to mask the hurt he was feeling. He had told himself over and over that he wasn’t entitled to your time, that you had every right to make your own decisions, but hearing you talk about Seungmin made him feel like he was losing you, even if you weren’t technically his. It wasn’t just that he was jealous, it was the painful reminder that Seungmin had been your past, and no matter what Changbin felt, he would always be a part of your story.

When you tried to salvage the conversation, suggesting you could still hang out later, Changbin’s mind raced. But the thought of spending the day with you while Seungmin was around felt wrong. It wasn’t just the jealousy, it was the fear that maybe he was too late. Maybe you had already moved on, maybe you still needed Seungmin. And what was he supposed to do with that? He couldn’t compete him, no matter how much he wanted to.

And then, when you mentioned your plans with Yuna, the disappointment hit again. Changbin felt this sharp pang in his chest, this deep sense of frustration with himself. He had been so certain that today could be the day when things felt different, when he could spend time with you, laugh with you, maybe even though he hated to admit it, confess to you how he felt. But now, everything felt out of reach. He couldn’t get a clear moment with you without Seungmin standing in the background, hovering over everything. It was suffocating.

“Actually, I just remembered I have something come up,” he said quickly, almost like he was trying to justify his decision to pull away. He didn’t want to hear himself say it, but the words came out anyway. “I gotta go.”

He hung up before you could say anything else. He didn’t want to hear your voice in that moment, didn’t want to hear you try to make it better. The truth was, he was afraid. Afraid that his feelings for you would never be returned, and that all he was doing was hurting both of you by being around. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his emotions, and he didn’t know how to even start a conversation about it without ruining everything.

He paced around his apartment, trying to calm himself down. The jealousy, the confusion, it all spiraled. He didn’t want to lose you. He didn’t want to be the guy who stood by and watched while someone else had your heart, but at the same time, he couldn’t push you too hard. You needed space. You were still navigating the wreckage of your marriage, and he wasn’t going to be the one to force you into something you weren’t ready for.

But the thing about Changbin was that he’d always been one to act on impulse, to dive headfirst into the things he cared about. And despite all his fears, he knew one thing for sure, he couldn’t just walk away from you now. The feelings he had were real, and they weren’t going away.

That night, as he sat in his apartment, he stared at his phone for a long time, wondering if he should call you back, wondering if there was any chance for the two of you. He had never been this uncertain before, his heart and his mind at war with each other. What would he do next? Would he try again to be a part of your life, even if Seungmin was there?

He didn’t know, but he knew one thing, he wasn’t ready to let go of you. Not yet.

Seungmin was never the type to make grand gestures. He wasn’t the kind of man to chase after someone or beg for forgiveness with tearful eyes and flowery words. He had always been pragmatic, calm, and a little reserved when it came to matters of the heart. But this, this was different. The reality of the situation, the hurt he had caused you, had cracked something inside him that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just about him wanting to fix things for himself anymore. He wanted to fix things for you, for your family, for Roan.

When he arrived back at your parents’ house that morning, a part of him still felt like he was walking on eggshells. His chest had tightened as soon as he saw you, the discomfort in your eyes unmistakable, but what hit him the hardest was the cold distance between the two of you. That had been a wall he had built himself, and now that it was there, he wasn’t sure how to break it down.

But he was trying.

He had to try.

Over the past few weeks, after you left and he stayed in your once shared home, Seungmin had spent sleepless nights replaying everything in his head. The mistakes. The lies. The things he had told himself to justify his actions. The distance between you two, even after everything he did, had never felt so suffocating. It wasn’t just about being away from you, it was about the family he had broken. The life he had destroyed by being selfish.

The realization came when he woke up one morning, staring at the empty space next to him in bed, the weight of his choices bearing down on him. He had been too focused on his own needs and desires, too caught up in what he wanted in the moment, to see the bigger picture. He hadn’t seen how much it hurt you, how much it had affected Roan.

For weeks, Seungmin had convinced himself that you just needed time. That, eventually, you would come around, that the time apart would heal things. But that realization was a punch to the gut. He had to do something, something more than just waiting around and hoping you’d forgive him. He had to show you that he was willing to change, that he was ready to be the man you needed, not just the one he thought you needed.

That’s when he made the decision to come back.

When he knocked on your parents' door and saw Roan running toward him with his arms wide open, his heart cracked a little bit. Roan’s warm embrace, his innocent excitement to see his dad, felt like a slap in the face to Seungmin. He had been so lost in his own guilt, his own shame, that he had almost forgotten about what truly mattered the love his son had for him, the unspoken bond they shared.

Seungmin needed to do right by that.

He smiled as he held Roan tight, but the smile quickly faded as he looked at you. There you were, standing in the background, watching him closely. You looked… different. Stronger, perhaps. But there was still a tenderness in your eyes, an old familiarity that made his heart ache.

He greeted your parents, tried to appear casual, as though he hadn’t just barged back into your life after everything that happened. Your mom greeted him warmly, but there was a trace of hesitation in her eyes. Your dad shook his hand, but there was no attempt to hide the discomfort in his stance. They both said all the right things, but the underlying tension in the air was palpable.

Later that evening, when Roan had gone to bed and your parents had left to visit some friends, Seungmin took his chance. He wasn’t going to let this moment slip by.

He sat down next to you, the air thick with the words left unspoken between the two of you. He reached for your hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing your fingers with his.

"I’ve made so many mistakes," he said, his voice quieter than usual, but full of sincerity. "I know I’ve hurt you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me just like that. I just… I need you to know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this right. I can’t lose you, and I can’t lose Roan."

You didn’t pull away when he touched your hand, but you didn’t move closer either. You sat there, silent, processing his words. The wedding ring he had brought with him glinted in the light, and he slid it onto your finger gently, as though asking permission without asking for it.

You stared at it, not sure what to do. The weight of it, the weight of everything between you two, felt so heavy. Seungmin’s eyes searched yours, almost pleading, and for a moment, you almost wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that he could be the man he promised to be. That he could make things right for Roan. For your family.

But there was still that sharp, raw pain at the center of it all. You still couldn’t erase the image of him with her, the betrayal, the lies. The way he had moved on so easily, as though nothing had ever been wrong between you two.

And still, you didn’t push him away. Maybe because you weren’t sure if you were ready to either accept or deny what he was offering. You didn’t know what the next step would be, but in that moment, you felt an old piece of your heart, the part that had loved Seungmin fiercely, that had trusted him with everything you had, start to stir again.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke the truth that had been buried for so long. “I don’t know how to be with you, Seungmin. I don’t know if we can go back to what we had before.”

His hand remained in yours, warm and gentle. “I’m not asking for everything to go back to the way it was,” he said, his thumb running along your knuckles. “I just want a chance. A real chance to show you that I can be the man you need me to be. The man I should have been all along.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, the same vulnerability that he had hidden for so long. Maybe you could believe him. Maybe, in time, he would prove that he meant every word.

But then, just as quickly as the hope flickered in your chest, doubt filled its place again. Could you let go of everything, everything he had put you through and trust him again?

And just like that, with everything weighing heavily on both of you, Seungmin leaned in. His lips brushed against your forehead first, soft and tender, before he gently kissed your lips.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss, nor was it full of desire. It was a kiss filled with longing and regret, one that carried with it all the unspoken promises that had been left unsaid for too long.

And in that moment, you realized that things weren’t going to be easy. There would be days where you’d feel confused, where you’d question what the right thing to do was. But for now, you allowed yourself to believe that, maybe, just maybe Seungmin was doing everything he could to make things right.

But would it be enough?

Changbin had been a storm of conflicting emotions ever since he heard that Seungmin was back in the picture. At first, he had tried to brush it off, to keep his distance from you so he wouldn’t get too attached, especially when things between you and Seungmin were still so unresolved. But there was something in the way your voice had faltered when you talked about him, something that made Changbin wonder if you were letting yourself slip back into a relationship that had caused you so much pain. He hated the idea of it. He hated how your pain seemed to disappear whenever Seungmin was around, even though deep down, Changbin knew it wasn’t that simple.

Still, he’d kept his distance. He convinced himself it was for the best, he couldn’t risk being the guy who made things messier for you, who stood in the way of your family’s attempts to piece itself back together. But seeing you so quietly accepting of Seungmin’s return, even when you were still hurting, made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

Why should you let him back in so easily? Changbin thought. After everything he did, after all the lies, after hurting you so badly, why let him waltz back into your life like it was nothing?

It wasn’t just about Seungmin’s return, it was about the way he felt for you. The way he couldn’t stop thinking about you when you laughed, when you smiled, when you’d pick up little things for Yuna and Roan, your soft touch, the quiet moments that seemed to stitch the fractured pieces of his heart back together. It was about the tenderness he had developed for you over the past few weeks, the moments when you’d sit together, letting go of the world around you. And it was all crumbling now, slipping through his fingers, because of that damn wedding ring.

Changbin didn’t know why it stung so much, but when he saw it sitting on your finger as you adjusted your hair that morning, it felt like his chest was being crushed in a vice.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes focused on the ring, the ring he hadn’t seen on your finger yet not even when he reconnected with you. The one that symbolized all the promises you had made to Seungmin, the life you had shared, the family you had created together. It was still there. And it hurt. It hurt to know that no matter how close he got to you, no matter how much time he spent trying to help you heal from the pain Seungmin had caused, he wasn’t the one who held that promise.

For a brief moment, Changbin had considered walking away pretending he didn’t care, pretending he wasn’t feeling the suffocating weight of his own jealousy. But the truth was, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lie to himself. He couldn’t act like the wound in his chest wasn’t there.

You’d been through so much already, and here he was, having a hard time even standing near you when the man who had hurt you so badly was back, effortlessly sliding back into your life. That wedding ring felt like an anchor, dragging him down into a pit of confusion and self-doubt.

When you approached him, he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned slightly, making sure to keep his distance, pretending that he wasn’t affected.

“Hey,” you said, a little hesitantly. “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you since… well, since that phone call.”

Changbin gave a tight-lipped smile, his mind racing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just been busy, y’know.” He shrugged, trying to make it seem casual. He tried to avoid looking at your hand, but his gaze betrayed him. There it was again, the wedding ring.

He felt his throat tighten.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you continued, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “Are you up for doing something soon? You know. I promised Yuna I’d take her shopping for dresses. Roan’s been telling me that she’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Changbin nodded automatically. He had no intention of ignoring you. It wasn’t that. He just needed to sort through this mess in his mind first. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he said, though his voice felt distant, not quite as bright as it usually did.

You fixed your hair absentmindedly, and that’s when he saw it again, the ring. The diamond glinting faintly in the morning sun, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. That damn ring.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at it, fighting the overwhelming urge to rip it off your finger, to scream at you for not protecting yourself, for not protecting your heart. He had no right to be angry. He knew that. But his chest was tight with something he couldn’t name, something that felt dangerously close to resentment.

You looked up at him and noticed the way his expression had shifted, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Changbin?” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He clenched his jaw and nodded, refusing to let his emotions spill out. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Your smile faltered slightly, and you looked at him with concern. He could see it in your eyes, the curiosity, the worry. You weren’t buying it. But he didn’t know how to explain it to you, not without sounding petty and selfish. Not without admitting how much it hurt to see you wearing that ring.

So he did what he always did when things got too complicated, he turned away. He kept his distance.

“I’ve gotta get going,” he said quickly. “But, uh… yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

Without waiting for a response, Changbin quickly turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. He had to get away from you. He had to process this. Because if he didn’t, he might do something he’d regret. Something that would only make everything worse.

He didn’t want to lose you again, not to Seungmin, not to anyone. But he wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending that he was okay with standing in the shadow of a wedding ring that wasn’t his.

Seungmin’s return to your life had been, at best, confusing. But if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn't help but notice the effort he was putting in, even if it didn’t erase the hurt, the betrayal, or the cracks that ran deep. He was trying, and for the first time in a while, it wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t about his comfort or his needs, it was about you, about us, or at least, the remnants of what that was supposed to be.

It wasn’t like it was perfect, far from it. But Seungmin seemed to be realizing, bit by bit, that just saying he was sorry wasn’t going to be enough. He couldn’t just expect you to forgive him, and, for the first time, he was showing that he understood that. That realization, that effort, was enough to keep you tethered to the idea of trying, of giving him a second chance, or even just the space to prove that he was different now.

At first, it felt like he was just trying to go through the motions, just doing what he thought he needed to do to win you back. He brought you coffee in the morning, remembering your exact order, just like he used to. He'd offer little, thoughtful gestures like picking up your favorite snacks from the grocery store or asking if you needed help with anything when he knew you had a busy day ahead. It was almost like he was trying to show you that he could still be the person you had once relied on.

But there were other moments, more subtle ones, where you saw a shift. He’d try to engage in conversations with Roan, or ask if you needed help with something around the house, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d ask how you were feeling, not in a casual way, but with real concern like he genuinely cared. The way he’d look at you sometimes, with a mixture of apology and longing, made your heart twist.

You hadn’t seen that look in a long time.

It was in the little things too. Like how he started making sure you were included when he was talking about future plans, something he used to exclude you from. It was like he was starting to remember what it was like when you were a team, when everything wasn’t so fractured and distant. When he asked if you wanted to go out for lunch, he didn’t just suggest places that were convenient for him, he picked ones you’d always liked, places that held memories from when things were simpler between you two. He even asked if you wanted to go for a walk in the park, something you used to do when you first started dating.

And then, there were moments when he would genuinely listen, and not just for the sake of listening, but because he wanted to know how you felt, wanted to know if things were okay between the two of you. His eyes would soften when you spoke, like he was processing everything you said, really hearing it. He wasn’t rushing to make things better, or to jump in with excuses, he was just… present. It wasn’t like the Seungmin you had known, the one who’d always tried to fix things quickly with humor or with grand gestures. This version of him wasn’t rushing anything; he was just trying to make sure you knew that you were seen and that you were heard.

You had to admit, even though it made you uncomfortable at times, it made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long while. It made you feel important again, like you were his priority. That was a feeling that used to come so naturally between you two, but over time, had eroded. The years of work, the growing distance between you two as his distractions took over, it was hard not to feel like an afterthought. But now, in the quieter moments, you could see that he was trying to change that.

There were also moments when he was more physically present. He didn’t just hover; he’d do small things, like picking up Roan from school, offering to help out around the house, or just making sure you didn’t feel alone. When the weather got cold, he’d wrap an extra scarf around your neck before you could even think to grab one, like the old Seungmin who had always worried about you getting sick. When Roan’s homework was difficult, he’d patiently sit beside him and explain it, not even looking at his phone as he usually did.

But the most telling sign was how he interacted with you. In the rare moments when it was just the two of you, when the house was quiet and Roan had gone to bed, Seungmin would sit across from you, his gaze lingering on you a little too long, almost like he was trying to read you. His smile was softer, less rushed, as if he was savoring the fact that you were still there. And for the first time in a while, you could see how much he wanted to make it right. He didn’t just want you back for himself, he wanted you back because he realized what you meant to him, what he’d been too blind to appreciate until now.

You didn’t know how you felt about him, not fully. There were still too many scars. Too many pieces of your heart that were still cracked, still raw. But, somehow, his small efforts, his attempts to rebuild trust were making it difficult for you to completely shut him out. It wasn’t the same. It was never going to be the same. But for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope, a chance that he might truly be trying to be the man he had failed to be before.

Still, the confusion lingered. How could you forgive him for everything? How could you let go of the pain, the betrayal, when the memories of everything he’d put you through were still so fresh in your mind?

But as Seungmin held Roan close, as he cared for you in the way he knew how, as he showed you, not just told you that he was trying, the doubt started to fade a little. Maybe it was a beginning. Maybe, with time, this could work. Or maybe you were just allowing yourself to hope for something that couldn’t be fixed. It was too soon to know.

But you couldn’t deny that, for the first time in months, you were allowing yourself to consider the possibility of forgiveness. Not for him, necessarily, but for you. Because at the end of the day, it wasn’t just about whether Seungmin deserved it. It was about whether you deserved to heal.

-

When you heard the buzz of your phone, your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like you had been expecting to hear from him. After all, the last time you spoke, things had been… well, different. Awkward. You weren’t sure where things stood anymore. And yet, when you saw Changbin’s name on the screen, your thumb moved before your brain could process what was happening. You picked up the phone, trying to mask your nervousness with an air of indifference. It wasn’t easy, but you tried. You didn’t want him to know how much his voice affected you, how it had always affected you.

"Hey," you answered, trying to keep your tone casual, even though you were anything but.

He greeted you warmly, his voice sounding as comforting as it always did, but there was an undercurrent of something you couldn’t place. “How have you been?” he asked, his words soft but genuine.

You paused, thinking about your answer. You could lie and say you were fine, but was that really fair to either of you? Instead, you settled for, “I’m okay.” It wasn’t the truth, not entirely, but it was the answer that didn’t invite too many questions.

“How’s Roan?” Changbin asked next, his voice filled with the same warmth. You could hear the concern in it, and it made your chest tighten a little.

“He’s good, keeping busy with school and his friends.” You didn’t elaborate on the way Roan had been dealing with things, the times he’d asked about his dad or when he talked about how much he missed things being ‘normal.’ You didn’t want to bring any of that up now, not when the conversation was so casual.

“That's good," Changbin said. You could feel a slight pause, like he was taking a deep breath before continuing. “Yuna misses you, you know. She says she only gets to see you at pick-up nowadays. She’s been asking if you and Roan could hang out more, maybe have another playdate. She misses hanging out with you.”

The mention of Yuna made a lump form in your throat. You did miss her, miss the simplicity of the moments you’d shared, before everything had become so complicated. Before life had gotten in the way of your friendship.

You smiled, genuinely, as you thought of the little girl who’d stolen your heart in the most unexpected way. “I miss her too,” you said, and you meant it. “And I miss you, Changbin. It’s been a while.”

You heard a soft sigh from the other end of the phone, and it sounded so much like a mixture of relief and longing that it made your stomach flutter in a way you weren’t prepared for. He didn’t respond right away, but you could tell something was weighing on his mind. He seemed hesitant to speak, and that only made you more curious.

“I wasn’t gonna call,” Changbin said suddenly, his voice a little quieter, almost like he was trying to hide something. “But Yuna’s been talking about you a lot, and I guess I miss seeing you guys too. It just... it’s been a while, and I know things have been... complicated, with everything.” There was that weight again, that familiar heaviness in his tone, like he was trying to tread lightly but couldn't hide the depth of his feelings.

The words “complicated with everything” hit you harder than you expected. That phrase alone summed up everything you’d been going through. It felt like a lifetime ago when everything had been simple between you, Changbin, and your little world. And now? Now it was all a tangled mess of emotions, regrets, and… choices.

“I know, I know…” you started, but you didn’t really know what to say after that. You wanted to explain the mess that had become your life since Seungmin came back, but what good would it do? Changbin didn’t need the details.

But he wasn’t letting the silence settle between you two. His voice came back, a little more hesitant this time, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase what was on his mind.

“Well, I don’t know if you’re busy with Seungmin or what,” Changbin said before trailing off. The mention of Seungmin hit you harder than it should have, and you could hear it in his voice, the quiet edge of jealousy that he hadn’t quite been able to suppress. You knew what he meant, what he was trying to ask without saying it outright. Were you back with Seungmin?

You frowned, your mind suddenly racing. You didn’t understand why he would even bring Seungmin up now, after everything. You had mentioned to Changbin that you and Seungmin were working through things, that you were trying to find some kind of stability for Roan, but it felt like that wasn’t what Changbin needed to hear. It was like he was looking for something different something more, something you weren’t sure you could give him.

Before you could say anything, Changbin continued, his voice awkward and strained, “I didn’t mean to bring up Seungmin like that... It just slipped out. What I meant was, if you’re not too busy, if you have time, maybe you, Roan, and Yuna could hang out with me sometime soon. I—uh, I miss spending time with you, with all of you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. The words "I miss spending time with you" felt like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed him, how much he had come to mean to you, until that very moment.

But still, the whole situation felt too complicated. He was asking you to hang out like it was the simplest thing in the world, but for you, it wasn’t simple. Not when you were trying to sort out your life, your feelings, and your priorities. You couldn’t just pretend everything was fine. It wasn’t.

“I’m not sure when, Changbin,” you said slowly, carefully, “but I promise I’ll try to find time. I think Yuna deserves that.”

He didn’t push you. There was a quiet pause before he let out a breath, something between frustration and relief. “Yeah, of course,” he said softly. “I get it. Just... just let me know when you’re free.”

You wanted to tell him you were sorry for not making things easier, for making everything more difficult than it needed to be, but you didn’t. There was no room for apologies, not yet. You weren’t sure if it would make anything better.

The conversation slowly came to an end, neither of you saying what was really on your mind. You hung up, staring at the phone in your hand, thoughts swirling. There was so much you wanted to say to Changbin, so much you needed to figure out before you could even think about doing anything with him anything more than friendship, at least.

But right now, all you could do was try to make sense of the messy feelings, the confusion, and the painful truth: you were still so drawn to Changbin. Even if you didn’t know exactly what that meant for your future, you couldn’t deny the pull. It was always there, lingering just beneath the surface.

And as you sat there, still holding your phone, your mind wandered back to the time when things had been simpler. To when you and Changbin had been on the same page, before everything had gotten so complicated. You didn’t know what would happen next, but you knew one thing for sure: this, whatever it was, was far from over.

-

Changbin felt a momentary calm settle over him after hanging up the phone with you. Hearing your voice again, even if it was through the filter of awkwardness and unresolved tension, gave him a small measure of peace. You hadn’t shut him out, and that was enough for now. It meant he hadn’t imagined it, those weeks you spent leaning on him, laughing with him, feeling like something was blooming between you. He told himself not to hope, but still… a part of him did.

He was lost in those very thoughts, his mind spinning around the images of you and Seungmin, the uncertainty of your feelings, the way you still wore your wedding ring until a familiar, bright voice jolted him back to the present.

“Daddy!”

Yuna’s sweet shriek of joy rang across the school courtyard as she ran toward him at full speed, her little backpack bouncing with each step. He immediately bent down, arms open, catching her as she leapt into him without hesitation. He lifted her with ease, settling her comfortably in his arms, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Guess who I talked to today?” he said, voice teasing and light as he tried to push away the heaviness that had returned to sit in his chest.

Yuna pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “Y/N?” she guessed with a hopeful grin.

He smiled and nodded. “Bingo.”

Yuna let out a high-pitched squeal and kicked her legs in the air with excitement. “I knew it! I told Roan you would talk to her. I told him,” she said with pride, like she had willed the conversation into existence. “Does this mean we can go shopping now? She promised.”

He chuckled softly and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I think we’ll make it happen soon.”

Her face lit up again, and she leaned her head back on his shoulder as he began walking toward the car, his grip on her secure and comforting.

As they made their way through the parking lot, Yuna started chattering about her day, what snack her teacher gave them, how she and Roan played tag at recess, and how Roan had reminded her to not forget about his birthday party this weekend.

Changbin blinked.

The party.

Of course. Roan’s birthday. This weekend.

Yuna’s voice became background noise then, not because he didn’t want to hear her, but because all he could focus on was the sudden realization that he would have to see you again. Not just for a brief moment at pick-up or drop-off. Not a quiet phone call. But see you.

Be around you.

Be around you… and Seungmin.

His chest tightened with that familiar bitter ache, jealousy rising in his throat like bile. It wasn’t fair not to Roan, not to Yuna, not to you, but he couldn’t help it. The idea of standing there, in your parents' home, watching you and Seungmin smile and act like a family again, felt unbearable.

He would have to watch Roan call him “Dad.” He would have to hear your parents praise him. Watch Seungmin touch your back gently or say something to make you smile, and pretend it didn’t make him sick.

Because Changbin wasn’t just jealous of Seungmin having you. He was angry. Angry that he had broken you in such a cruel way cheated, betrayed, and somehow still got to come back into your life like a ghost demanding space.

And yet… you’d let him back in. Even if you hadn’t fully forgiven him, you’d opened the door.

That was the part that crushed Changbin the most.

He shifted Yuna a little higher in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead to ground himself. Her little hand wrapped around his thumb.

“You okay, Daddy?” she asked softly, peering up at him with curiosity.

He blinked down at her and nodded, pasting a smile on his face. “Yeah, baby. Just thinking.”

“Are we still going to Roan’s party?” she asked, and he nodded again. He couldn’t say no, not when her eyes looked so hopeful. Not when she was so happy at the thought of seeing you again.

“Of course,” he said, his voice low and steady despite the storm inside. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

But as they reached the car and he buckled her in, his mind wandered again to the party, to you, to the way your smile lingered in his mind even when he tried to push it away.

He was happy to see you again.

He dreaded it too.

Because loving someone who’s trying to fall back in love with someone else? That kind of pain was the slow kind. Quiet. Hidden. And it burned like nothing else.

Still, Changbin would go. He’d smile, for Yuna. For Roan. Even for you.

And he’d pretend the ring on your finger didn’t feel like the door shutting in his face.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: who else is #TeamSeungmin 🖐️)

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[wtpk taglist: @athens-09xx @littlewolfieposts @vixensss @procrastinatingtomato @tsunderelino @soupbinlily @thecutiepieme @joyjoker1]

[4linos]

Nini, can i mix 2 scenarios? Basically how Hyunjin has baby fever and seeing his s/o with his friend’s baby has him thinking and gushing about babies with his s/o. Later she tells him a secret with a gift that Hyunjin’s going to be a dad🥹👉🏼👈🏼

anon!! i’m sorry (again) You’ve waited so long 😖. I hope you enjoy. fragile future

i have many requests that are done that just need to be posted! soon! thank you all for waiting <3

[4linos]

fragile future.

hwang hyunjin x f!reader

synopsis/request: a simple plastic stick sits before you, holding more meaning than you expected. as you wait, scared but hopeful, you learn that the most important thing isn’t what the result says, it’s who’s there to hold your hand through it.

warnings: fluff, anxiety and emotional vulnerability, pregnancy-related themes.

wc: 4920

The quiet scratch of charcoal against canvas filled the air, the rhythm steady, meditative. Hyunjin sat perched on his stool in his personal art studio, surrounded by scattered sheets of sketch paper and tubes of oil paint that were either neatly arranged or left half-open in a glorious mess only he could navigate. Golden afternoon light spilled lazily through the tall window, casting a halo on his long lashes and turning his hair into threads of honey.

He was lost in the quiet pulse of creativity, brush gliding over texture like music in motion. A sketch of a woman’s hand, delicate and ethereal, slowly came to life under his fingertips. He didn't need to look at a reference; her image was already burned into his mind like a dream he visited often. It was always her. You.

The door creaked gently behind him, soft as a whisper. He didn’t look up. His focus was absolute, his heart rhythm syncing with every stroke. His voice, however, was automatic and warm as he greeted you.

“You ready to go get lunch, angel?” he asked casually, affection woven effortlessly through his tone.

You smiled at his distracted sweetness, but before you could answer, the tiny human in your arms let out a giggle soft, bubbly, innocent.

Hyunjin froze.

His hand stopped mid-air, charcoal smudging an unintended line across the paper. He blinked slowly and turned toward the sound with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of the noise.

And then he saw her. And you.

A baby. A tiny, giggling baby cradled in your arms. She had plump cheeks, hair tied into the tiniest ponytail, and eyes bright with mischief. Her legs kicked excitedly as she babbled, absolutely delighted to be wherever she was.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait,” he said, putting his tools down slowly, like he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter the strange, adorable illusion. “Where did you steal a baby from?”

You snorted. “I didn’t steal her. Yeri asked me to watch Eunji while she and her husband finally went out for their anniversary. You remember, right? She’s been talking about that date night for weeks.”

“Oh.” Hyunjin blinked, finally piecing together the memory. “Right, right. Anniversary dinner. I forgot that was today.”

“She dropped her off just after breakfast,” you explained, adjusting Eunji in your arms. “She’s been an angel so far. Slept on my chest for an hour. My heart might never recover.”

“Mine either,” he muttered, completely mesmerized.

Eunji, upon locking eyes with Hyunjin, let out another squeal and extended her tiny hands toward him, her whole body wiggling with interest. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and scooped her up with ease, holding her under her arms like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Hi there,” he said with a grin, bouncing her softly. “You remember me? I'm the really tall guy who makes a mess with paint.”

Eunji responded by smacking his cheeks with her drool-covered hands, giggling loudly as he feigned exaggerated surprise.

“Hyun, don’t let her slap you around,” you joked as you settled into the couch in the corner of the room, watching them with warm eyes.

“She can slap me all she wants,” he replied, not even remotely pretending to mind. “She’s adorable. Look at that face.”

Eunji babbled nonsense in reply, clearly engaged in an intense conversation only babies could understand. Hyunjin responded with equal nonsense, matching her pitch and making silly faces until she erupted into more giggles.

He held her securely, the kind of hold that spoke volumes, not just of comfort, but of how naturally the role came to him. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced. It was instinct.

“She’s probably hungry,” you said, checking the time. “Her last meal was a couple hours ago.”

Still smiling, Hyunjin nodded. “You want me to feed her?”

“You sure?” you asked, already standing. “I’ve got her food prepped.”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to, he very much did, but he couldn’t stop watching you. You walked past him, brushing Eunji’s arm gently with your fingers and whispering, “Time to eat, little love.”

Hyunjin handed her back reluctantly, lingering in the way your hands curled around her small body, the way your voice dipped naturally into that soft, motherly cadence. She fit against you like puzzle pieces designed to belong. He trailed after you silently, suddenly aware of the shift in his chest like something was trying to settle there. Something unfamiliar yet deeply right.

-

In the kitchen, you moved like it was second nature.

The bib was already laid out. A small bowl of mashed sweet potatoes sat cooling on the counter, alongside a baby spoon and a cloth for cleanup. Eunji was placed in a baby chair, legs kicking excitedly. You tied the bib gently around her neck, brushing her hair back with a soft hum.

Hyunjin watched from the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he had stumbled into someone else’s dream. His dream.

There was no performance in the way you spoke to her. No effort to impress. You didn’t need to. It was simple, effortless tenderness.

“Open up for me, pretty girl,” you said, scooping a spoonful and holding it near her lips. Eunji, with a gummy grin, accepted the food like it was the greatest thing she’d ever tasted. “Good job!”

You clapped gently, and she giggled, smearing a bit across her cheek in the process. You wiped it away with ease, still smiling, unfazed.

Hyunjin’s heart clenched.

He'd always thought about having kids. Occasionally, fleetingly. It wasn’t an obsession, just something he assumed would happen in the distant future. Someday. Eventually.

But this wasn’t just a daydream anymore. It was real. You, standing barefoot in the kitchen, feeding a baby with soft eyes and gentle laughter, completely unaware of the way you were shifting something inside him.

He walked up behind you quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured into your neck.

You smiled, not turning around. “She makes it easy.”

“No,” he said softly. “You make it easy.”

You finally turned to glance at him, eyes full of curiosity.

Hyunjin didn’t say anything more right away. He watched Eunji take another bite, babbling happily as you praised her. His arms stayed around you, firm but gentle, like he didn’t want the moment to slip away.

“I think seeing you like this just unlocked something,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You looked up at him, the question clear in your expression.

“Like what?”

He met your eyes. “I want this. Someday. With you.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. No nerves. Just certainty, wrapped in warmth.

Your breath caught. A part of you had always wondered what that would look like children, a home, something bigger than just love. But hearing it from him, seeing it in his eyes as he looked between you and the baby now contentedly chewing on her fist… it felt like a glimpse into the future.

“You’d be such a good dad,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

His hold tightened, not possessively, but with the quiet desperation of someone afraid to wake up from a beautiful moment.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. “We’d have a baby with your smile,” he mused, “and maybe your stubbornness.”

“She’d be a handful.”

“I’d love every second of it.”

There was a brief pause. Eunji let out a loud babble, smacking her tray for more food. You laughed, spooning another bite while Hyunjin watched you like you’d just given him the blueprint for happiness.

“I imagine it sometimes,” he admitted. “You holding a newborn while our toddler runs around the house with paint on her hands.”

“Oh? Paint?” you teased.

“She’d be an artist like her dad,” he said proudly. “Or maybe she’ll be a singer. Or a dancer. Or all three.”

You leaned back into his chest. “Sounds exhausting.”

He chuckled. “It sounds like a dream.”

For a moment, there was only soft breathing, the background sounds of a baby smacking her tray, and the deep, steady thrum of a shared future.

Not just imagined now, but felt.

-

Later, when Eunji was napping on the couch, tucked under a blanket with her thumb in her mouth, you and Hyunjin sat on the floor nearby, backs against the sofa, fingers laced together.

“You were really good with her,” you told him quietly.

“She made it easy,” he repeated your words from earlier, then turned to face you. “But honestly, I think it’s because she reminded me how much I want that life with you.”

He wasn’t trying to impress you. He wasn’t making promises for the sake of romance. He was simply speaking his truth.

And you believed him.

Because in the way he looked at you, in the way he touched you so reverently

while cradling another woman’s child, in the way he never once made it about anything other than shared love, you knew.

One day, Eunji wouldn’t be just a borrowed joy.

One day, maybe not too far away, you’d be holding your own child in your arms.

And Hyunjin would be right there, paint on his hands, laughter in his eyes, love in every step he took toward you.

The apartment felt unusually quiet once Eunji left. Too quiet.

It was like someone had turned the volume down on the world. No more soft baby babbles echoing down the hall. No tiny giggles bouncing off the kitchen walls. No more little fists tugging at your shirt or soft, weighty warmth curled against your chest.

Just the sound of the ticking clock in the hallway and the distant hum of city noise beyond the windows.

You stood by the front door for a moment after Yeri and her husband had picked up their daughter, waving goodbye as Eunji blew a sloppy kiss in Hyunjin’s direction from her mother’s arms. The echo of her presence still lingered, as though her laughter had left fingerprints on the walls.

Hyunjin closed the door gently behind them, and for a while, you both just stood there, staring into the quiet.

“She’s so sweet,” you said softly, eyes still on the space where she had just been.

Hyunjin let out a sigh that sounded more like a soft, lovesick exhale. “Too sweet. I miss her already.”

You turned to look at him. His eyes were wistful, his expression glowing with something deeper than simple fondness.

“She’s not even our baby,” you teased lightly.

He looked at you then. “I know. But it kind of felt like she was for a little while, didn’t it?”

And it had.

For those few precious hours, it wasn’t just babysitting. It was domestic. Whole. Like a glimpse into a life you could almost touch.

That night, after a simple dinner and a long shower, you and Hyunjin lay in bed together beneath soft sheets, your limbs tangled like ivy. The bedroom lights were dimmed, casting everything in warm amber shadows. Outside, the city sighed through open windows, the hum of distant traffic acting like a lullaby.

Hyunjin lay on his side facing you, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other resting lightly over your waist. You were both bare-faced and quiet, basking in the stillness that only came from deep comfort and long-term love.

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze. “Eunji?”

He nodded. “She was… perfect. I mean, she was messy and loud and drooled everywhere, but—” he chuckled, “—it was perfect.”

You smiled softly, the ghost of your stress momentarily forgotten in his warmth.

“She did look good on you,” you teased. “Little baby attached to your hip, getting paint on her socks.”

He laughed quietly. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.”

You went still. Not frozen, just still. Like your body was bracing itself for something you weren’t sure you were ready to receive.

“I’m not lying when I say I really want that,” Hyunjin said, voice a little softer now, more fragile. He traced gentle circles on your side through the fabric of your shirt. “Whether it’s a few months from now or a few years—I want to have a family with you.”

You stared at him, heart suddenly too big for your chest. He was speaking so quietly, like it was something sacred. Not a fantasy, not an expectation, but a dream he was tenderly placing in your hands, asking you to hold it with him.

“I mean it,” he added, sensing your silence. “Whenever you’re ready. I don’t want to rush you. I just… I need you to know that it’s real for me. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

You swallowed thickly, your heart thudding hard. His words were so gentle. So patient. It almost made it harder, not because you didn’t want the same thing, but because you’d been keeping something from him.

Something that had been sitting heavy in your chest for days.

He must’ve noticed the way your breath caught, because he sat up slightly on his elbow, his brows knitting in concern.

“Hey…” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your hands fiddling nervously with the edge of the comforter. The intimacy of the moment, the softness of his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, it was all too much, too perfect. The dam inside you cracked.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice barely audible.

His hand found yours under the covers. “Okay,” he said gently. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

You took a deep breath. “I’ve been… holding something in. Not because I didn’t want to tell you, but because I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to make it real before I had the words.”

Hyunjin’s expression softened instantly, his thumb brushing yours. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“I’m late,” you whispered.

A pause.

Then another breath.

“I’m… really late.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes scanning your face slowly as if to make sure he heard you right. “You mean…”

“I haven’t taken a test yet,” you admitted. “I was scared. I didn’t want to freak you out. Or get your hopes up. I wasn’t sure how I even felt about it.”

Silence hung between you for a heartbeat and then two.

And then his hand was gently tilting your chin toward him, his voice the softest it had been all night.

“Why would you be scared to tell me?”

Your eyes welled up, though you hadn’t meant for them to. “Because you have so many dreams, Hyun. Your art, your music, your freedom. And I didn’t want to be the person who—”

“Stop,” he said gently, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours. “You could never ruin anything. Not even close.”

Your chest ached at his words.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “If you are… if we are having a baby, even possibly. I want it. I want you. All of it. No matter when it happens.”

Tears slid down your cheeks silently. He kissed them away, slow and reverent, his hand resting over your belly, not in dramatic certainty, but in quiet, wondering hope.

“I think I already love them,” he said suddenly, voice cracking slightly.

“Hyunjin…”

“Even if it turns out we’re not pregnant this time,” he continued, “this moment? This truth? It’s already made something clear to me. I’m ready when you are. For anything. For everything.”

You buried your face in his neck, arms wrapping around him tightly as he held you against him. You could feel the way his heart thudded beneath your cheek fast, real, overwhelmed with love.

“I’ll take the test tomorrow,” you whispered.

“I’ll be with you,” he promised. “No matter what.”

The world was quiet when you woke up still dark out, not even birdsong yet, just the faint glow of the city lights sneaking through the curtains. You stirred slowly under the covers, warm, wrapped in the safety of the bed you shared with Hyunjin.

But when you reached out instinctively, your fingers met only the cool sheet where his body should’ve been.

Your heart jumped for a second not with fear, but the kind of nervousness that comes when something big is waiting.

You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes.

Then you heard it: the rustle of clothes, the soft click of the bathroom door opening and shutting, and footsteps padding gently across the floor.

Hyunjin reappeared in the doorway, fully dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, a knit beanie half-on his still-messy hair. He looked cozy, disheveled, but very awake.

“Did I wake you?” he asked quietly, walking over.

You shook your head, voice still heavy with sleep. “Where were you?”

“Just brushing my teeth.” He smiled softly. “Thought we could go get the test first thing. Before we talk ourselves out of it.”

You swallowed. There was no dramatic music, no dramatic shift. Just this quiet nudge toward a door you both had been circling for days.

He crouched down next to your side of the bed, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I figured it’d be easier to face if we did it together,” he said, like he was offering you the softest piece of himself.

You gave a tiny nod.

You got dressed without speaking much, your body on autopilot, your thoughts spiraling. It was as if your brain had been preparing for this moment all night, winding you up just enough to push you out the door.

The air outside was cold and brisk. You were both quiet on the walk to the corner store. The city was still half-asleep shops unopened, sidewalks empty, a few coffee vendors just beginning to stir.

You felt Hyunjin’s fingers slip between yours as you crossed the street. Warm. Firm. Real.

That alone helped you breathe.

As you turned the corner and the little 24-hour pharmacy came into view, you noticed something, the small curve of a smile tugging at the edge of Hyunjin’s lips.

Soft. Private. Like it had been there the whole time.

You stopped walking for a second and gave him a look.

“Don’t smile like that,” you said, half-teasing, half-serious.

He blinked innocently. “Why not?”

“You’re going to get your hopes up.”

He tilted his head playfully. “Is it a crime for a man to smile in public now?”

You rolled your eyes and playfully smacked his chest. “I mean it. I don’t want you to be disappointed. Just in case.”

The wind curled between you for a beat, a feather-soft silence before he reached up and cupped your cheek in one gloved hand.

“I won’t be,” he said, sincere. “No matter what.”

Something in his tone rooted you in place. You nodded once, slowly, then followed him into the store.

-

The bathroom was quiet, too.

You stood by the sink, the white plastic test unwrapped in your hand. Hyunjin was just outside the door, standing so close you could feel his presence like a warmth pressing through the wall.

“I’ll be right here,” he said softly, voice muffled through the wood. “I won’t go anywhere. Just call if you need me, okay?”

You looked toward the door even though you couldn’t see him, and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then you breathed.

You set the test on the counter and followed the instructions with trembling hands. You barely felt the floor beneath your feet. Every movement was automatic. Like you were walking through fog, your thoughts loud and heavy with what-ifs.

When it was done, you set it down gently, almost reverently, on the counter and pressed the timer on your phone.

Five minutes.

You let out a slow breath and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling your knees to your chest.

The silence inside the room stretched, thick and electric.

Outside, Hyunjin shifted. You could hear the soft creak of his weight leaning against the wall just beside the door. Not pacing. Not fidgeting. Just... waiting. Holding still the way someone does when they know it matters.

The timer on the screen glowed too brightly.

4:47.

Each second ticked by like a drop in an ocean of pressure. You tried not to think. But it was impossible.

Was your heart racing because of fear? Or hope? Were you holding your breath because you didn’t want to ruin the moment or because you were scared that this tiny little object was about to change everything?

You closed your eyes and tried to listen for something else your heartbeat, Hyunjin’s soft breathing outside, the distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

But it didn’t help. Every second crawled by like an hour.

3:52.

You pressed your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself.

The plastic test sat on the counter just a foot away. You didn’t dare look.

“Babe?” Hyunjin’s voice came gently through the door. “You alright?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see that.

“Yeah,” you said softly, swallowing hard. “Just… waiting.”

“Okay,” he said, just as quietly. “I’m here.”

Another pause.

Then, “I was thinking…”

You didn’t respond, but he knew you were listening.

“When I was a kid, I always thought becoming a dad would feel like flipping a switch. Like one day, I’d just be ready, instantly.”

You could hear the small smile in his voice now. “But now… it’s not like that. It’s slower. Softer. I’m not waiting for some perfect moment anymore. It’s just… you. I look at you, and I think, Yeah. I could do this. With her. Forever.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You blinked them away quickly, pressing your face into your hands.

“You’re not alone in there,” he added. “I know it feels that way right now, but… I’m right on the other side of the door. I’m holding this with you, okay?”

You nodded. Then said, “Okay,” your voice barely holding steady.

2:12.

Your stomach twisted. Your knees bounced. Your breath kept catching.

The plastic stick sat there. Still. Silent. Unassuming. Like it didn’t hold the weight of your entire world inside it.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

A beat.

“Me too,” Hyunjin said.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I’m not scared of the result,” he said. “I’m scared for you. Because I know this means something, no matter what it says. And I want you to know that if you’re afraid, or relieved, or sad, or confused, I’ll be here for all of it. Not just the joy. The mess too.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and this time you didn’t brush it away.

1:15.

You could almost feel the exact second Hyunjin slid down the wall and sat on the floor, his back pressed to the other side of the door. You didn’t hear it. You just knew.

Like you always did with him.

“You think the test knows how important this is?” you asked suddenly, voice hoarse.

He chuckled quietly. “I think it’s just a stick, baby.”

You laughed too. It was weak and breathless and tinged with nerves, but it was real.

“Thirty seconds,” you whispered.

He hummed softly. “Alright. We’re almost there.”

Your hands trembled in your lap. You stared at the floor.

The seconds felt like they were slipping through molasses.

You weren’t ready. But you were also tired of not knowing.

And then—

The timer buzzed.

The sound echoed too loud in the small room.

You froze.

Hyunjin was silent on the other side.

You reached out, hand trembling as your fingers brushed the edge of the counter.

Your body was frozen, suspended between what was and what could be.

And still, he didn’t rush you.

Because even now… he was waiting.

With you.

The test sat still on the bathroom counter, exactly where you left it. You hadn’t turned it around.

You hadn’t even moved.

Your hands were curled into loose fists on your lap, knuckles pale, legs pulled up beneath you on the closed toilet lid. You’d never felt this paralyzed before, not from fear of something bad, but from something big. Something life-altering.

The tiny white stick felt like it was glowing in the room, humming with unspoken truth. All it needed was one glance, one flick of the wrist, and the future would begin to shift, one way or another.

But you couldn’t do it.

Not alone.

Your breath caught as you stood up, legs a little unsteady, feet cold against the tile. You didn’t touch the test. You didn’t even look at it.

Instead, you reached for the door.

The handle clicked softly under your hand.

And when it opened, there he was sitting on the floor right outside, just like you knew he would be.

Hyunjin looked up at you immediately, his body unfolding quickly but gently, rising to his feet like he expected to hold you before you fell. His eyes scanned your face hopeful, tender, alert. Expectant.

“Is it…” he began, voice quiet but bright.

You didn’t let him finish.

“I didn’t look,” you whispered.

You saw his smile falter just slightly, but not in disappointment. It was surprise. His brow furrowed, and his lips softened.

“I couldn’t do it alone,” you added quickly, your voice breaking slightly at the end.

There was no judgment in his face. Only that beautiful, unshakable tenderness that he carried so easily with you like love was his first language.

“Okay,” he said simply, nodding once. “Let’s look together.”

He reached out, his hand open between you. You placed yours in it instinctively, and the moment your skin touched his, the tightness in your chest eased, not entirely, but enough to move.

He guided you back into the bathroom with slow, careful steps, like he didn’t want to spook you. Like this moment was something sacred and he was holding it like glass.

You stood beside him in front of the counter, your hand still in his. The test lay there, facedown, quiet. As if it was waiting for you.

He looked at you, asking silently for permission.

“Do you want me to check?” he asked softly.

You nodded, barely. “Please.”

Hyunjin gave your hand a squeeze, then gently let go to reach for the test.

You turned your eyes away, breath caught in your throat.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of plastic moving against ceramic. A light click as he flipped the test over.

A pause.

Then..

He laughed.

It was quiet. Disbelieving. Joyful.

And when you turned to look at him, really look, his eyes were already shining.

He looked back at you like he’d just seen something miraculous.

“It’s positive,” he said, voice thick with wonder. “It’s positive.”

Your breath caught. You stared at him.

“What?”

He held the test toward you with gentle hands, almost reverently. His eyes searched yours for any flicker of fear, but all he saw was stunned stillness.

You looked down.

Two lines.

Clear. Strong. Certain.

A sound left you, not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Just a sound of something inside you cracking wide open.

You looked back at Hyunjin, and his smile broke into something bigger, brighter and completely unfiltered.

“You’re pregnant,” he said again, like he needed to say it twice to make it real. “We’re having a baby.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, eyes wide. “Oh wow.”

He immediately stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you, warm and tight. You melted into him like you’d been holding your body together with thread until now.

And suddenly you were crying not from fear, not from confusion, but from a quiet, powerful release. It wasn’t overwhelming in a bad way. It was vast like your heart had expanded beyond your chest and had no idea how to hold this much joy at once.

Hyunjin rested his forehead against yours. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks where tears had started to fall.

“Hey,” he whispered with a laugh. “You’re okay.”

“I’m happy,” you said quickly. “I am—I’m just—”

“I know,” he said. “I know, baby. Me too.”

And he kissed you soft, slow, grounding. A kiss that wasn’t about passion, but about presence. A kiss that said we’re here now, in this new, irreversible moment. And it’s okay. It’s real. It’s ours.

When he pulled back, he pressed his hands to your belly without thinking like his body already knew where to go.

His voice dropped to a whisper, so full of love it could barely carry the words: “Hi there.”

You let out a soft, teary laugh. “You’re already talking to them?”

“Of course,” he said. “They need to know their dad’s completely obsessed.”

You laughed again, this time freer, your head dropping against his shoulder.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” you whispered.

He pulled you closer, his voice firm with quiet promise: “We already are.”

And in that moment, surrounded by foggy mirrors, cold tile, and the hum of an ordinary bathroom light, you felt it.

Not just the shift in your future.

But the arrival of something whole.

A new chapter, held tenderly in the hands of a man who had always loved you gently, and now, fiercely would love both of you.

From this breath forward.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: for anon, who has been waiting since last year (i’m so so sorry for being so late.) 😖)

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[4linos]

omg why is everything you write so damn good, like i’m addicted to each and every one of your writings and now i’m hooked on your recent seungmin and changbin fic, i need to know when the other parts are releasing plzzzzz

thank youuu 😭😭😭 soon! probably tomorrow or monday night! <33333 i’m excited for you all to read the next part. 🤗

[4linos]

when the past knocks.

seo changbin x f!reader, kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: you left to protect your son and yourself. but healing gets complicated when old ghosts return… and one of them still makes you laugh.

warnings: angst, infidelity, emotional distress, mild swearing, jealousy, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort.

wc: 12,629

[when the past knocks 2]

The air in your childhood bedroom never really changed. It still smelled faintly like old wood, laundry detergent, and whatever fabric softener your mom used, floral, a little powdery, like a scent from another decade. You’d hoped it might feel comforting after everything, but all it did was remind you that you didn’t belong here anymore. Not really. You weren’t a child anymore. You weren’t a daughter. Not just that. You were a mother. A wife, sort of. Or maybe just someone who used to be married. The line was blurry. The divorce papers were still unsigned. You hadn’t touched them since the day you left Seungmin.

Roan had adjusted better than you thought he would, not that that said much. He didn’t throw tantrums, didn’t cry at night or beg to go back. But you saw the way he lingered by the front window, how he never said Seungmin’s name anymore but would still quietly tuck the stuffed lion his dad gave him beside his pillow every night. He didn’t talk about his old friends, or his old school, or the home you left behind. He just colored a lot. Long, quiet afternoons bent over crayons and sketchpads, like he was trying to give shape to things he didn’t have the words for yet.

Your parents didn’t ask too many questions. They welcomed you back like it was just temporary. Like it was a little break while you and Seungmin sorted things out. Like it wasn’t the wreckage of everything you’d been holding together for too long. You let them believe it. Because explaining would mean exposing yourself, and you didn’t have the strength for that yet.

“Just a trial separation,” your mom had said that first night. “Sometimes space is good. Men panic when things get hard. But if he really loves you—”

“He cheated,” you’d wanted to scream. “He cheated and then told me he still loved me. Like that meant anything. Like love excuses betrayal.”

But you’d just nodded. Quiet. Hollowed out. You let her hug you and serve you leftover bulgogi and rice like nothing was broken.

It was three days later that the note came home in Roan’s backpack. Written in soft cursive with a smiley face beside your name. “Looking forward to meeting you at Parent-Teacher Night!” It made your stomach sink. You didn’t want to go. You weren’t ready to face small talk with strangers, other parents with their lives in order, smiling faces and matching wedding rings. You didn’t want to sit through a slideshow about math curriculum while pretending your life hadn’t just imploded.

But Roan was excited. He showed you which table he sat at. He told you that his teacher, Ms. Lee, was “super nice” and let them choose from the “big crayon bucket” on Fridays if they finished their reading.

So you went.

Your mom helped you pick an outfit. Something presentable. Not too formal, not too casual. You ended up in dark jeans and a beige cardigan over a clean white tee. Simple. Safe. The kind of outfit that said, “I’m doing fine.” Even though you weren’t.

The classroom smelled like floor polish and old books. The kind of smell that never really left these places. Parents were already filing in, chatting in little groups. Some you vaguely recognized from your own time here. Faces that looked older now, slightly more worn.

Roan was already tugging at your hand, dragging you to the back of the room where the kids were gathered, coloring and playing with puzzles. You ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead, told him you’d be right over there if he needed you. He nodded, too busy choosing crayons to really listen.

You sat down. Alone. The rows of chairs were filled with clusters of couples, some laughing together, others nudging each other as the principal began to talk. You were trying to pay attention. Something about volunteers. Fundraisers. A school play. You couldn’t focus. Your hand moved unconsciously, rubbing the skin between your thumb and forefinger. A nervous tick you hadn’t realized had come back.

“You still do that thing with your hand when you’re not listening.”

The voice beside you was soft. Familiar.

You froze. Your fingers stopped moving.

Slowly, you turned.

He looked different. Older, definitely. His hair was shorter, the lines around his eyes deeper. He looked tired, but in that way people who carry grief tend to look. Like something had settled into his bones and refused to leave. But he was still unmistakably him.

“Changbin?”

He smiled, lopsided. “Hey.”

Your heart did something strange. Twisted, maybe. Or maybe it just broke a little more.

He looked at you for a second longer than polite. His eyes dropped to your hands, still frozen in your lap. Then up to your face again.

“I thought that was you earlier,” he said. “Wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”

You swallowed, found your voice. “What… what are you doing here?”

He jerked his thumb toward the group of kids in the back. “Yuna. My daughter. Seven. Same class as your son, Roan, Right?”

You blinked and nodded. “Your daughter?”

“Yeah.”

You processed that slowly. Looked toward the coloring table. You hadn’t noticed her before, but now that you knew, her dark eyes, the way her nose scrunched up when she concentrated, it made sense. She was beautiful. She looked like him.

“She’s adorable,” you murmured.

“Thanks.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Her mom picked the name.”

You looked at him again. Hesitated. Asked before you could stop yourself: “Your partner…?”

His expression didn’t falter. Just grew heavier.

“She passed away. Last year.”

The words hit like a quiet blow. Not sharp. Just… devastating in a way that took the air out of your lungs.

“I’m so sorry,” you said quietly.

He nodded once, like he’d heard it too many times to react anymore.

There was silence. Not awkward, but full. Heavy. Weighted by history you both hadn’t touched in over a decade.

He looked over at you. “What about you? Are you married…?”

But before he could finish, the teacher called your name. “Mrs. Kim? Roan’s mom?”

You stood too quickly. “I—yeah. That’s me.”

Changbin looked like he wanted to say more. You didn’t give him the chance. You stepped away, fast, and walked toward the front of the room where the teacher was smiling too brightly, talking about reading levels and handwriting improvement, and all you could think about was the fact that Changbin had been sitting beside you. That his wife passed away. That he had a daughter. That your son and his went to school together. That the past had just reinserted itself into your present like it had never left.

You answered the teacher’s questions. Nodded at the right times. Smiled when prompted. But it wasn’t real. None of it felt real.

When the meeting ended, the parents filtered out. Some lingered, chatting. You tried to leave quietly, but Changbin caught you by the exit.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in front of you. “Sorry if that was weird.”

You shook your head. “No. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting—”

“Me?”

You hesitated. “Any of this.”

He nodded. Looked down at his shoes for a second, then back up. “It’s weird being back here.”

“You moved back?”

“Few months ago. My parents are helping out with Yuna. I couldn’t do it alone anymore.”

You nodded. You understood that. In your own way, you were doing the same.

He hesitated. “So… are you okay?”

You wanted to lie. To say yes. But your voice cracked. Just barely.

“No,” you said, and that one word felt like a floodgate breaking.

He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t push. Just looked at you like he saw right through all the walls you were barely holding up.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly. “But if you ever want to… I’m around.”

You nodded. Bit your lip. Blinked fast.

Roan came up then, holding your hand. “Can we go home now?”

You ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go.”

Changbin smiled at Roan. “See you at school, buddy.”

Roan tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

You paused. “Just… an old friend.”

Roan nodded, accepting that. You started walking away. Changbin didn’t follow. But you could feel his gaze on your back all the way to the parking lot.

When you got home, your mom was waiting up.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

You shrugged. “Fine.”

She gave you a long look. “You sure?”

You nodded. Roan ran past you toward his makeshift bedroom that was once the guest room. Your mom smiled after him.

“Seungmin called earlier,” she said casually. “Said he was thinking of coming by this weekend.”

You froze. “Did he say why?”

She shrugged. “Said he misses you both. Wants to talk.”

You didn’t answer. You just went upstairs. You didn’t have the energy to tell her not to get her hopes up.

Later that night, when the house was quiet, you sat on your old bed, the divorce papers in your lap. Blank. Still unsigned.

You didn’t cry.

You just sat there, staring at them, while outside, the town you once left behind breathed quietly in the dark. Somewhere across it, Changbin was probably doing the same thing, navigating the ruins of what used to be, trying to find some kind of shape to rebuild from.

But you weren’t rebuilding. Not yet. You were just surviving.

And that had to be enough for now.

-

It had been a rough morning.

You barely slept the night before. Tossed and turned in the narrow bed, the blankets tangled around your legs, heart heavy in your chest like a rock that refused to dissolve. The silence of your parents’ house wasn’t comforting, it was deafening. And knowing that Seungmin might come by, might try to see you, that turned every breath into a burden. You didn’t want to see him. Not in this house, not in your childhood bedroom, not where everything already felt too small, too loud, too exposed.

You didn’t want to see him because you couldn’t trust yourself not to crack. Not in front of Roan. Not in front of your parents. Not when every part of you was still raw and bleeding.

And when you finally did fall asleep, maybe an hour or two at most, it was like sinking into darkness with your fists clenched.

You were pulled out of it by a light nudge at your arm. You stirred slowly, bleary-eyed, your first instinct assuming it was Roan, coming in to tell you he was ready for school.

But then you heard it, that voice.

Soft. Familiar. Too gentle.

“Hey,” he whispered, almost lovingly. “Baby, wake up.”

Your eyes snapped open like something inside you had been shocked awake. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t your imagination.

It was Seungmin.

You jerked upright, heart hammering as you blinked the sleep from your eyes and looked at him, standing there in the pale morning light, like he had every right to be in this room, like the last few weeks hadn’t happened. His voice, the way he said your name, the way his fingers had brushed your arm, had sounded too much like before. Before everything.

Before he’d shattered you.

You opened your mouth to curse him, maybe. To scream, to demand why the hell he thought it was okay to come into this room, to look at you like nothing had changed.

But your mother’s voice came from the doorway before you could say a word.

“Oh good, you’re up!” she said, chipper, unbothered. “Look who’s here!”

Like it was a surprise. Like it was a gift.

You could’ve told her to leave. You could’ve asked for privacy.

But then you heard it. Roan’s voice. A sudden, thrilled cry from down the hallway.

“Dad?!”

You heard the thump of feet running on hardwood before Roan threw himself into Seungmin’s arms.

You watched it happen. You watched your son’s arms wrap tightly around his father’s neck, his face buried into his shoulder like he hadn’t slept in weeks without that exact kind of comfort.

“I missed you!” Roan mumbled against his chest, holding on like he never wanted to let go.

Seungmin was grinning, holding him close, swaying just a little, as if everything was fine.

“I missed you too, buddy,” he murmured, voice soft.

You felt your throat tighten. This was why it was so hard. This, the joy in your son’s voice, the love in his eyes, the complete adoration for a man who didn’t deserve either of you anymore. You couldn’t take that away from Roan. You wouldn’t. But it made your chest ache in that sick, hollow way, the ache of watching your own pain become invisible to the people you loved the most.

“Why don’t you go get ready for school?” you managed to say to Roan, gently. Carefully. “We’re leaving soon.”

Roan pulled back, nodded, and turned but not before Seungmin crouched down and said, “I’ll take you with Mom, okay? I’ll drive.”

Your heart skipped, something twisting deep in your stomach.

And of course, your mother jumped in again from the hallway. “That’s a great idea! The three of you. Just like before. You need this time. I’ll go finish breakfast. You two talk.”

Then she was gone.

You stood there in silence as Roan padded off, humming to himself, oblivious to the storm behind him.

Then it was just you and Seungmin.

You stood up slowly to close the door, your movements stiff, every muscle tense. He took a step forward, arms already open like he could hold you and fix everything with the same touch he once used to make you laugh, to calm you down, to convince you you were safe.

You stepped back. Immediately. Sharply.

His arms dropped.

“Are you serious right now?” you asked, your voice flat, brittle.

He sighed, like you were being difficult. “What, are you still on this?”

You blinked. Your mouth dropped open just slightly.

“Still on this,” you echoed, voice low. “You cheated on me.”

“It was a mistake,” he said quickly, as if that word made it smaller. “You left. You packed up and left, you took Roan—”

“I took him away from you?” you snapped. “You’re the one who ruined everything!”

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re being dramatic. You didn’t even let us work through it.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Work through what? You slept with someone else. You lied to me. Repeatedly. And now you’re standing here, in my parents’ house, acting like I’m the problem because I won’t let you hug me?”

His voice lowered, sharper now. “You ripped our son away from his home. His school. His routine. You think that didn’t hurt him?”

You faltered because he was right, in some twisted way. Roan was hurting. You saw it in the quiet moments. In the way he didn’t ask about friends. In how he always looked to you first, like he was afraid something might shift again.

But you didn’t do that. Seungmin did. You left because you had to. Because staying meant breaking completely.

He reached for your hand. Gently. Like he always used to. Like those early years, before everything got heavy.

But you didn’t realize what he was doing until he stopped, eyes flicking down.

“You’re not wearing your ring.”

You pulled your hand back, slowly. “Of course I’m not.”

The silence between you was cold now. Thicker.

He didn’t let go of it, though, the guilt, the insinuation. “You think you’re the only one in pain?” he said softly. “You think I didn’t stay up every night after you left, thinking about Roan, about you, about what I—what we—could’ve fixed?”

“You should’ve thought about that before you started sleeping with your coworker,” you snapped. “Before you made me think I was going crazy. Before you stood in our kitchen and told me you still loved me after everything.”

He stepped back, but only slightly. “Because I do. I always have.”

The door knocked lightly. Your mother’s voice followed: “Breakfast’s ready! Seungmin, you’re welcome to stay, of course. Even a few days, if you want!”

Your heart seized.

You turned toward the door, ready to open it, to tell her no. That it was a terrible idea. That she didn’t know the truth, any of it.

But before you could say anything, Seungmin looked at you with that familiar, quiet smile. The one that used to charm your parents, used to make you feel like the most cherished person in the room.

“I’d love to,” he said loud enough for her to hear. “Let me just talk to my office. I can work remote for a bit.”

You could see it already, your mom beaming. Roan cheering. The quiet assumption that this was the beginning of a fix, not the deepening of the fracture.

Your fists clenched at your sides.

He was doing it again, weaving his way back in, without apology. Without accountability.

You stared at him, your voice caught somewhere between rage and heartbreak.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to just… move in and pretend we’re fine.”

He tilted his head. “But we could be. Eventually.”

And just like that, the cracks inside you deepened.

Because part of you wanted to believe it. Wanted to reach out and rewind time.

But another part, the part that remembered the nights you cried in silence, the lies, the hollow apologies, knew better.

The door creaked slightly, your mom’s voice warm and hopeful again: “Come eat before it gets cold!”

Seungmin brushed past you, opened the door, like he belonged there.

And you stood alone in your childhood bedroom, heart in pieces, knowing that the worst kind of betrayal wasn’t the one that came from an enemy.

It was the one that came wearing your husband’s smile.

Breakfast was unbearable.

Not because of the food, your mom, as always, had made more than enough: golden pancakes with just the right crisp on the edges, scrambled eggs, a fresh fruit bowl, and toast she always left slightly burnt because she knew your dad liked it that way. Everything smelled like comfort. Like childhood. Like home.

But the weight in the room made it all feel distant. Like you were watching a scene you didn’t belong in anymore.

Roan, on the other hand, was glowing.

He talked nonstop, bouncing in his seat as he told Seungmin every little detail about his new school from how his new teacher smiled a lot and had a frog-shaped pencil case, to how another kid in class had Pokémon stickers, to how he was trying to memorize the name of every student even if he couldn’t remember which of the twins was Ava and which was Emma.

“Ms. Lee said we might get to do a science experiment next week,” Roan grinned, syrup on the corner of his mouth. “And she said I’m a really good reader!”

Seungmin was nodding along, eyes bright with pride, one hand gently ruffling Roan’s hair.

“That’s my smart boy,” he said, voice warm. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart tightened. Not at the compliment, but at how seamless it was for him to just be here. At your kitchen table, in this house, pretending like he belonged again. Like he hadn’t destroyed something precious and just decided he could waltz back in and act like the glue was already drying.

Your parents were eating it up.

“I thought you were going to visit this weekend,” your mom said suddenly, taking a sip of coffee and glancing at Seungmin with a smile that felt far too affectionate. “What brought you down early?”

You didn’t even try to hide the way you rolled your eyes just a small, weary gesture, hoping no one would notice. But of course, Seungmin did.

He set his fork down gently and leaned back, giving the most concerned sigh he could muster. It was so calculated it made your skin crawl.

“She hasn’t been answering my texts,” he said, voice low. “Not about Roan. Not about… anything, really. I couldn’t sleep. I was worried something had happened. So I just got in the car and drove.”

You scoffed softly into your mug, shaking your head. Worried.

Your mother gasped like it was a scene out of a drama.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “That’s so romantic.”

You looked at her, stunned. But she was already turning to your father, eyes sparkling.

“Isn’t that romantic? Driving all this way, just to check on her? That’s love, right there.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“It’s like I always say,” she continued, voice rising with that hopeful little lilt she used when she was narrating the story she wanted to believe. “Every couple goes through hard moments. That’s what makes a marriage strong, weathering the storms together. Don’t you think, honey?”

Your father nodded solemnly, like he was offering some sage wisdom. “I’m just glad you’re here, Seungmin.”

“Thank you,” Seungmin said quietly, giving your dad a respectful smile. “And thank you, really, for breakfast. It’s… it’s good to be here.”

You didn’t miss the glance he threw your way as he said it.

Like he was laying it on, just enough to keep the illusion going.

You clenched your jaw, pushing your barely touched plate a little to the side.

You’d had enough.

Roan was still mid-sentence, telling Seungmin about how there was a garden outside his classroom and the teacher let them pick mint leaves to smell, when you stood abruptly, your chair scraping back against the floor.

“You’re going to be late, Ro,” you said, already walking around the table. “Get your stuff. Shoes, backpack. Let’s go.”

Your voice was firm. Not sharp, but final. The kind of tone Roan knew meant not to argue.

“Okay!” he said, popping the last strawberry into his mouth before hopping off the chair.

Seungmin stood as well, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, still holding that calm, casual air like he wasn’t carefully engineering a performance.

“I’ll be in the car,” he said, smiling at your parents. “Thanks again for everything. I’ll be back after drop-off,”

You froze.

You wanted to say no. To say he wouldn’t be. To explain that your mother’s hospitality wasn’t a free pass for him to pretend the last weeks of your life hadn’t just collapsed in on themselves.

But you felt your mom’s hand on your shoulder as she passed you to start clearing plates, and you couldn’t.

You didn’t have the energy.

So instead, you just walked. Quietly. Past your father still sipping coffee. Past Seungmin, who followed behind you like nothing was wrong.

Out of the room. Out of the comfort. Into the chill of a mid-morning that felt far too bright for how heavy you were inside.

-

By the time Roan had his shoes on and his little arms were shrugging into his backpack, Seungmin was already in the driver’s seat of the car, fiddling with the mirror like this was his routine. Like you were just an accessory to it all.

You opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, not looking at him.

Roan climbed into the back and buckled himself in, already humming some melody he’d picked up from a show. Oblivious. Happy.

You hated how hard that made everything.

Seungmin started the car. Silence sat between you like an unwanted guest.

You stared out the window, jaw tight, hand fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve the way you always did when you were overwhelmed.

“You still do that,” Seungmin said softly, glancing at you. “That little fidget thing with your sleeve.”

You didn’t respond.

He let out a soft breath and turned his eyes back to the road.

“I just want to talk,” he said, voice lower now, just for you. “After we drop him off. Just… please.”

You still didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you had anything left to say.

And yet, you knew as the school building came into view, as Roan waved goodbye and ran up the steps that you'd be forced to speak to him.

And you'd have to face the wreckage of everything he'd broken… with no one left to protect you from it.

-

The ride back from Roan’s school was quieter than the one there.

Not in the peaceful, comfortable way quiet sometimes is but heavy, thick, like the air had turned to smoke. You kept your eyes on the road ahead, even though Seungmin was the one driving. You didn’t speak. You didn’t look at him.

And he didn’t say anything at first either. Like he was waiting, testing how long he could sit in your silence before cracking it open.

The school faded behind you. The morning light had warmed into late morning, hazy and humid, the trees lining the side streets full of buzzing cicadas. You wanted to disappear into the sound. Dissolve.

When he finally spoke, his voice was too soft. Too rehearsed.

“You’re really going to let everything go, just like that?”

You didn’t respond. Your gaze stayed fixed out the window, watching a woman walk her dog past a florist you used to visit with your mom. Everything about this place was stitched into your childhood, and now it felt like a cage.

“You’re not even going to try?” Seungmin said again, more firmly this time. “After everything we’ve built together?”

That made you laugh dry and bitter.

“Built?” you muttered. “We didn’t build anything. You bulldozed it.”

He gripped the wheel tighter. You could see the white of his knuckles.

“Come on,” he said, glancing at you. “Don’t let all these years just go to waste because of this—this thing.”

You turned slowly. Looked at him. Really looked at him.

“This thing?” you repeated, voice dangerously low. “You mean you sleeping with someone else?”

His jaw clenched. “You always twist things—”

“I always—?”

“Roan’s hurting,” he cut in. “And you don’t even see it. You moved him two hours away from home. From me. From everything he knows. And for what? A fight?”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth opened, then shut, then opened again because you were too stunned to even choose the right reaction.

“It wasn’t a fight, Seungmin. You cheated. You lied. You broke every ounce of trust I gave you, and now you’re sitting here calling it a fight?”

He turned into your parents’ driveway too fast, jerking the car slightly. His voice raised for the first time, sharp and impatient.

“Get over it already! You’re acting like I murdered someone!”

You stared at him, breathing hard, heart beating like a drum in your throat.

“You should’ve never come back.”

Your voice wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Dead cold.

You got out of the car before he could say anything else.

You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. You just walked back into the house like you’d walked into a burning building because at least then you could pretend the smoke choking you was from fire and not from everything else he’d left behind.

-

You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.

Not when you passed in the hallway. Not when Roan asked the three of you to play Uno together and you politely declined. Not when your mother insisted on putting Seungmin’s favorite tea in front of him at dinner and asked, with a too-bright smile, how he liked working at the firm now.

You didn’t speak when your father nodded along like a quiet referee, reading the air and choosing silence. You didn’t speak when Roan leaned on his father’s shoulder while watching cartoons, clearly desperate for things to feel normal again.

You only spoke to Roan. And even then, your voice was gentler than it usually was, like you were trying not to let any bitterness bleed through. You didn’t want him to absorb it. He was seven. He deserved peace. He didn’t ask for any of this.

The sun went down slow, casting a warm gold through your old bedroom window. You’d cleaned the space up a little, stacked a few of your old books on the nightstand, put a photo of Roan in a small frame. You were brushing your hair in front of the vanity, watching the soft reflection of yourself, looking more exhausted than you’d ever allowed yourself to admit.

You didn’t hear her at first.

Your mother’s knock was light, almost timid, as if sensing the tension even through the closed door. She was standing there in her robe, a small stack of folded blankets cradled against her chest, her eyes warm.

“Is Roan asleep?” she asked, already stepping halfway into the room.

Seungmin, who had been sitting silently on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone answered first.

“Just checked on him. Out like a light.”

Your mother beamed. “He looked so happy today. I think seeing you really lifted his mood,” she said, directing the comment at Seungmin.

You rolled your eyes and looked back at your reflection, brushing slowly, carefully, ignoring them.

“I brought a few extra blankets,” your mom said, walking over to the foot of the bed. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept brushing.

But then she added, breezily, “Thought you two might want them, since you’ll be sharing the bed tonight.”

The brush stilled in your hand.

Your reflection didn’t blink.

You turned your head slightly, unsure if you heard her correctly. “What?”

“Just like old times,” she went on, either not noticing your reaction or choosing to ignore it. “The bed’s plenty big. I know it’s been a hard few weeks, but maybe some closeness would help.”

You opened your mouth to speak to correct her, to set the record straight, but Seungmin spoke first.

“Thank you,” he said smoothly, before you could even draw breath. “That’s really kind of you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. You turned, eyes burning into him.

Your mother just smiled. “Of course, honey. Goodnight, both of you.”

She left. Just like that. Blankets at the foot of the bed, hopeful energy lingering in the air like cheap perfume.

The door clicked softly behind her.

You turned to him. “Why the hell would you say yes to that?”

Seungmin shrugged, like it was nothing. “I didn’t want to make it weird.”

You laughed once, sharp and humorless. “It’s already weird, Seungmin.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled one of the blankets over his lap and leaned back against the headboard, like he hadn’t just signed himself into your space for the night.

You stared at him, heart pounding, fingers still tangled in your brush handle.

The air between you was thicker now, like every truth you couldn’t say had taken physical form and was slowly filling the room.

You turned away, back to the mirror, and continued brushing slowly, methodically because it was the only thing you could do that didn’t feel like drowning.

And behind you, in the reflection, Seungmin sat in silence.

Still acting like this wasn’t a nightmare of his own making.

You slept on the edge of the bed like you were afraid the mattress might betray you, lying stiff and still, your spine nearly aligned with the seam of the bed’s edge. The line between you and Seungmin was vast, even if physically it was only a few feet. You felt every inch of it.

The silence stretched.

There was no comfort in the dark, only the constant, low hum of your thoughts. You could hear the subtle sounds of the house, the creak of pipes, a faint breeze against the windowpane, the occasional scuff of a car passing by too late into the night. Roan’s soft breathing from the next room.

And then, from the other side of the bed, Seungmin’s voice.

“I’ll stay on my side,” he said softly, like it was some olive branch. “I’m not trying to make things worse.”

You didn’t answer. Your hand was curled near your chest, tangled in the fabric of the blanket.

So here you were.

Lying inches from a man you no longer recognized, in a room that used to belong to someone you no longer were.

He didn’t speak again.

Eventually, you turned your back to him. Not because it helped, but because it was the only direction you could face without breaking.

You woke before your alarm.

Roan was already moving in the next room, his usual morning rustling of trying to pick an outfit, deciding which Pokémon socks were lucky, which book he wanted to bring in his backpack. He called your name once and you responded quickly, happy for the excuse to leave the room.

You slipped out of bed carefully, barely glancing at the other side.

Seungmin was still asleep, or at least pretending to be.

You didn’t care.

Downstairs, the smell of toast and eggs filled the kitchen again, your mom moving around like she had a thousand good intentions tucked into her apron. She smiled at you like nothing was wrong.

You could feel your chest tighten.

“I was thinking,” she said, flipping something on the stove, “you two should take Roan to the park after school. You know, spend a little time as a family. He looked so happy yesterday.”

You shook your head almost immediately. “I can’t. I have an appointment.”

“An appointment?” she asked, turning her head. “For what?”

“Just… something I scheduled a while ago,” you lied. “It’s nothing big, just something I have to do.”

She nodded, still smiling. “Okay, well maybe tomorrow, then.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you poured Roan a cup of juice and distracted yourself with folding his lunch napkin.

“Also,” you added, casually, “I’ll take Roan to school today. Alone.”

She looked at you, blinking. “Oh?”

“Seungmin probably has work to catch up on,” you said, smoothly now. “Emails, meetings, all of it. He shouldn’t miss any more days than he already has.”

There was a pause. Barely half a beat, but it said everything. Your mother wanted to say something, something hopeful, something intrusive, but Seungmin had just walked into the room, ruffling Roan’s hair.

You kept your expression neutral.

“I told Mom I’d take Roan this morning,” you said to him directly, watching his reaction. “You probably have work.”

He opened his mouth, hesitating ready to argue. You could see it. But then he caught your look.

Tired. Unshakable. Empty.

He sighed and relented.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few emails to catch up on. Go ahead.”

Roan didn’t protest. He was too busy trying to zip his backpack and carry his lunchbox at the same time.

But on the drive to school, it surfaced.

“I like it when Dad drives me,” Roan said, swinging his legs in the seat. “He talks to me about music and lets me pick the songs.”

You gripped the steering wheel tighter but didn’t respond.

“I wish both of you took me to school,” he said after a moment. “Like yesterday.”

You reached for his hand at the red light. Squeezed it gently.

“I know, baby.”

It was all you could say.

At the school, you walked him up to the entrance, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder. You hugged him tighter than usual too tight, probably, but he didn’t complain. He just laughed and wrapped his arms around your neck.

“I’ll be good,” he said brightly.

“I know you will.”

He waved once, twice, and then he disappeared through the front doors.

You hadn’t even fully turned around when you walked straight into someone, solid and warm and familiar.

You let out a startled yelp, stumbling slightly.

A deep, amused laugh.

“Oh gosh,” you breathed, hand clutching your chest. “Are you serious?”

Changbin grinned down at you, eyes crinkling with laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, still chuckling. “I think I might’ve scared you half to death.”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You did! Are you stalking me?”

“Only mildly,” he teased. “Nah, I just drop off Yuna a little later on Wednesdays. Lucky me.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling despite yourself. The sharp edge in your chest softened for the first time that day.

He looked good. The same, and not the same. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the faint veins of his forearms, and he had that same relaxed, easygoing charm that used to be your undoing when you were seventeen.

He looked like a breath you’d forgotten how to take.

“I’ve been meaning to see you again,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t get your number at the school meeting. I wasn’t sure if you were avoiding me or just busy.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you said honestly, folding your arms but not stepping away.

He smiled again, this time softer.

“Look,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “I don’t want to make anything weird. I just thought it’d be nice to catch up. You know — talk. Laugh. Drink something stronger than school cafeteria coffee. My treat, obviously.”

You hesitated, lips parting, unsure what to say.

Because you hadn’t laughed genuinely laughed in weeks. Because you hadn’t had anyone look at you like you in even longer. Because part of you hated how much that brief moment the banter, the touch, the easiness made something flutter low in your stomach.

“Coffee?” he added, sensing your hesitation. “Or food. I know a great place just off Main. I’m flexible. Just say the word.”

You looked at him, still smiling at you like there wasn’t a single crack in your armor he couldn’t see and wouldn’t touch unless you let him.

Something in you shifted.

“I’ll think about it,” you said quietly.

He nodded, backing up slowly with both hands raised. “That’s all I’m asking.”

And then he winked.

“See you around, heartbreaker.”

You didn’t walk any farther.

You’d barely made it halfway across the school parking lot when the thought hit you like a brick to the chest, the image of your front door waiting to open to more of the same. Your mother’s voice sweet and persistent, urging you to see the good in your marriage, like the betrayal was just a lapse in Seungmin’s character, not a rupture in yours. Seungmin’s voice, too, soft and heavy and manipulative pulling on history and guilt and the shared weight of Roan’s little heart like it was enough to glue together something already cracked beyond recognition.

You couldn’t do it. Not this morning.

Your hands were trembling not from fear, but from the tiredness of having to hold everything together all the time. Of being careful. Measured. Quiet.

So you turned around. Fast.

You spotted him just in time Changbin was a few steps ahead, walking down the sidewalk toward what seemed to be his car, his stride relaxed. He hadn't noticed you yet.

“Changbin!” you called out, a little breathless, your voice slicing through the low hum of early morning traffic.

He turned.

His brows lifted at the sight of you jogging slightly toward him, something like concern flashing in his face for a moment, until you caught up, and he saw your expression: flushed from decision, not panic.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, but not intrusively.

You took a breath. Then another.

“Do you have time now?” you asked, voice lower this time. “To… get that coffee. Or food. Or whatever you offered. I just—” you paused, looking away. “I don’t really want to go home yet.”

He didn’t ask any questions.

No why, no what's going on, no are you okay.

Instead, he just smiled. A little crooked, a little soft. Familiar.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’ve got time.”

He pointed at his car, a black, slightly beat-up sedan in the corner of the lot, the kind of vehicle that had seen long nights and longer road trips, mismatched air fresheners and glove compartments filled with half-written lyrics.

“I’ll drive?”

You felt something ease inside your chest as you smiled back. “Okay.”

You slipped into the passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt across your lap with a click. He tossed his backpack into the back seat before climbing in beside you, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the AC vent. He turned to you as he started the engine.

“So,” he asked, “want to try that new place I mentioned? Or…”

You hesitated.

There was something about this moment, something tender and loose and unfamiliar in its comfort. You stared out the window for a beat, then turned to him.

“Do you remember that diner we used to go to?” you asked. “The one near the overpass? We used to ditch class and get pancakes.”

His face lit up. “With the cracked jukebox and the chalkboard menus? That place?”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah. That one.”

His eyes softened. “I haven’t been there in forever. Still smells like syrup and fryer grease and bad decisions, probably.”

You laughed, and it surprised you how natural it sounded. How easy.

“That’s where I want to go,” you said.

“You got it,” he replied, throwing the car into drive. “Nostalgia breakfast. Coming right up.”

He winked at you, and this time, you let the flutter in your stomach stay.

-

The bell above the door chimed gently as you both stepped into the diner, the soft smell of syrup and coffee wrapping around you like an old blanket. It was still there, that same sticky warmth, the gentle hum of classic rock spilling faintly from the speakers, and the low murmur of early patrons with their morning mugs and newspapers.

You both slid into a booth near the back, the one that curved along the window, the same one you used to claim every time you skipped class and wanted to pretend you were older than sixteen. Changbin sat across from you, his hands still calloused but somehow gentle-looking as he grabbed a menu he probably didn’t need.

You didn’t need one either.

“It smells the same,” you muttered, eyes scanning the room. “Like grease and… rebellion.”

Changbin laughed. “And questionable hygiene.”

You laughed with him, the sound coming easily now. Lighter.

A waitress came by familiar face, maybe a little older than you both, her name tag crooked and took your orders without fuss. Two coffees, two plates of pancakes, a side of bacon for him, fruit for you, like muscle memory.

After she left, Changbin leaned back against the booth, stretching his arm across the back like he used to when you were younger though now, he wasn’t trying to flirt. Just relax. Be.

“I still can’t believe that was actually you,” he said, shaking his head. “Like, at the school. If it wasn’t you, and I said something stupid like ‘you still do that fidgety hand thing,’ I would’ve had to change my name and leave town.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Would’ve been hilarious though.”

“I don’t think my ego could’ve taken it,” he teased, grinning.

You took a sip of coffee, watching him as he stared out the window for a second. The sun hit just right, the gold catching on the edge of his jaw, in the little crow’s feet near his eyes, the slight exhaustion in his frame. Life had happened to him, clearly. It had happened to you too. But in this booth, it felt like the world slowed down.

You ended up talking about high school. Not the painful parts, not yet, but the funny, absurd pieces. The time you both got caught making out behind the gym during prom. The time you threw a soda can at someone’s car because they catcalled you and Changbin wanted to defend your honor. The camping trip where you two shared a blanket and he screamed at a raccoon in the middle of the night.

“That raccoon was at least 30 pounds,” he insisted.

“It was five, tops.”

“It had rabies in its eyes.”

You laughed again. A real, full laugh.

He was halfway through his second pancake, slicing through the stack with syrup-covered enthusiasm, when he suddenly froze. His fork hovered in midair, dripping slightly.

“Oh my god,” he said through a mouthful. “I just remembered something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “This could go in so many directions.”

“No, no, listen,” he said, swallowing his bite dramatically. “Do you remember… Seungmin?”

Your heart stilled. Like it had tripped over itself and forgot how to keep beating for just a moment.

“Kim Seungmin.”

Of course you remembered. Of course you did.

But Changbin didn’t know. He had no idea.

You stiffened slightly. “Yeah…” you said cautiously. “I remember.”

He didn’t notice the way your fingers curled around your cup, the way you leaned just slightly back, preparing for the hit.

“Geez,” he muttered with a grin, shaking his head. “I hated that guy.”

Your head snapped up.

“I was so jealous back then,” he continued, chuckling. “Everyone knew Seungmin had the biggest crush on you. Dude would always hang around after classes, try to sit near you, act like you and I weren’t even dating. Like… you were just this free agent waiting for someone better.”

He laughed a little bitterly at the memory, like it didn’t actually sting anymore, just existed.

“I mean, I get it,” he added. “You were… you. You were always so bright. People wanted to be around you. I didn’t blame him. I just wanted to punch him.”

You finally breathed. A slow, careful breath. It was now or never.

“Changbin,” you said quietly.

He looked up.

You hesitated for only a beat. Then:

“Seungmin is my husband.”

The fork in his hand froze. Slowly, he set it down.

He blinked.

Once. Twice.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice lower.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He sat back, visibly trying to process. “You… married him?”

You didn’t answer with words at first. Just gave him a look that said, Yes. It's as complicated as it sounds.

And maybe because this was Changbin, and he knew you too well, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t react with some big dramatic sigh or over-the-top comment.

He just let out a quiet, “Wow.”

You looked down at your plate, picked at a strawberry.

“After you left,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I was in a bad place. I think you knew that. And he… he stayed. He was always there. At first just a friend, then someone who made me laugh again. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t even romantic at first. I just… I needed someone. And he was there.”

You glanced at him, trying to gauge his expression. It was unreadable, his lips slightly parted, brows furrowed in that faint way they always did when he was really listening.

“We ended up going to the same college,” you continued. “Out of town. Different majors, but… he stuck around. And somewhere between trying to get over you and trying to survive being on my own, I fell in love with him.”

You looked down again. Your voice cracked slightly. “We got married after college. Roan came a year later.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Changbin let out a soft breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Can I say something?”

You nodded.

“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “I don’t have a right to be. I left. I hurt you. And Seungmin… I guess he didn’t.”

You looked at him. “He did. Just… not right away.”

Understanding flickered across his face.

You didn’t need to explain more. Not yet.

“He cheated,” you whispered.

Changbin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

You laughed bitterly. “Everyone thinks we’re just going through a phase. A rough patch. My parents love him. Roan loves him. And I’m the only one who knows the truth. And now you.”

He stared at you, like he was searching for something in your eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, after a pause.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” you said, voice small.

“But I want to,” he said.

You looked at him.

“I want to be here,” he said simply. “Even if it’s just as someone who listens.”

You smiled a slow, aching thing. “Thank you.”

And for the first time in a long, long time maybe since before everything shattered, you felt like someone really saw you.

Not as Seungmin’s wife. Not just Roan’s mother.

Just you.

And it felt like hope.

-

By the time the soft clinking of cutlery had dwindled, and the hush of the post-rush lull settled over the diner, you noticed the waitress throwing not-so-subtle glances your way. Her polite smile was stretched thin now, the kind of weary look that screamed, You two have been here way too long, please let me clean your table and go home at a decent hour.

Changbin caught it too, offering a sheepish laugh as he polished off the last sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “I think we’re being evicted.”

You sighed, smiling reluctantly. “Feels like old times. Except now we’re overstaying because of emotional baggage instead of teenage hormones.”

He grinned. “Emotional baggage is way more interesting.”

You reached into your bag for your wallet, reflexive and automatic. “Let me at least get half —”

He was already sliding his card across the table to the waitress, not even looking your way. “Don’t start. I invited you.”

“No, but—”

“I said I wanted to treat you.” He smirked, leaning back with exaggerated smugness. “You can get the next one.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want me to feel obligated to see you again.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Exactly.”

You stared at him. A beat passed. Then you chuckled, the sound quiet and honest.

Outside, the light had softened into that almost-golden afternoon hue, the kind that makes everything look washed in nostalgia. When you stepped out of the diner and into the sunlight, you blinked against it, stretching your arms above your head with a groan that came from deep in your chest. Changbin walked beside you, keys twirling between his fingers.

It wasn’t until you were halfway to the school, laughter still lingering in your chest from some half-told story about his failed attempt at teaching Yuna how to ride a bike that you realized the time.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, sitting upright in the passenger seat. “It’s pickup time. Like right now pickup time.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “You said it was later!”

“I thought it was!” you said, quickly grabbing your phone and checking the clock. “I didn’t realize we’d been sitting there for five hours! You were too interesting.”

He grinned. “Flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be,” you snapped, panicked, swatting his arm. “Drive!”

He did. Fast enough to make it right as the trickle of students began flooding out the school gates, colorful backpacks bouncing, parents chatting in clusters by the sidewalk. You both barely made it out of the car when familiar voices caught your attention.

“Mom!”

You turned just in time to see Roan running toward you cheeks flushed, his bag half zipped and bouncing against his back. His hair stuck to his forehead from play, and his voice cracked with excitement.

Right behind him, Yuna’s squeal echoed as she launched herself at Changbin, who caught her with ease, laughing as he staggered slightly from the force of her affection.

Roan flung his arms around your waist, and you caught him, bending slightly to hug him properly.

“Hey, baby,” you said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “How was school?”

“I drew a frog with wings!” he announced proudly. “And Ms. Lee said it was very imaginative.”

“Of course she did,” you laughed. “That sounds very… avant-garde.”

He nodded solemnly, then tilted his head. “Where’s dad?”

The question hit you like a soft thud. Not painful. But heavy.

You hesitated for half a second before answering, “He’s at home. He had work.”

Roan frowned slightly but didn’t say more. He leaned into your side, rubbing his eyes with a little yawn.

“Hey,” Changbin’s voice came from behind you, softer now. “Thanks for today. It really… meant a lot.”

You turned around, finding him with Yuna still perched on his hip, her arms looped around his neck as she played with the ends of his hair. Her small eyes fluttered sleepily.

“I should be thanking you,” you said, adjusting Roan’s backpack on your shoulder. “I really needed to… not be home for a while.”

He watched you carefully, his face gentling. “You didn’t have to explain.”

You smiled weakly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Still.”

There was a pause. A tiny, breath-held moment.

“I didn’t get your number,” he said suddenly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. “And if I don’t ask now, I’ll probably regret it for another ten years.”

You laughed under your breath. “Smooth.”

He passed you the phone, and you typed in your number, pausing only once before hitting save under your name.

“Done,” you said.

He smiled this time, quieter. “Maybe next time… drinks? A real dinner? My treat, again. Unless you really want to fight me over the bill.”

You snorted. “Oh, I will.”

“I’m counting on it.”

And then Roan tugged at your hand, murmuring that he was tired and wanted to go home. You nodded, your heart heavy again but full in a different way now.

Changbin and Yuna waved as you started walking toward your car, and Roan ever the polite boy waved back, yelling a cheerful, “Bye, Yuna! Bye Yuna’s Dad!”

Yuna waved so hard her ponytail bobbed with the motion. “Bye Roan! Bye Roan’s Mom!”

You paused at that, warmth spreading in your chest despite yourself. You looked back just once.

Changbin was still watching you. Not staring. Just… present.

And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like you were walking alone.

-

You smiled the entire ride home. Not a loud, ecstatic grin, but that quiet, involuntary kind of smile, the one that lingers at the corners of your lips long after a warm memory. Changbin had made you laugh today, not just once, but more times than you could count. Honest laughter, too the kind that didn't feel forced or coated in guilt. For a little while, it was easy to forget how heavy everything else was. It was easier to feel like yourself again.

But the moment your front door creaked open, reality swept back in like a bitter wind.

The sound hit first: low murmuring, the subtle clink of bottles, a laugh that didn't belong to you. It was Seungmin’s, quiet, practiced. Familiar. Too familiar. Then your father's gruff voice, amused and relaxed in a way that made your skin prickle. As you stepped inside, the weight came crashing down again.

There, in the living room, Seungmin sat next to your father both of them holding beers, the kind your dad only pulled out when he was feeling particularly welcoming. Seungmin's sleeves rolled up in a way that once made you feel comforted. Now it made your stomach turn.

Your mother was curled up in her armchair with a book resting open on her lap. She looked up the second you stepped in, her eyes lighting up like she'd just spotted good news walking through the door.

“There you are!” she chirped, her voice far too cheerful for how tight your chest had suddenly become. “Where were you? Seungmin’s been so worried. He was about to go out and look for you.”

The mention of his name, that carefully woven narrative of him being “worried,” instantly soured your mood. You hadn’t texted. You hadn’t wanted to. You’d had one afternoon, just one, where you could breathe without his voice tugging at your every memory, and now you were being pulled right back under the water.

Roan ran past you before you could say a word. “Dad!” he squealed, flinging himself into Seungmin’s arms with no hesitation. “I drew a frog with wings today and Ms. Lee loved it!”

You stood frozen in the entryway, your smile long gone now, watching Seungmin smile as he ruffled Roan’s hair, responding with a soft, “Of course she did, bud. That’s awesome.”

Your mom turned to you again, brows lifting. “Honey? You alright? Why didn’t you come home after drop-off?”

You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten. The question felt too pointed, too soon. You hadn’t even set down your keys yet. Your pulse rose with the sudden sensation of being cornered.

“I just… needed some air,” you said flatly. “Ran some errands. Got a headache.”

“Oh no,” your mom said, eyes full of concern now. “You should rest. You look pale.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I will. I’m going to lie down.”

There was no room for more conversation. You turned on your heel, making a beeline for your room, practically choking on the tightness in your throat. The moment you were inside, you shut the door behind you not hard, but firm. It wasn’t a slam. It was a boundary.

You slipped off your shoes and collapsed onto your bed without turning on the light. You lay on your side, staring blankly at the wall, your back to the door. You hadn’t even bothered to change clothes. The ache in your chest had returned, dull and gnawing, the contrast between now and the afternoon with Changbin cutting deep.

You heard the knock a few minutes later. Not loud just a gentle knock, followed by the door creaking open.

Of course. It was him.

“Hey,” Seungmin’s voice was soft. Carefully rehearsed. He closed the door behind him, and you could feel his eyes trying to find you in the dim room.

You didn’t move.

“Heard you weren’t feeling well,” he added, as if that excused the way he came in uninvited. “I just wanted to check.”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t need to. The silence was thick enough.

“Where were you?” he finally asked, the first question that wasn’t wrapped in false concern. Just a little more pointed. A little less kind.

You still didn’t answer. You stayed on your side, back to him. Your arm folded under your head, breath steady. But he knew you weren’t sleeping.

A sigh. A pause. The shift of the mattress behind you as he stepped closer, probably expecting some sort of response, a confrontation, anything.

“Look,” he began, his voice tightening. “I’m just trying to talk. You can’t keep shutting me out like this.”

Still nothing. You stared at the wall, heart slowly rising into your throat again. If you opened your mouth, you might say something too honest. Too cruel.

Seungmin sighed again, louder this time. “So this is it? This is how we’re going to do this now?”

You turned slowly, finally, to face him. Your voice was quiet, but it was hard-edged. “How we’re going to do this? You don’t get to walk in here and pretend like we’re on the same team.”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been trying. You’re the one who left.”

You sat up, your hands trembling in your lap. “You cheated.”

His eyes flashed with something guilt, maybe, or frustration. “We had a fight. We were already falling apart.”

You flinched. “And your solution to that was to sleep with your coworker?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, Seungmin,” you cut him off, your voice rising, “What’s not fair is you coming here, acting like you’re some loving husband, winning my parents over, making them think this is just a bump in the road. You know what you're doing.”

“You didn’t correct them either,” he shot back. “You’re letting them believe it too.”

You hated how easily he turned the blame. How calm he tried to stay when you were crumbling. It made you feel insane like you were the one unraveling in a perfectly tidy room.

“You should’ve never come,” you muttered, standing now, pacing. “I told you not to. I told you this isn’t your home anymore.”

He looked at you with a wounded kind of disbelief. “You’re really willing to throw away years because of one mistake?”

“One mistake?” you scoffed, incredulous. “That’s how you talk about it? You made me feel like I was crazy, Seungmin. You came home late, you lied to my face for months. And then you had the audacity to tell me you still loved me after. What kind of love is that?”

“I do love you,” he said softly, almost defeated.

And for a moment, the smallest flicker you saw the man you had once believed in. The one who held your hand in college hallways, who fell asleep with his head on your stomach as you read aloud your thesis. The man who cried in the hospital when Roan was born.

But that man cheated. That man let you cry alone the night you packed your bags. That man chose himself when you needed him the most.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “Not right now.”

He nodded, reluctantly stepping back, but he didn’t leave without the final blow.

“Roan misses you. The you we used to be. Just… think about him before you throw everything away.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He slipped out the door and closed it gently behind him.

You sat on the edge of the bed long after he left, the ache crawling back into your chest like it had never left.

The only lightness in your body now was the faint echo of laughter in a diner booth. A brief moment where you didn’t feel like a wife. Or an ex-wife. Or a disappointment.

Just a woman. Who used to love pancakes. Who used to skip class. Who used to dream.

And maybe, just maybe was learning how to again.

You liked taking Roan to school. It was the one part of the day that still felt soft, simple. His tiny hand in yours, the way he talked the entire way about his drawings, or what he thought the cafeteria would serve for lunch today. It helped you start the morning with something solid, something good before the noise of your fractured reality crept back in.

Today, you made sure he got into class okay, even lingered longer than usual near the door as he turned to wave at you. You waved back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

And then you felt a poke.

Right at your side.

You jumped so hard you let out a yelp, loud enough that a few parents turned to look and immediately whipped around to find the only person who’d have the audacity to poke you like that.

Changbin.

You immediately slapped his chest with a hand, playfully but firm. “You really have to stop doing that,” you huffed, glaring at him.

He was already laughing, loud and shameless. “I live for it. You should see your face—every time!”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

He fell into step beside you as you started walking away from the school gates.

“I didn’t realize you walked here,” he said after a few beats, glancing around the sidewalk like he was piecing it together.

“Yeah. Just needed the air.”

“Need a ride back?” he asked, casual, like it wasn’t already obvious that’s what he was going to offer.

You let out a quiet sigh through your nose. “You’re relentless.”

He grinned. “That’s a yes.”

And it was.

You followed him to his car, sliding into the passenger seat like you had yesterday only this time, it felt less like a spontaneous escape and more like… routine. Something easy. Something welcome.

The ride home was quiet at first, not awkward, just easy like neither of you felt the need to fill the space. But halfway there, he spoke.

“You know,” he began, eyes on the road, “you can talk to me. Anytime. About anything. You don’t have to, obviously. But just… I’m around.”

You turned your head slightly, watching his profile. The curve of his jaw. The soft worry at the corner of his mouth.

“I know,” you said, quietly. “Thank you.”

He nodded once but didn’t look at you. “I don’t know what happened with you and… him. I’m not prying. But I can see it in your eyes. You’re tired.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just quiet, heartfelt observation.

Your throat tightened at that. Because he wasn’t wrong. You were tired. Tired in your bones. Tired in your mind. Tired of pretending.

You turned toward the window, blinking fast. “I am.”

He didn’t press for more. Just drove.

You were already nearing your neighborhood when he let out a soft laugh and said, “Do your parents still hate me?”

You looked at him sharply, surprised, and then laughed, really laughed for the first time since the diner.

“Oh,” you said between giggles. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget? Your dad used to literally grunt when I came over. I thought he was going to bury me in the backyard.”

“To be fair,” you said, covering your smile with your hand, “you did sneak into my room at 2 AM and set off the fire alarm trying to microwave nachos.”

He shrugged. “Worth it. Those nachos were killer.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Don’t take it personal. They were overprotective. I was their only kid.”

“I’m not taking it personal,” he said, mock offended. “But do they still hate me?”

You gave that some real thought, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “Honestly, I think they barely remember. You’re ancient history.”

“Ouch,” he gasped. “And here I thought I left a lasting impression.”

“You left a mess in my kitchen, not an impression,” you teased.

He was still chuckling when he glanced at you and asked, “Do they like Seungmin?”

Your smile faded slightly, but it stayed on your face out of habit.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to make it sound lighter than it felt. “They… treat him like he’s their own son.”

He looked genuinely scandalized. “Seriously?”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Don’t take that personal either.”

But it lingered, that realization. That your parents had accepted Seungmin with open arms in ways they never had with anyone else. In some ways, it made everything harder.

You were still thinking about it when he pulled into your driveway.

As he parked, he turned to you with a grin. “Don’t forget. You still owe me drinks.”

You groaned. “Right. You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. I’m petty.”

You were still laughing when you unbuckled and stepped out of the car… only for your breath to catch in your throat the moment you saw who was standing on the porch.

Seungmin.

Arms crossed. Shoulders stiff. His expression thunderous.

He didn’t move when he saw you. Just stared. A storm in his eyes. His gaze shifted briefly to Changbin, and you swore something in his jaw clicked.

Changbin, still in the driver’s seat, gave a cheerful wave through the open window. “See you, mystery woman.”

You smiled faintly and waved back. “Thanks for the ride.”

He gave a wink, and then he was gone, the car pulling away, tires quiet on the pavement.

You barely had time to turn toward the porch when Seungmin snapped.

“Who the hell was that?”

You blinked.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, seething. Cold.

You climbed the steps slowly. “It was just someone I know.”

“Someone you know?” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “That someone just happened to be driving you home? You left early this morning without a word and come back laughing in some guy’s car?”

You kept your face neutral, trying not to react, trying to keep your pulse from flaring.

“I walked Roan to school. I didn’t want to come straight home. I ran into someone and accepted a ride back. That’s it.”

“Is that what this is now?” he asked bitterly. “You disappearing with strangers?”

“He’s not a stranger.”

That was a mistake. You said it too quickly, too defensively.

Seungmin’s expression shifted, suspicion to realization to something uglier.

You could practically see it on his face. The puzzle clicking into place.

But you weren’t about to confirm it. Not now. Not here. The last thing you needed was seungmin exploding on your first heartbreak, in front of your childhood home.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you said, stepping past him.

“Oh, so now we’re doing that?” he called after you. “You disappear all morning, and I’m just supposed to smile and wave when some guy drops you off at my son’s house?”

You stopped cold.

Spun around.

“This isn’t your house anymore. And he’s not just your son. He’s ours.”

Seungmin’s mouth opened, but you didn’t let him speak. You turned, stormed into the house, and let the screen door swing shut behind you.

You didn’t bother to see if he followed.

Because you were too tired. Too full of guilt and rage and the faint remnants of laughter that still clung to your sleeves like perfume.

And in the quiet that followed, you let yourself remember the way Changbin looked at you.

Like he saw you.

Not the wife. Not the failed marriage. Not the tired mother.

Just… you.

-

You could tell Seungmin was angry.

He hadn’t said anything explicitly, not since earlier on the porch, but his silence wasn’t quiet, it was loud. Too loud. The tension in his jaw, the tight way he held himself when he walked past you in the hallway. The pointed slams of cabinets when he was in the kitchen and you were in the room next to him. You tried not to acknowledge it, but it was there. Like a storm cloud in every corner of the house.

That night, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing your hair, trying to find some stillness before bed, your phone buzzed on the vanity.

Once.
Then again.

You glanced down. An unknown number.

[Unknown]: Okay so maybe I did rehearse that joke in the car. Rate my delivery, 1-10.

You blinked at the message. And then smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile because you recognized the tone. You didn’t even need the name to know.

You typed back.

"That was a solid 6.5. I’m being generous because you’re funny when you’re smug."

A moment passed.

[Changbin]: Oh, a 6.5? Harsh. I'm wounded. Drinks on you for that.

You laughed under your breath. Actually laughed. That warmth again. That ease you thought you’d lost.

"Fine. Drinks on me. One drink. Don’t push it."

You were still smiling when your mom called your name down the hall.

“Can you come here a sec, sweetie? I wanted to ask about Roan’s weekend plans!”

“Coming!” you shouted back.

You set the phone down on the bed, the screen still lit for a few seconds before dimming. You didn’t notice the shadow in the hallway. The way Seungmin had paused in the doorway, leaned against the frame with crossed arms, eyes locked on your smile.

And when you left the room, your phone buzzed again.

He didn’t mean to do it. Not really.

But his jaw was tight. His stomach was churning.

He walked over and picked up the phone like it offended him just by existing. The way it lit up again with another message.

Roan’s birthday had been your password for years, unchanged. He hadn’t even needed to think twice. Muscle memory.

It unlocked with a soft click.

[Changbin]: So how’s the house of chaos? Still surviving?

He scrolled.

Each message painted a clearer picture than the last, Changbin flirting, light and easy, poking fun, asking you about your favorite drinks, joking that he might actually dress up if it meant seeing you smile again.

Seungmin’s blood pressure spiked.

That was him. That was the guy from the car.

Changbin. Seo Changbin.

He froze.

His chest tightened, and his grip on your phone turned white-knuckled.

Changbin. That Changbin.

High school Changbin. First boyfriend Changbin. The guy Seungmin loathed, not because of some petty rivalry, but because he had what Seungmin wanted first. You.

The guy who laughed too loud, kissed you in the hallways, held your hand like you were already his long before Seungmin had even found the nerve to tell you he liked you. The one you skipped classes with. The one who broke your heart when he left and left just enough space for Seungmin to be there, to pick up the pieces.

And now he was back? Now? When everything between you and Seungmin was still splintering, still bleeding?

He was seething.

When you came back into the room, Seungmin was sitting at the edge of the bed, your phone in his hand. His eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in.

You stopped mid-step, your expression shifting instantly. “What are you doing with my phone?”

He didn’t respond at first. Just lifted it and tilted it slightly in his hand.

“Really?” he said, voice tight. Controlled.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You really came all the way back here, dragging Roan with you, telling everyone you needed space, but really you just wanted to see him again?”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned the phone to show you the screen, Changbin’s messages still open, bright against the dark of the room.

You froze.

“You were with him,” he said. “Changbin. Of all people.”

Your lips parted slightly, more from shock than guilt.

“You read my messages?”

“You left them wide open.”

“That doesn’t mean—” You stopped yourself. “You had no right to go through my phone.”

“No right?” he barked a humorless laugh. “You disappeared this morning, left without a word, came back laughing in some guy’s car, and now you’re texting your ex-boyfriend like you’re sixteen again!”

“He’s not just my ex—”

“I know exactly who he is,” Seungmin snapped. “He’s the guy who dated you while I sat there like an idiot watching it happen. I remember him.”

You clenched your jaw. “And I remember what you did. Don’t throw a tantrum because someone actually makes me feel sane for five minutes.”

His nostrils flared. “So that’s what this is? You’re punishing me. Using this whole situation as an excuse to flirt with an old flame while pretending you’re the victim.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he spat. “You left. You took Roan. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since. And now it all makes sense—you came back to fix things? No. You came back to relive your past with him.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, feeling heat rush to your face not from shame, but rage.

“I came back because I needed air. I came back because you broke something in me I don’t know how to fix. And I’m trying to survive trying to hold it together for Roan. And if one person out there gives me a second to breathe without feeling like I’m drowning, I’m not going to apologize for that.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with a glare so sharp it could’ve cut straight through your chest.

“I can’t do this with you tonight,” you said quietly, turning away from him.

And this time, when you walked out of the room, he didn’t follow.

//

masterlist. dad!skz series masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

a/n: finally!

[4linos]

the argument.

ot8 x gn!reader

synopsis: you and your boyfriend find yourselves in the midst of a heated argument.

warnings: angst, jealousy, (some) cheating accusations, mentions of a family emergency.

ssc: 30

//

masterlist.

(a/n: IM BACK. Officially! 😆 thank you all for waiting ❤️ can’t wait to post more! i’ve been itching to put something out. i hope you enjoy these. y/n’s a little annoying in some of these but that’s on purpose 😛)

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[4linos]

hi this is not a request and i usually don't leave posts / messages like this (i don't even know how to navigate tumblr much so i'm not sure how this message will appear to u!) but i just needed to come and say that i go back to TFIHE (your changbin fic) almost once a week now it's one of the most beautifully written and captivating thing ever i just CANNOT not let u know this haha you're an amazing writer i can't wait for more of your future works ❤️ no pressure though, you're going good as it is!

hi! omg 🥹 thank you so much! i didn’t expect that fic to get as much attention as it got but i’m really happy it did, it’s one of my favorites too. 🥹

thank you so much for reading!! i can’t wait to start posting again! ❤️

[4linos]

waiting to take one of my last finals of the term before summer break!! ahh I can’t wait to start posting again, I miss everyone 😚

my first post back should be changbin’s dad fic then a long awaited request <3

[4linos]

Girl I have a quick question about blog set up, I’m currently designing my intro post and shit it’s hell but I managed ^^” but I’m a little lost on making a masterlist and linking it. Btw LOOOVVVEEEE the new theme holy shit it’s a cozy color <33

Like do you post the master list then link it to you intro post then leave it at the bottom oorrr??

Like in your masterlist, you have ‘works in progress’ linked to a post, that post. Do you publish it first or do something to keep it hidden but still accessible? DO I MAKE SENSE?? LIKE SORRY BUT IM TRYING😭

hii, omg! that’s so exciting 😆

it’s tough 🫩 i remember when i first started i wanted to give it up lol

but yup. you have to publish the post, then you link! i’m honestly not sure if you can post it, hide it, and still have access to it after? 🤔

[4linos]

Knocked it out of the park with between the lines. Absolutely golden series. It felt so delicate and yet brutally raw when it needed to be. Such a gift you have!! Seriously, kudos to you xx

really?? 🥹 Thank you so much 🥹

stay tuned for changbin’s fic!

[4linos]

I LOVED BTL SM THANK YOU FOR THE WONDERFUL STORY 🫶🫶🫶

ahhh thank you! 🥹🥹🥹 i was nervous about how everyone would feel about the ending because i know quite a few were team jisung 😆

[4linos]

OMGG part 3 of BTL was so good!!! it was worth the long wait you ate! Happy birthday in advance btw!! Can I be 🪷 anon?

AHH i’m so glad you enjoyed it!! i was nervous about posting it 🥹.

and thank you!! 😀

welcome, 🪷 anon!

[4linos]

Nini you done it again btl was amazing (daddy minho is currently leading the best baby daddy marathon lol)

I love how the story just came naturally together 😫✋ wishing you early birthday wishes 🥳 hopefully you will have an amazing day 😘 sending lots of love to you

yes!! i agree! minho is the best baby daddy right now 🙂‍↕️

i’m so happy you enjoyed reading BTL!!!

and thank you thank you, i feel old 🫩

[4linos]

between the lines 3.

lee minho x f!reader

synopsis: after a quiet and amicable separation, you and minho learn to navigate the subtle emotional terrain of co-parenting, discovering that the bonds between you aren’t entirely severed. when a new relationship enters the picture, old emotions come into play, forcing you to reassess what it means to truly move on.

warnings: angst, slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort.

wc: 12,585

[part 1, part 2]

Minho had been walking around with a storm sitting in his chest ever since that day.

The day he stood at your door like a fool, dressed in a shirt he hadn’t worn in over a year, holding flowers that felt heavier with each second that passed, only to have the door swing open and find you radiant, glowing and not alone. Jisung had been behind you, comfortably smug, and Minho had felt the shift in the air the moment your eyes met his.

That was the day he realized what it felt like to be on the outside of a life he used to belong to.

Since then, the world hadn’t really settled around him. He kept his head down at work, avoiding eye contact with people he normally didn’t care enough to avoid, especially Jisung. His thoughts twisted in knots, a toxic mix of guilt, regret, and something sharp like jealousy. He hadn’t even known he still could feel that kind of jealousy. But the image of Jisung standing behind you like he belonged there haunted him.

He didn’t go near your name. He didn’t bring up your daughter. He didn’t mention what happened that day to anyone, not even Chan or Changbin, who had been trying to gently pry the story from him for days.

And yet, despite every effort to keep his distance, there it was again Jisung’s voice, slicing through the low hum of office conversation like it always did: too loud, too casual, too damn confident.

Minho sat at his desk, pretending to review something on his monitor, eyes unmoving as Jisung leaned against a cubicle wall a few rows away. He wasn’t even being subtle, as if he wanted everyone to hear.

“So I think I’m gonna ask her,” Jisung said with a short laugh. “To be my girlfriend, officially. Maybe on a little trip, just us. It’s been casual but I want more, you know?”

Minho didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

“I mean, we haven’t even kissed yet, not even once,” Jisung went on. “But I’ve been trying to respect her pace, especially with the whole, you know, kid thing. She’s amazing though. She’s worth waiting for. But I’m getting real impatient.”

Chan, seated across from Minho, glanced over, likely aware of the simmering tension behind Minho’s controlled expression.

Minho’s jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

He hated this. Not just hearing about you like that, like you were someone else’s now, but hearing about you from him. From the same guy who once tried to argue over printer supplies his first week on the job. From someone who didn’t know what it meant to hold your hand through contractions, or stay up with a crying Hana at 3 a.m., or even remember that your favorite scent was vanilla and your favorite season was early autumn.

Minho could picture it, Jisung asking you to be his girlfriend on some beach or city getaway, Hana with you or not, and you saying yes because why wouldn’t you? He was safe, funny, attentive. Minho had no right to judge, no right to compete, and yet every muscle in his body was tight with the urge to do something.

But he didn’t.

He stayed still.

He didn’t storm over. Didn’t shove Jisung against a wall. Didn’t say she’s not yours to talk about like that. Because what right did he have anymore?

He swallowed his rage, even as it blistered in his chest, and he stared at the screen like he was made of stone.

If he’d said anything… it wouldn’t have been professional. And more than that, it might’ve pushed you further away than he already had.

But as Jisung kept talking, Minho made a quiet vow to himself:

If you really were going to move on with Jisung… it wasn’t going to happen without Minho telling you exactly how he felt first.

Even if it broke him.

Minho hadn’t even realized how tightly his hands were wrapped around the edge of his desk until his fingers started to ache.

It was like his body reacted before his mind could catch up, jaw locked so tight he could hear the tension in his ears, shoulders stiff, chest heavy with something he didn’t want to name. Rage, maybe. Or heartbreak. Or both. It was stupid. He knew that. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t still be this affected. But hearing Jisung talk about you, his you, the you that used to fall asleep on Minho’s chest, that used to wear his shirts around the house, that used to light up at the tiniest, most mundane things like you were just some conquest he was hoping to claim, some check box on a romantic resume, it made Minho feel sick.

He didn’t even notice he’d been holding his breath until he heard a quiet voice beside him.

“Minho?”

He turned slowly, blinking himself out of whatever haze had fallen over him.

Chan was watching him with concern from the cubicle next to his, brow slightly furrowed, his tone gentle like he knew. And maybe he did. Chan had always been good at reading people. Too good sometimes.

“You alright?” he asked again.

Minho swallowed, loosening his grip on the desk, flexing his fingers to get the circulation back. He gave a stiff nod, not trusting himself to speak yet.

Chan leaned slightly closer, his voice even softer now. “You know, I’m still here if you need to talk. Doesn’t matter that it’s been a while. I get it, people need space sometimes. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Minho looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in what felt like months. Chan hadn’t changed much, still looked like the same dependable, steady friend who’d been there through the good years he worked with him.

It made something twist in Minho’s chest guilt, maybe, for pushing everyone away. Or maybe it was relief that not everyone had left.

“I’m fine,” Minho muttered, his voice hoarse.

Chan didn’t push. He just nodded. “Okay. But if you need a break from… whatever this is,” he tilted his head subtly in Jisung’s direction, “I was gonna hit that ramen place after work. Come with. First round’s on me.”

Minho hesitated.

His first instinct was to decline. That’s what he’d been doing for a while now, closing himself off, burying everything, convincing himself that it was easier to sit in the silence of his own making. But after everything lately after the flowers, after seeing Jisung in your doorway, after hearing him talk like you were his, it felt like the weight on his back was finally too much to carry alone.

“…Alright,” he said quietly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Chan gave him a small smile. Nothing pushy. Just understanding. “Cool. After five, then.”

Minho nodded and turned back to his screen, but the tension in his shoulders had eased just enough.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do. He still didn’t know how he was going to face you, or if he even could. But maybe talking to someone again, someone who knew what it used to be like might help him figure out what came next.

Because pretending like it didn’t hurt wasn’t working anymore.

-

Chan didn’t even ask, he just showed up at the front of the building, passenger-side window already rolled down, calling Minho’s name out like they’d done this a hundred times before.

“Get in, loser. We’re going to talk about feelings,” he grinned. Minho rolled his eyes but felt the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, something like amusement, or maybe gratitude.

He climbed in, grateful that Chan insisted on driving. It gave him one less thing to think about, one less responsibility to shoulder for just a little while.

When they got to the ramen place, it was warm inside, filled with the soft hum of casual conversation, clinking bowls, the occasional hiss from the kitchen. It was quiet enough to talk, but noisy enough to let Minho breathe a little like the world wasn’t staring directly at him for once.

Chan talked first, about nothing in particular. The weather, their idiot coworkers, a story about Changbin getting caught sleeping at his desk again. He didn’t let the silence settle, didn’t let anything get heavy too quickly, and Minho was thankful for that. He didn’t think he had the strength to drag himself into a conversation about his heart right away.

He laughed once, maybe twice, dry, quiet, but it was more than he’d done in days.

They placed their orders. Chan let Minho sit in his head for a moment before gently nudging the conversation in the direction he’d probably planned from the moment he invited him.

“So,” Chan started, playing with his chopsticks, “you gonna tell me what’s actually going on or do I need to drag it out of you over spicy broth and cold beer?”

Minho didn’t answer at first. His jaw tightened again. His eyes stayed focused on the table.

“Minho.”

He looked up, met Chan’s eyes and found no judgment there. Just concern. Familiarity. Patience.

He sighed and leaned back in the booth.

“It’s her,” he said quietly.

Chan nodded once. No need to ask who.

“I figured.” He took a sip of water, gave Minho time. “You still love her?”

That question hit harder than Minho expected. He didn’t even have to think. “Yeah,” he said softly. “So much.”

“And she’s with Jisung now?”

Minho hesitated before nodding again. “Not officially. I don’t think. But… it’s getting there. He’s going to ask her soon. I overheard him talking about it.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

That made Minho look up, scoffing slightly. “How do you think?”

“Alright, alright,” Chan held up his hands, not to tease but to ground him. “Just checking.”

There was a long pause.

“I saw her,” Minho said after a moment, voice low. “A few days ago. Brought flowers. It was our anniversary. Stupid, I know.”

Chan blinked, genuinely taken aback. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered.”

“And?”

“She opened the door with Jisung behind her. They had just… spent the morning together, I guess. He was all smug about it. And I felt like a fucking idiot standing there with flowers like I still mattered.”

Chan’s expression softened. “You do still matter. You’re Hana’s dad. You were her person for a long time. I don’t think that just disappears.”

“She didn’t even remember the date,” Minho whispered. “At least it didn’t seem like it.”

Silence passed between them again before Chan leaned forward, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Minho, if you want her back, really want her back then you need to stop waiting for the universe to hand her to you. You need to show her. Not just with flowers or old memories, but with who you are now. With how much you’ve grown, how much you still care. She’s not going to read your mind. Especially if she thinks you’ve moved on, or worse if she thinks she was the only one who ever held on.”

Minho stared down at the table. The food had arrived, steam curling up between them, but he didn’t touch it.

“I’m scared, Chan.”

“I know,” Chan said gently. “But if you don’t fight for what matters, someone else will. And you’ll lose more than just a girl. You’ll lose a family.”

Those words stayed with Minho long after they left the restaurant, long after Chan dropped him off with a pat on the shoulder and a quiet, “You’re not alone, man.”

Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since the moment you closed the door on Minho.

It had been days, and still, that moment kept looping in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to stop watching: Minho standing there, hands full of flowers, one giant bouquet meant for you, and a single delicate rose, no doubt for Hana. His expression shifting from hopeful to hollow the second he caught sight of Jisung behind you. That familiar, automatic way your lips had parted to say thank you before he turned, muttering something about how ridiculous he felt for even showing up.

And then he walked away.

That was the part that stuck with you the most. The silence he left behind.

You hadn’t reached out. Part of you wanted to, desperately. But you didn’t know what you’d say. I’m sorry I forgot felt empty. I didn’t expect you to remember felt worse. You weren’t even sure why you forgot. Maybe you’d trained yourself to. Maybe the date had started to feel like a memory that belonged to someone else. A version of you and Minho that lived in a different chapter, one you weren’t sure you had permission to revisit.

You were going to see him in a few days for Hana’s weekend pick-up. The thought of how awkward it might be made your stomach twist. Would he ignore it? Pretend it never happened? Would you? Could you?

You were still thinking about it that morning as you knelt in front of the couch, carefully working your fingers through Hana’s freshly washed curls, gently tying them into neat puffs as she munched on apple slices and watched a cartoon. You’d gotten so lost in the rhythmic process section, detangle, smooth, tie, that the knock on the door startled you.

You stood, quickly wiping your hands on your sweatpants. “Hana, finish your snack, baby. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, eyes still locked on the screen.

You walked toward the door, pulling it open and blinked.

Jisung stood there, holding up a pink pastry box and grinning. “Donuts,” he said simply, tilting it slightly like he was presenting a rare treasure. “They’re from that tiny corner store near my place. I’ve had them once. Life-changing.”

Your initial shock melted into a soft laugh. “You and your spontaneous visits,” you said fondly, stepping aside slightly, but not far enough to invite him in.

“I like surprising you,” he said, shrugging as he looked past you, toward the living room. “I figured we could have coffee and sugar before I run off to work again.”

You smiled, but hesitated. “I would invite you in, but… Hana’s here.”

He paused. His smile faltered just slightly, but not in offense, more in understanding. “Ah. Of course.”

Then, gently, like he was testing the edge of something fragile, he asked, “Is it too soon to meet her? I mean. Just a… ‘This is Jisung, Mommy’s friend who brings donuts’ kind of thing.”

You didn’t answer right away. The question hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust Jisung, he’d been nothing but kind, respectful, and patient, but because it made everything real. It made what was happening real. You were moving forward. Introducing someone new into a part of your life that had, up until now, been protected.

And there was still the ghost of Minho standing on your doorstep, holding flowers, blinking back heartbreak.

Jisung noticed the shift in your eyes. He opened his mouth to backpedal. “Hey, it’s okay. Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to push or make it weird—”

But then Hana’s voice came from the living room, innocent and sweet. “Mommy, my show is over!”

You turned your head toward the sound and made a decision in the space of a breath.

You looked back at him and nodded.

“Okay,” you said. “You can meet her.”

Jisung lit up immediately, almost disbelieving. “Really?”

“As a friend,” you added firmly, still trying to convince yourself that this was fine.

“Of course,” he said quickly, “just a friend.”

You stepped aside, and he followed you in, the pink donut box in his hands and gratitude in his smile.

Still, your heart beat fast, not from nerves about Jisung meeting Hana, but from the echo of something else. Something you couldn’t name yet.

Something that hadn’t left since the flowers. Since the rose. Since the look in Minho’s eyes.

Jisung stepped in through the doorway like he was bracing for impact, carefully toeing off his sneakers and clutching the pink donut box like it was a peace offering or maybe armor. He looked around, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Hana.

She came running from the living room, socked feet slipping slightly against the floor as she called out to you with purpose: “Mommy! My show is over, I need a new one!”

You crouched instinctively to her level, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Okay, baby, I’ll be there in a second.”

That’s when she noticed him.

Jisung stood still, offering the warmest smile he could muster, and gave a small wave like he was approaching a frightened animal. “Hi,” he said gently.

But Hana didn’t return the wave. She didn’t even move. Her expression was unreadable, mouth a flat line as her eyes flicked from him to you, then back again. Slowly, cautiously, she shuffled behind your legs, peeking around the curve of your hip.

It surprised you. She was normally so open with people, even strangers. Sweet, talkative, curious. But now, she was silent. And still.

You looked down at her and rubbed her back reassuringly.

Jisung cleared his throat softly and crouched slightly, pulling one of the donuts from the box. It was pink-frosted with rainbow sprinkles, undeniably the “fun” one. He held it out to her like an olive branch.

“I brought these just for you,” he said with a smile. “This one has sprinkles. Sprinkles make everything better, right?”

Hana looked up at you again. Her brows furrowed into a frown, her fingers curling slightly against your leg.

You gave her a soft nod. “It’s okay, baby. You can take it. Say thank you.”

Still unsure, she stepped forward, grabbed the donut without saying a word, and immediately scampered off back toward the couch. She didn’t even take a bite just sat, holding it like she didn’t quite trust it yet, picking at a few of the sprinkles like they were puzzle pieces.

Jisung let out a long, breathy exhale like he’d been holding it in the whole time.

You glanced at him, shaking your head with a small apologetic smile. “Sorry. She’s usually not this shy.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly? That went way better than I expected.”

You laughed gently, leading him toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get some plates. And milk, donuts need milk.”

“Totally agree,” he nodded, following you, the pink box resting on the counter as he opened it to point out his favorite. “This one, the chocolate glaze with the maple drizzle, game changer. Trust me.”

You smiled at how specific he was, reaching into the cabinet to grab three cups while he pulled napkins from the holder and arranged the donuts like it was some kind of tasting menu.

But even while the two of you moved in easy rhythm talking, laughing, light chatter, you kept one ear tuned toward the living room.

You peeked over the counter. Hana was sitting back down, now with a new cartoon playing, one you assumed she’d managed to turn on herself with the remote. She wasn’t eating the donut, just plucking off the sprinkles and lining them up along the edge of her plate.

Something about it tugged at your chest.

“Hey, Hana,” you called softly, “come get your cup of milk, baby.”

She looked over, then slid off the couch, padding her way into the kitchen on quiet feet. Her small hands wrapped around the cup you handed her, and she looked up at you for a second before turning back around to return to the living room.

“Thank you,” you said gently, prompting her.

She paused. Then mumbled, “Thank you,” so softly it barely passed her lips.

Jisung smiled. “She’s really cute.”

You nodded, but your smile faltered slightly.

Something about the way she looked at him, like he was unfamiliar, like he didn’t belong lingered with you. You didn’t expect instant affection. You knew that. But still.

You glanced over at her again. She was sipping her milk now, still peeling tiny bits off the donut and inspecting them like they might tell her something.

Jisung leaned against the counter, watching you with soft eyes. “Thanks for letting me meet her. Even if I was downgraded to ‘mommy’s friend with donuts.’ I’ll take it.”

You smiled again, but it was quieter this time. “Yeah,” you murmured, “of course.”

But your mind wasn’t fully there anymore.

Because as sweet as this morning was… you couldn’t stop hearing the unspoken silence in Hana’s small voice.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, even while Jisung told you about maple-glazed donuts and a new show he’d recently started watching, you couldn’t stop wondering if Hana was waiting for a different face to show up at the door. One with flowers in one hand… and a single rose in the other.

-

You and Jisung sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, each with a donut in hand and mugs of milk between you.

Every now and then Hana would glance back at the two of you, not suspicious, just observing. Still quiet.

Jisung followed your gaze and smiled softly. “She’s really smart. She doesn’t miss anything, huh?”

You nodded. “Nope. Not a thing.”

He sipped from his mug, then set it down, suddenly quieter. You could sense the change before he even spoke, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, how he seemed to be working something out in his head. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

“So…” he started, tone casual, too casual, “I actually came by for more than just donuts.”

That caught your attention. You sat a little straighter, setting your half-eaten donut down on the napkin. “Yeah?”

He finally met your eyes then, nervous energy buzzing just under the surface. “I was wondering… if you’d be around this weekend. If Hana’s gonna be with your ex.”

He said the word ex like it was a mild annoyance in his throat no name, just a placeholder. Minho.

You nodded slowly, uncertain. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be with him this weekend. Why?”

Jisung gave a little exhale, then leaned his elbows onto the table, lacing his fingers together. “I was thinking maybe you and I could get away for a few days. Just a weekend trip. Nothing fancy or anything, there’s this cabin a few hours outside the city. I’ve been a few times before, and it’s really quiet, peaceful. I figured… maybe you could use a break.”

You blinked. A cabin trip. Just the two of you?

“I’d take care of everything,” he added quickly, maybe sensing your hesitation. “The food, the drive, the plans. You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. I thought it’d be nice for us to have some time away… uninterrupted.”

There was a pause. Not a long one. But just long enough for your stomach to twist with something warm and uneasy.

He was nervous. He hadn’t said so, but you knew him well enough now to recognize when something was important to him. And even though he hadn’t spelled it out yet, even though he hadn’t said what the cabin trip meant to him, why he wanted you alone with him for a weekend, your heart knew. Something about the way he looked at you, hopeful and a little too still, gave it away.

He was planning something. Something big. Something meaningful. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes drifted again to Hana. Her cup of milk sat untouched on the floor beside her as she stacked the rainbow sprinkles into little piles like tiny colorful coins. She glanced up and met your eyes, blinking slowly, then returned to her sprinkles.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said carefully, not quite smiling. “It sounds nice, but I just need to check on a few things.”

“Of course,” Jisung said quickly, brushing off the awkward beat with another one of his easy smiles. “No pressure. Just wanted to ask before the weekend snuck up on us.”

You nodded, but your thoughts weren’t with the cabin. They were drifting.

Back to all the almosts, the what-ifs, and the impossible decisions you’d been balancing between your heart and your mind.

Jisung reached for another donut, trying to fill the silence. You offered him a quiet thank-you as you sipped your milk, but your gaze once again found its way back to Hana, your little girl with sprinkles on her lap and a frown on her face you couldn’t quite read.

And that was when you realized: no matter what your answer would be about the cabin… you weren’t going to be able to give it lightly.

Minho had woken up already tangled in his thoughts, that familiar, heavy storm cloud settled over him before his feet even hit the floor.

So when Chan approached him at his desk, Minho barely looked up. He didn’t mean to sound cold when he said, “Not now. I’m really not in the mood.” But Chan didn’t walk away.

“It’s about Y/N and Jisung,” Chan said quietly.

Minho’s head snapped up.

His whole body stiffened as the haze of his irritation shifted into something sharper. “What about them?”

Chan glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, Jisung had the annoying habit of popping up like a stray cat when you least expected it. He leaned down, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Jisung told me they’re going on a trip this weekend. Like, a cabin trip. Just the two of them.”

Minho's heart dropped into his stomach.

Chan kept going. “He said he’s planning to ask her to be his girlfriend there. Some big romantic thing. It’s happening soon. Like, this weekend.”

Minho blinked, his mind going blank for a second. Then it filled with a low hum of panic.

“It’s Wednesday,” he said, voice barely above a breath. He could already see it, Jisung grinning like a fool with his smug confidence, setting the scene perfectly, saying all the right things. You smiling, maybe surprised, maybe even touched. Saying yes.

“Yeah,” Chan nodded. “And if you don’t do something about it now, Minho, he’s going to get there first. You’re running out of time.”

Minho sat back in his chair, the pressure building in his chest. “What the hell do I do, Chan? She hasn’t said anything to me. I didn’t even know they were going away.”

Chan studied him, clearly trying to think quickly. “Hana’s staying with you this weekend, right?”

Minho nodded.

“Okay. That’s your in. Say something came up. That you can’t take Hana. That you have to work or—” Chan waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t know—make something up. She can’t go if she has Hana. At least it buys you time.”

Minho hesitated. It felt… wrong. Like sabotage. Like something a desperate guy would do.

But he was desperate.

Chan put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know it’s not the most honest thing in the world, but do you really want to sit around and wait for her to come back with a boyfriend? If you’re going to fight for her, then fight, Minho.”

Minho exhaled slowly, wrestling with the knot in his stomach. He didn’t respond right away, but Chan seemed to know he’d gotten through to him.

“Whatever you do,” Chan said, voice softer now, “don’t wait. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Just then, someone called out for Chan across the office. He gave Minho a final nod and turned to go, his footsteps already fading as Minho sat frozen at his desk.

Jisung. Cabin trip. This weekend. Girlfriend.

Minho ran a hand down his face and leaned back, eyes unfocused, heart thudding in his chest like a slow drum of panic.

He needed to act.

But this time, it couldn’t just be jealousy driving him.

It had to be love. The kind that mattered more than pride or bitterness. The kind that didn’t want to stop you from being happy, but wanted to be the one who made you happy.

So as Minho sat there, staring blankly at his screen, he began to plan. Not just how to keep you from going, but how to show you that what you had with him wasn’t just a memory worth mourning…

It was a future worth choosing.

-

Minho was halfway home when his phone buzzed in the passenger seat. The sky outside was a hazy, fading blue, streetlights flickering to life one by one as the city settled into its quiet, humming dusk. He didn’t recognize the number at first, he had your contact saved under your full name, something formal and almost defensive, something he never changed after the breakup because changing it to anything softer felt too dangerous.

But he knew it was you.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. He never did.

“Hey,” he said, quietly. Warily. The same way someone opens a letter they’re afraid to read.

Your voice came on the other end, soft and cautious. “Hey, Minho.”

It was the first time you’d spoken since your anniversary. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Since then, the silence between you had stretched long and heavy, filled with the weight of all the things neither of you had said.

“I just—I wanted to ask if there was any way you could pick up Hana a little earlier this Friday?” you said carefully, like you were trying not to make it sound like a big deal. Like it was just another scheduling thing.

But Minho already knew what this was.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter with one hand, even though he was already parked outside his apartment building. The other rested on his thigh, tapping anxiously against his jeans.

You never asked for early pickups unless you had a good reason. You knew the routine. Knew he left work and drove straight to you, always arriving just after five, never late. And he never said no. No matter how inconvenient or last-minute or chaotic it made his day, he always worked around your requests. For Hana. For you. He never wanted to make things harder.

But today, today was different.

Today, he already knew the reason behind the ask, and it made his chest burn.

He let the silence stretch just a little longer before responding, voice low. “Why?”

You hesitated. Not long. Just long enough for him to hear you scrambling. “I just have… plans. Something came up.”

“Something,” he repeated, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his tone. “What kind of something?”

“Minho,” you said, gently. Like you knew what he was doing. Like you knew he was testing you.

He stared at the empty seat beside him, jaw clenched, emotions churning. He could’ve called you out. Could’ve said what he knew, what he’d heard from Chan that you were planning to go away with Jisung. That this weekend was the weekend. That your “something” wasn’t vague at all.

But he didn’t say it.

Because he didn’t want to hear you lie. And he didn’t want to hear the truth either.

So he exhaled and said, simply, “I can’t. I’m busy.”

There was a pause on your end. He imagined you blinking in surprise. You weren’t used to him saying no, not when it came to Hana. And not like this.

“Oh,” you said finally. “Okay.”

You didn’t press, but he could hear the disappointment in your voice. It was subtle, but it was there. That quiet frustration, like something had shifted between you and you didn’t know why.

He felt it too.

“I’ll see you at the usual time,” he said, softer this time. “Five.”

You didn’t argue. “Yeah. Okay.”

You both sat there on the line for a beat longer, as if waiting for the other to say something else. Something more. But nothing came. Just the sound of breath and distance and words unspoken.

“Goodnight, Minho.”

“Goodnight.”

When he hung up, he stared at the dashboard for a long while, guilt crawling up the back of his neck like heat. But he didn’t move. Didn’t call back.

Because the truth was, he wasn’t busy.

He had no plans on Friday. No obligations. No excuse.

Except the one that lived in his heart:

He wasn’t ready to watch you go away with someone else. He wasn’t ready to let you slip through his fingers again. Not without trying.

And maybe that made him selfish.

But this time, he wasn’t going to stand on your doorstep holding flowers.

This time, he was going to fight.

-

Thursday.

Minho barely slept. His thoughts ran circles through his head, bouncing between guilt, longing, and a creeping desperation he hadn’t felt since the night he packed up his things and left your shared apartment. Since then, he’d been careful, too careful, maybe, never pushing, never begging, always giving you the space you asked for, hoping silently that the time apart would eventually lead back to something familiar. Something whole.

But now, time was running out.

He could feel it like pressure behind his ribs.

He hadn’t been able to think of a single thing since your call the day before. He’d laid awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment, arms crossed behind his head, thinking of every possible excuse to keep you from going on that trip with Jisung. Every scenario sounded ridiculous, selfish, or would put Hana in the middle and that was something he refused to do.

So now, Thursday morning, he sat at his desk at work, jaw tight, eyes unfocused on the screen in front of him. His fingers tapped restlessly on the woodgrain, and he barely even noticed when Chan came up beside him with two cold drinks from the office break room.

Chan placed one by his hand without saying anything at first, then took a long sip of his own before finally asking, “Anything yet?”

Minho blinked. “What?”

“A plan,” Chan clarified. “To stop it.”

Minho sighed, shaking his head slowly as he leaned back in his chair. “No. Nothing that doesn’t make me look like a complete idiot or a jealous ex who can’t let go.”

Chan raised a brow. “You are a jealous ex who can’t let go.”

Minho scoffed quietly, not in disagreement, but because he didn’t have the energy to argue.

Chan set his drink down and leaned one arm against Minho’s desk, lowering his voice. “Alright. What if you stop thinking about it like it’s about Jisung, or Hana, or even that weekend? What if it’s about you?”

Minho turned his head slowly, giving him a confused look.

Chan explained, “You’re not trying to sabotage their trip, right? You’re trying to remind her what she means to you. Why you loved each other in the first place. Why she maybe still does. So make it about that.”

Minho frowned, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know what that would even look like…”

Chan shrugged. “You said you haven’t really talked since the anniversary, right? Why not use that? Say you didn’t feel right leaving it the way it was. That you want to talk. Just the two of you. No distractions. No Hana, no Jisung. Just… honesty.”

Minho stared at him for a long moment, heart thudding. It was the simplest thing. Honest. Straightforward. Real.

And terrifying.

But it stuck with him.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his blazer off the back of his chair and collecting his things in a flurry of motion.

Chan blinked in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to her,” Minho said, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder, determination hardening his voice. “Can you cover for me if anyone asks?”

Chan smiled slowly, standing upright. “Go.”

As Minho made his way out of the office, the cold drink still sweating on his desk, Chan called after him just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the office:

“And don’t say anything stupid.”

Minho didn’t answer. He was already halfway to the elevator, heart pounding, pulse racing, his fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel of his next move.

He didn’t know what he was going to say when he got to you.

Only that it had to be said now. Before it really was too late.

-

Minho drove with white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, the radio silent, the streets outside blurring past him in streaks of dull grey. His heart was pounding louder than his thoughts, louder even than the doubt telling him this was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be showing up unannounced. But the image of you laughing with someone else had rooted itself so deeply in his chest that he couldn’t breathe until he said something. Until he did something.

He didn’t even remember parking the car. All he knew was that he was suddenly at your doorstep, standing there like a fool, his pulse drumming like war inside his ears. He knocked, harder than he meant to, and louder than he ever had before.

You opened the door moments later, eyebrows drawing together in a mix of confusion and mild shock. You glanced behind you, as if checking to see if anyone else was home, and then back at him. Your voice was hesitant.

“Minho? What are you doing here? Hana’s still at school.”

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. The words were swelling in his throat and tangling in his nerves, but if he waited any longer, he’d lose his chance.

“I know. I’m not here about Hana.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—please. I need five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You didn’t move. He could tell you were wary, maybe even annoyed, but something in his face must’ve given him away because after a pause, you stepped aside and let him in.

He stood in your living room, awkward and tense, the silence too familiar, too full of memories. Then, before he could stop himself, he said it:

“I love you.”
He took a breath. “No—I never stopped loving you.”

You blinked, stunned. He kept going before you could say anything.

“I tried. I tried so hard to move on, to respect the fact that we both agreed to end things. But it’s never gone away. And I know I messed everything up, and I know you’re seeing someone now, but I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t kill me every time I see you with him.”

You were still silent, and that scared him more than anything.

“That day,” he said, quieter now, “our anniversary… I came by with flowers. I know I shouldn’t have, but I just— I thought maybe we could talk. And I saw him. Walking out of your place. With that smug smile. And I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I couldn’t even breathe. I haven’t stopped regretting everything since.”

You sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, your arms crossed loosely over your chest, watching him. Letting him unravel. He kept going, voice trembling in places.

“I keep replaying everything in my head. what I could’ve done differently, what I should’ve said. And maybe it’s selfish of me, showing up like this, but I had to say something before it’s too late. Before you go on that trip with him.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “How do you know about that trip?”

He hesitated. His expression twisted into a guilty frown. “I… I didn’t mean to find out. I work with Jisung.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You never told me that.”

“I know. I didn’t want to seem like the jealous ex. Even though I am. But it’s not just that. It’s not just about being jealous. It’s about the fact that I still love you. That I never stopped loving you. Even when we broke up, even when it made sense. I never stopped.”

You exhaled sharply and stood up. Your voice was tight when you finally spoke.

“So now you want to be with me? Now that I’m seeing someone else?”

He flinched at your tone. “It’s not like that. I mean, it looks like that, but I swear this isn’t some reaction. I didn’t plan this because I saw you with someone new. I’ve felt this way for so long. I just… I was afraid to tell you.”

You shook your head. “You were afraid, so you stayed silent, and now that I’m starting to move on, you show up and ask me not to go on a trip with someone who’s actually been there for me?”

“I know how it sounds. But if, if there’s even one part of you that feels the same way, that misses what we had, that still wonders ‘what if’ please. Just tell me. I’ll do anything. I’ll wait. Just don’t tell me it’s really over.”

Silence fell again. The kind of silence that carried weight. History. Pain.

You were looking at him like you didn’t know whether to break down or scream. And he stood there, exposed, vulnerable, every wall he’d ever built crumbled at your feet, hoping, desperately that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to rebuild from.

Your silence was deafening.

Minho stood there, his breath held hostage in his chest, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. He didn’t need you to say anything, he could already feel it in the way your eyes dropped to the floor, in the way your mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line. In his gut, he feared he knew what was coming.

That he was too late.

That you'd already fallen for Jisung, and this trip, this weekend getaway he’d found out about through whispers in the office wasn't just a casual thing. It was a beginning. A line being drawn in the sand between what used to be and what would never be again. A new chapter where he no longer belonged.

He felt sick. And helpless. And like the ground beneath him was shifting just enough to knock him off balance.

But then, softly, so softly, it was your voice that broke the silence.

“I’m not going on that trip.”

Minho blinked, his entire body freezing like the air had been sucked out of the room. He looked at you, eyes wide, unsure if he’d misheard or hallucinated out of desperation.

You looked up at him slowly, your expression hard to read, somewhere between vulnerable and guarded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was going to, but… something didn’t feel right. I knew Jisung was going to ask me to be his girlfriend while we were away. I could feel it. He’s been hinting at it for weeks.”

Minho didn’t breathe.

You gave a small, dry laugh humorless, tired. “And I couldn’t say yes. Not because he’s a bad guy, he’s not. He’s… good. Kind. Consistent. But I’m not ready. Not yet, at least.”

He swallowed, still not trusting himself to speak, afraid that if he said anything too soon, he’d break the moment. But your words were unraveling something tightly wound inside of him. Slowly, piece by piece.

You exhaled, and for the first time, your voice cracked just slightly.

“That’s actually why I asked if you could pick Hana up early this week. I wanted to talk to Jisung before it was too late. Before he asked, and I had to hurt him by saying no.”

Minho’s heart twisted first in relief, so sharp it nearly dropped him to his knees. And then in something else. Something heavier.

Guilt.

He hadn’t known that. He’d assumed. Feared the worst. Convinced himself that he’d lost you for good when he saw Jisung leave your place. He’d let jealousy cloud everything. But now, now he realized something else.

There was still a door open.

Even if it was barely cracked, even if it wasn’t a promise, there was still a chance.

He let out a shaky breath and sat down, not trusting his legs anymore.

You were standing across the room, arms loosely crossed, but your walls were down, more than he’d seen in a long time. You looked at him, and for the first time, there wasn’t anger in your eyes. Just weariness. And something else. Something close to longing.

“I never wanted us to end like we did,” you said softly. “But we were tired. And we were hurting each other without meaning to. I thought breaking up was the right thing. That it would give us room to breathe. To figure ourselves out. And maybe it did, but…”

You hesitated, and he leaned forward slightly, drawn to your words like gravity.

“…I never stopped wondering if we’d find our way back.”

His breath caught.

That’s when it hit him. Really hit him.

He might still have a chance.

Not because you were lonely. Not because Jisung didn’t measure up. But because a piece of you was still holding onto what you and Minho once had. Because maybe, just maybe, you were still holding space in your heart for him.

And it was that sliver of hope that finally let him speak again, voice trembling but sure.

“If there’s a way back… I’ll find it. I’ll do the work. I’ll wait, if that’s what you need. Just tell me there’s a chance.”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at him for a long, long moment, and then you walked over and sat beside him on the couch, close enough to feel his warmth, but not close enough to touch.

“Right now,” you said quietly, “I don’t have all the answers. But I know I want to figure them out. Not with anyone else. With you.”

Minho looked at you with something almost childlike in his expression, hope, tentative and aching. His voice was soft, but steady, when he asked, “Do you think… if I really try this time—if I show up better, if I really communicate the way I should’ve back then… do you think we could try again?”

His eyes searched yours, not demanding a promise, but asking for permission to hope.

You didn’t answer right away. The question hung in the room like a fragile thread, waiting to be either pulled gently forward or snapped. You could feel the weight of the past pressing against the moment, the mistakes, the miscommunications, the nights you cried alone while pretending it didn’t hurt.

But this was different. He was different. There was something raw about the way he looked at you now, something stripped down and sincere, like he’d peeled away everything that had gotten in the way before.

You let out a small breath and gave a short, slow nod.

Minho’s reaction was immediate, a wide, relieved smile blooming across his face, and for a moment, he looked younger, lighter. Like the years of regret he carried had been momentarily lifted.

But before he could get too far ahead, you raised a hand, not to stop him but to anchor the moment.

“It has to be slow,” you said firmly. “Really slow, Minho. I’m not jumping into anything. I’ve got Hana to think about. I’ve got myself to think about. We can’t go back to what we were, we have to start fresh. New pace. New rules.”

He nodded quickly, almost eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I want that. I don’t want to repeat what we had. I want to build something better.”

And then, gently, cautiously, he reached for you.

His arms wrapped around you with such care it made your chest ache. He didn’t pull you into him, he welcomed you, waited for you to meet him halfway. And you didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his embrace and let yourself melt into the warmth of his chest, burying your face there. His familiar scent, his heartbeat against your ear, it all came back in a rush.

He rested his cheek lightly on your hair and exhaled a shaky breath, just about to whisper something, how much he missed this, missed you, how often he’d dreamed of this exact moment, when your phone vibrated loudly between you.

You let out a small sigh and pulled away, checking the screen.

“It’s time to pick up Hana,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as reality crept gently back in.

Minho laughed, the sound light and real. “Of course it is,” he said, standing up and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll go. I don’t want to ruin this moment for you. I want you to sit with it. Let it settle.”

He made his way to the door, pausing before he stepped out.

“But don’t forget,” he said, pointing at you with a small, mock-serious smile. “I’m going to try. Seriously this time. I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again.”

You gave him a long look, soft and bittersweet. “I know. And I need to talk to Jisung. Tonight.”

He nodded slowly. The name didn’t sting the same way anymore. Not now, not after what you’d said. But still, a flicker of anxiety crossed his face before he caught himself.

Then, after a beat, he asked, half-joking, half-not, “You’re not gonna change your mind, right?”

You laughed under your breath, tilting your head at him. “Minho…”

He narrowed his eyes, squinting like he was trying to read your mind. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled, eyes twinkling just slightly. “I promise.”

He held your gaze a second longer, letting that promise soak in. Then he smiled, for real this time, wide and hopeful and full of something that had been missing for a long, long time.

And then he was gone, jogging down the steps to his car, probably already picturing Hana’s excited little face when she saw you at pickup.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, holding the weight of everything you’d just said. Everything you still had to do. Tonight, you would talk to Jisung. You owed him that much. And you owed yourself the honesty you’d been avoiding.

But in your chest, something had shifted.

Not a return to the past, but a beginning.

Careful. Slow. But real.

And it was enough. for now.

Minho had barely stepped through the front door when the weight of the conversation he’d just had hit him fully. His body was buzzing, not from nerves anymore, but from something gentler. A release. A strange blend of relief, exhaustion, and the quiet hum of hope. His hands were still jittery from the adrenaline, fingers twitching slightly as he tossed his keys into the bowl by the door and leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced down to see Chan lighting up the screen.

Of course.

He picked up, not bothering to mask the rawness in his voice. “Hey.”

“Yo,” Chan greeted, already sounding like he knew something had shifted. “Bad time?”

Minho shook his head, even though Chan couldn’t see. “No, no. I just got home… from talking to her.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then a burst of excitement.

“No way—you actually did it?” Chan's voice lit up with the kind of joy that only came from someone who had been there for the ugliest parts of your story.

Minho let out a long, deep sigh, almost a laugh—part disbelief, part release. “Yeah… I did.”

“And?!” Chan pressed. “How did it go?”

Minho smiled softly, sinking down onto the couch like his bones had finally loosened. “It went… better than I thought. She’s not going on the trip. With Jisung, I mean. She said she’s not ready. But she didn’t say no to me. She said we could try. Slowly. That we could maybe… start again.”

He trailed off, overwhelmed by the way it sounded out loud.

Chan let out a cheer through the phone. “Minho, that’s huge! That’s amazing, man. I’m really happy for you.”

“Yeah,” Minho whispered, his voice unexpectedly thick. “Me too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the connection between them. Then Chan’s voice turned gentle, sincere.

“I’m proud of you, you know that? You actually faced it this time. You didn’t just bury it or run from it like you did last time.”

Minho went quiet. The smile lingered, but it faded at the edges, mellowed by memory.

“Yeah…” he murmured. “I remember.”

He had run. From everyone. Especially from Chan and Changbin.

When the breakup first started looming, those cold arguments late at night, the silence that followed them Minho had pulled away, piece by piece. And when the final conversation had happened, when it was real, when he saw his bags by the door and your voice broke as you said goodbye, something inside him had shut down entirely.

He stopped going out with the others after work. Stopped answering texts. He started coming in late, leaving early. And when he was at work, he wore a mask so thick not even Chan, who’d known him since his very first day could break through.

He hadn’t known how to talk about the pain. How to say that losing you felt like losing oxygen. So instead, he retreated.

Chan must’ve felt the shift in the silence because he spoke again, this time quieter.

“Hey… I know you remember how bad it got. You pulled away so hard we barely knew how to help. Me, Changbin, everyone. And we were worried. You wouldn’t even let us try.”

“I know,” Minho said, voice low. “I thought if I let anyone see how bad I was doing, it’d make it real. That it would make me weak. So I just… disappeared.”

“You weren’t weak,” Chan said firmly. “You were hurting. And we got that. We just wished you’d let us in. Even just a little.”

There was a long pause before Minho responded.

“I hated how broken I was. I didn’t even recognize myself. I felt like I’d failed at everything, being a partner, a father, a friend. And I didn’t want you or Changbin to see me like that. I couldn’t even look at myself.”

Chan didn’t respond right away. When he did, his tone was soft but unwavering.

“Well, now you’re facing it. And you’re doing better than you think. Just don’t forget that we’re still here. This time, if it gets hard again and it will, because that’s life, don’t shut us out. Let us be there. Let us show up for you, Minho. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

Minho blinked quickly, swallowing the sudden knot in his throat.

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

Chan smiled through the phone. “Good. That’s all we ask.”

Minho leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The air in the room felt lighter somehow. Less suffocating. He’d spent so long locking parts of himself away, trying to manage everything in silence, convincing himself that vulnerability made him burdensome. But this? This conversation, this simple, grounding reminder that he had people, real people, in his corner?

It meant everything.

“Thanks, Chan. For not giving up on me,” Minho said, voice steady again. “Even when I disappeared.”

“You’re my brother, Minho. I never would.”

And with that, the call ended, and Minho sat there, phone resting on his chest, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, not just because he might get another chance with you…

…but because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

The sun had started its slow descent by the time you finally sat down. For most of the afternoon, you’d been pacing back and forth across the living room, phone in hand, trying to figure out how to say everything you needed to say without causing more hurt than necessary.

Hana was in her room, humming softly to herself as she played with her toys, completely unaware of the weight sitting in your chest like a stone.

You’d thought about sending a long text. Maybe laying everything out in writing so you could control the tone, avoid awkward silences, or tears, or worse, disappointment. But that felt too impersonal, too cold. He didn’t deserve that. Jisung had been nothing but kind. Steady. Patient.

You considered asking him to come over, but that didn’t feel right either. You didn’t want to give him false hope, or make him drive all the way here just to leave with a fractured heart.

So you sat there for a long moment, fingers hovering over his name in your call log.

And then, finally, you pressed it.

The phone rang twice before he picked up, voice bright and warm.

“Hey,” he said, clearly smiling. “I was just about to text you. Are you packed yet? I managed to get off work early tomorrow so we can head out a bit sooner. I figured we could beat traffic and maybe grab dinner somewhere up there. Oh and don’t forget to pack something warm, okay? It’s going to be colder than we thought.”

You closed your eyes. That part hurt the most, his excitement. His thoughtfulness. The way he was planning this trip with care, imagining moments the two of you would never actually share.

“Jisung,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Can we… talk for a minute?”

There was a pause. Not long, but enough to let you know he sensed the shift. When he spoke again, his voice was more cautious.

“Yeah. Sure. What’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, gathering your thoughts before beginning. And then, slowly, carefully, you laid it all out, the truth.

You told him how you weren’t going on the trip. How you'd realized you weren’t ready for a relationship, not with anyone. How the timing wasn’t right. And then, gently, you told him about Minho.

You tried to explain it without excuses, without painting Jisung as a placeholder or Minho as a hero. You were honest, clear that your heart still hadn’t fully healed from everything you’d been through, and being with someone else without facing that part of yourself wasn’t fair. Not to you. Not to him.

He didn’t say anything at first. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and you hated how your heart twisted waiting for him to respond.

When he finally did, his voice was quiet, but not cold.

“So… it’s because of him.”

You didn’t deny it. “Partly. But not just because of him. I think I’ve been trying to convince myself that I was ready, and I wasn’t. You were wonderful, Jisung. You were everything someone should want. And that’s what makes this so hard.”

He let out a breath almost a laugh, but not quite. “I mean, I kinda had a feeling. He always felt like the elephant in the room. I never wanted to admit it, but... yeah. I knew you weren’t fully in it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lead you on. I never meant for it to go this far.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’re not a bad person. You just… weren’t ready. That’s not your fault.”

“I’ll pay you back for the trip,” you said quickly, guilt tightening in your chest. “The reservation, the gas, the—”

“No,” he interrupted, firm but kind. “Don’t do that. Seriously. I’m still going. I think I need the break more than ever now.” He let out a small chuckle. “Maybe I’ll sit in the hot tub and re-evaluate my life or something.”

You laughed, despite yourself, a bittersweet sound. “Well… I hope it gives you what you need.”

He was quiet again, but this time, the silence didn’t feel heavy.

“Just… promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t disappear, okay?” His voice was soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard before. “I know it didn’t work out romantically, but I really care about you. And Hana. Even if she barely talks to me and kind of looks at me like I’m invading her space every time I show up.”

You smiled at that. “She’s just… protective. She’s still adjusting to all of this. But she doesn’t dislike you, I swear.”

“Well, I’m still convinced she plotted against me at least once,” he joked, a touch of humor returning to his tone. “But seriously, I want to stay in your life. As a friend. If that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” you said sincerely. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I’m trying,” he said with a sigh. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’ll be okay,” he added after a pause. “Eventually. Just… don’t feel guilty for doing what’s right for you, okay?”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Okay.”

“Alright,” he said, more upbeat now. “Well, I guess I’ll go pack for my sad solo mountain retreat.”

“Don’t forget warm clothes,” you teased softly.

He laughed. “You got it. Talk soon?”

“Yeah. Talk soon.”

And just like that, the call ended.

You sat there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at the blank screen. There was a strange peace in the quiet now. You had dreaded that conversation all day, but Jisung had met it with more grace than you thought possible.

It didn’t make it easy.

But it made it right.

The silence after the call ended was louder than anything.

You set the phone down slowly, hands resting in your lap, fingers tracing the outline of each other as if trying to soothe the restlessness still lingering in your chest. The conversation had gone as well as it possibly could, and yet, something inside you ached, not with regret, but with the quiet exhaustion that comes from being honest.

Honesty wasn’t always clean. Sometimes it felt like unraveling.

The sun had dipped below the horizon now, casting the room in that early evening blue-gray stillness. The kind of light that makes everything look softer but heavier too like the house was holding its breath with you.

You didn’t cry. You thought maybe you would, but instead, you just… sat. Still. Letting it all settle.

Then, without warning, the sound of quick little footsteps broke through the stillness.

“Mommy!”

Hana came bursting into the living room, her tiny arms full of a stuffed animal, hair a little messy from rolling around on the carpet in her room. She launched herself into your lap like a small, bright comet, all warmth and movement, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist and snuggling her cheek into your chest.

You smiled down at her, startled but comforted, brushing her hair gently away from her face.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, voice catching slightly. “Everything okay?”

She nodded quickly, still holding you. “I just wanted to hug you. You were being quiet.”

That simple observation, spoken so innocently, made your throat tighten. Children had this uncanny way of seeing right through you. You held her closer, letting her weight press into you like a grounding force.

“I needed that,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at you with wide, curious eyes. “When can I see Daddy again?”

You paused, shifting slightly so you could look her in the eyes.

“This weekend, remember?” you said softly. “You’re going to spend the night at his place.”

She smiled at that, clearly excited. But then her expression shifted into something a little more thoughtful, more serious.

“I wish we could all spend the night together,” she said.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean, baby?”

She rested her chin on your shoulder, her voice muffled but sure. “Like before. When Daddy was still here. I liked it when we were all together.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing through the pang in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “I liked it too.”

She was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if maybe she sensed the unspoken things adults tried to keep hidden. She was small, but she was observant, always had been. It was in the way she watched people, the way she listened even when no one thought she was paying attention.

You pulled her closer again, tucking her head beneath your chin. Her little hands clutched your shirt, and the rhythm of her breathing began to slow as she relaxed in your arms.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to her. “But I promise I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

She didn’t respond in words, just gave a sleepy nod, like that was enough for her.

And maybe, for now, it was enough for you too.

Because in that small, honest moment, just you and her wrapped in the quiet hum of love that had never wavered, you remembered why you were trying so hard to get it right this time. Why slow was okay. Why healing mattered more than rushing into answers.

You didn’t have everything figured out. The road ahead was still uncertain. But right here, in this stillness, in the warmth of your daughter’s arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

It was a crisp Friday evening when Minho pulled up outside your place.

He sat in the car for a moment after parking, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him steady. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He was here for Hana, yes, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t thinking about you just as much.

A part of him had been convincing himself that nothing would be said. That maybe you’d keep things simple, just hand off Hana with a polite smile, exchange a few logistical notes, and send them on their way. And he’d understand if that were the case. You had no obligation to talk more. Not after the emotional chaos of the last few days.

Still, some quiet part of him,

buried under nerves and realism,

hoped you'd say something.

Anything.

He barely had time to finish the thought before the door opened, and there you were.

You stepped outside, Hana bounding ahead of you, her backpack bouncing behind her as she ran up to Minho with bright eyes and a cheerful “Daddy!”

Minho smiled, crouching down to hug her tightly, brushing her hair back as he greeted her. That moment was easy, effortless, natural. But his eyes flicked up to you as he rose to stand, his heart climbing to his throat.

You looked calm. But he knew you well enough to recognize the thoughtful set of your mouth, the way you held your arms loosely at your sides like you were steadying yourself from within.

You approached slowly, and for a moment, it was quiet, just the sound of birds somewhere overhead and Hana chatting to herself as she climbed into the backseat of Minho’s car.

Then you spoke.

“I talked to Jisung.”

Minho blinked. His body went still, and he didn’t know what he expected you to say next, only that he hadn’t expected you to say anything.

You held his gaze as you continued, your voice calm but honest. “I told him everything. About not going on the trip. About not being ready. About… you.”

Minho’s breath caught in his chest. “You did?”

You nodded. “I owed him the truth. He was kind. He didn’t deserve anything less.”

He swallowed, eyes searching yours for something, hesitation, regret, anger. But there wasn’t any. Just quiet strength. The kind of clarity that comes from doing something hard and knowing it was right.

“I told him I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship,” you went on, voice softening. “Because I’m still figuring things out. Because there’s still a part of me that’s trying to make sense of everything that happened. But I also told him I couldn’t ignore how I felt when you came to the door the other day. That I hadn’t been able to ignore it for a while now.”

Minho didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, the wind brushing gently through his hair, his lips parting slightly like he was afraid to exhale too hard and ruin the moment.

“And…” you hesitated slightly. “If we do try again, it has to be slow. For me. For Hana. For both of us.”

Minho nodded immediately, almost too fast. “Yes. Of course. That’s all I want. I mean, not all, but… I’m not expecting things to be like they were. I just… I want a chance to do it right this time. At your pace.”

You gave him a small, cautious smile. “That’s good. Because I don’t want to repeat the past. I want something different. Healthier.”

Minho stepped a little closer, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence again. Familiar. Not suffocating like it used to be when things were hard. Just… grounding.

“I’m going to show up this time,” he said quietly. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just for the sweet moments. I’ll be there for the hard ones too. Even if I don’t always know what to say.”

You nodded, your voice almost a whisper. “That’s all I need.”

For a beat, you both stood there in the morning light, not rushing anything. Letting the quiet say the things your hearts didn’t quite know how to put into words yet.

Then Hana’s voice piped up from the car, calling for her dad to put on her favorite music. You both laughed, light and easy, like old times. Minho turned, heading to the driver’s side, but before he climbed in, he looked back at you.

“I’ll text you tonight,” he said.

You nodded, smiling again. “Okay.”

And he got into the car, pulling away slowly, glancing in the rearview mirror one more time to catch your silhouette on the doorstep, soft, thoughtful, strong.

And just like that, something had shifted. Not everything. Not instantly.

But enough.

Enough to begin.

Nearly two years had passed since that early spring morning, since the front door opened on a fragile, hopeful beginning.

There had never been a dramatic reunion, no grand announcement to friends or family. No social media posts or loud proclamations. Just quiet, intentional love. It had started with conversations. Long ones. Painful ones. Healing ones. Sometimes they were over late dinners after Hana had gone to bed, sometimes whispered while folding laundry or brushing teeth. It hadn’t been perfect. There were setbacks. But through it all, you kept choosing each other, quietly, steadily.

You hadn’t planned to fall back into the rhythm of being a family. But slowly, almost without realizing it, you did.

Minho started spending more time at your place, first for Hana. That was the excuse. He’d come to drop her off and she’d beg him to stay just a little longer. One night, she asked for a bedtime story. “One more, Daddy.” He’d read it with a smile in his voice, her little head resting against his chest, and when you’d peeked in the room, you’d found them both curled up on her bed, eyes heavy with sleep. That night, he stayed on the couch, claiming it was too late to drive home, though it wasn’t even 10 p.m.

You didn’t say anything. Neither of you did. Not when it happened again. Or the next time. Until one day, you realized you had his toothbrush in your bathroom. A drawer with his t-shirts. His cologne on your shelf. And you didn’t remember when it all officially changed, only that it had. And you were happy. The quiet kind of happy that feels like home.

Now, nearly two years later, the house was fuller.

The soft sound of children’s morning cartoons hummed in the background while you stood behind Hana, gently parting her hair into sections. Her legs dangled off the kitchen stool, kicking lightly with excitement.

“Mommy,” she asked for the fourth time that week, “is the baby coming soon?”

You smiled, one hand resting unconsciously on your belly as you twisted her braid. “Not that soon, sweetheart. A few more months.”

Hana let out a dramatic sigh, the kind only a six-year-old could manage. “But I already made space in my room!”

You laughed, gently tugging her braid loose and starting again. “That’s for later, remember? The baby will sleep in our room for a while.”

“But I can still help, right? Like with diapers and bottles and what if the baby cries at night?”

“Then we’ll all help,” you said softly. “That’s what family does.”

Before she could fire off another question, footsteps padded into the room Minho, fully dressed for work, adjusting his watch as he walked in with that still-sleepy look he never really lost in the mornings.

“There you are,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours first. His voice dipped gently, his concern immediate but unspoken. “Why’d you leave bed so early?”

You gave him a tired smile, one hand resting on the curve of your growing belly. “I couldn’t sleep again. Got too frustrated tossing and turning.”

He crossed the room in two steps and leaned in to kiss your lips, his hand automatically reaching for your belly with a tenderness that still made your breath catch. “Next time, wake me up, okay?” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead now. “Even if it’s just to complain. I’d rather be tired with you than sleep through it alone.”

You nodded, your eyes warm, and he turned to Hana, who squealed with delight as he tickled her side.

“Good morning, princess.”

“Daddy! Stop!” she laughed, squirming away with a wide grin. He ruffled her hair playfully before kissing the top of her head.

You turned back to the kitchen, checking the time. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

A question that once felt like a gamble. A question you used to ask even when you knew the answer would be “I’ll see,” delivered with the kind of distracted vagueness that always left your chest a little hollow.

But now? Now, Minho didn’t even blink.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at you as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “I’ll be home.”

You didn’t say anything in return. You just smiled. And that was enough.

Minho bent down again, kissed you once more, slower this time, more present then turned to Hana. “Be good for Mommy, yeah?”

She saluted him with exaggerated seriousness, and he laughed.

And then he was out the door.

You stood there for a moment, your hands resting on your belly, watching as Hana inspected her braid in the mirror on the wall.

There was peace in the routine. A softness that hadn’t existed in the beginning. A stillness that came not from perfection, but from the choice day after day to love each other better than before.

And as your daughter grinned at her reflection and the baby inside you fluttered with a kick, you whispered quietly to yourself:

“We’re okay.”

And you were.

More than okay.

You were whole.

//

[a/n: surprise!! it’s my birthday tomorrow but i wanted to give you guys a little gift. (: final part of BTL.]

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..] [ BTL taglist @christasmind @tsunderelino @staytinyarmy @luvhannies @leeknowno @ravengxbss @fairylix]

[4linos]

Okay but your ideas for Changbin’s fic!!!! I love them all so much—I’m excited to see which one wins 👀

(Also this whole time I’ve been wondering what you’d end up writing for him cause I can’t picture him as a problematic dad/partner at all) (yes I’m biased lol)

first option won!! i’m excited for everyone to read.

i really like the 2nd option too so i might do something with that one in the future.

hehe i know i didn’t want to make him a bad partner or dad ☹️

[4linos]

changbin’s dad fic poll :

1. You were high school sweethearts young, wild, full of dreams. But life pulled you apart. Changbin left after graduation, you stayed behind and married someone else. You haven't seen each other in over a decade. You’re a single mom, back in your hometown after a messy divorce, trying to rebuild your life with your son. Changbin, now a widowed father of a little girl, barely keeping things together. You run into each other at the elementary school: parent-teacher night, same class, same room, two broken lives colliding again.

2. Your husband died in a car accident three years ago. He was everything, your best friend, the father of your daughter, the only future you ever imagined. You’ve kept yourself locked away from the idea of dating, pouring everything into raising your child. The single dad, Changbin next door moves in, quiet, kind, good with his hands, bad with his feelings. His son and your daughter become inseparable. He never pushes, never asks for anything. Just shows up. Fixes your broken fence. Brings over baked goods. Waits. One night, you finally break letting yourself be held. For a moment, you want to pretend it’s him. And that’s the night everything changes. He feels it. You feel it. But you pulls away. You hate yourself for wishing the man in front of you was the one you lost. Changbin knows he can never replace someone who was loved so deeply, but he also knows he’s falling for you. Slowly. Desperately. He wonders how long he’ll be a stand-in for someone else’s ghost.

3. Both single parents, exhausted and stretched thin, work the late-night shift at the same hospital to make ends meet and support their kids. You’re a nurse, Changbin’s a janitor, both invisible in the hustle of overnight chaos. Your paths keep crossing in the empty halls, the break room, the cafeteria, and the 24/7 daycare center on site where your kids wait, tired but safe. You don’t speak much at first, just tired nods, tired smiles. But the long, lonely hours chip away at your walls. Changbin notices your daughter’s favorite snack left uneaten in the daycare; You catch him softly singing to soothe his child through a rough night. Each moment shared silently speaks volumes about the weight you carry. But both carry heavy pasts: changbin’s late wife died suddenly, leaving him struggling with guilt and anger. You escaped a violent relationship, scarred and wary of trusting anyone again. The exhaustion from work and parenting leaves them emotionally raw and volatile. When a crisis hits, a medical emergency involving one of your children, you finally confront each other, your fears, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to carry this alone. But old fears don’t disappear overnight, and the night shift doesn’t end when the sun rises.

a/n: the last member of the dad series 🥹