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honeydixonn · 7 months ago

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die together, hae-jo | mr plankton

seven, blurry steps

6386 words

The first thing Seorin noticed when she stirred awake was the heaviness in her body. It wasn't the comforting kind, the sort that came from being wrapped in warm blankets or from the deep exhaustion of a long journey. No—this was different. This was the kind of weight that settled deep in her limbs, making her feel like she was sinking into the hard wooden floor beneath her.

Then came the dull, relentless pounding in her head.

It was a slow, rhythmic throb, pressing against the inside of her skull like a steady drumbeat, dull but unshakable. It wasn't the sharp kind of headache she got when she was dehydrated, nor the fleeting discomfort of waking up too fast. This was heavier. More persistent. More wrong.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and immediately, her vision swayed.

The dim glow of early morning trickled in through the tiny window above, casting the small room in a soft, bluish-gray hue. The outlines of the furniture—the old wooden dresser, the small television, the fan humming steadily in the corner—blurred at the edges before sharpening again as she blinked.

The next thing she became aware of was the warmth surrounding her.

Hae-Jo.

His arm was still draped over her waist, his chest a steady, solid presence against her back. His breaths were deep and slow, fanning lightly against the nape of her neck. He smelled like faded cologne, clean cotton, and something distinctly him—something familiar, something that sent an ache through her chest.

If she closed her eyes, if she ignored the pounding in her head, she could almost pretend it was years ago, back when she would wake up every morning just like this. Back when she didn't have to miss him.

But she couldn't ignore it.

She couldn't ignore the growing discomfort in her body, the way her stomach felt unsettled—not quite nauseous, but as if something wasn't sitting right. She shifted slightly, and the dull ache in her joints became more noticeable. There was a strange tension in her fingers, as if they were stiff, like she had been clenching them in her sleep.

She swallowed, realizing belatedly how dry her throat felt.

Something was wrong.

Carefully, she moved to slip out from under Hae-Jo's arm, but the moment she shifted, his fingers tightened around her hip instinctively.

A low, sleepy grumble rumbled in his throat. "Mm... where are you going?"

His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and warm against her ear.

Seorin hesitated. "Just... bathroom."

He made a low hum in response, his grip loosening just enough for her to escape.

She barely managed to push herself upright before the dizziness hit.

The room swayed, the walls seeming to tilt for just a moment before steadying again.

She sucked in a slow breath, pressing a hand against the floor to ground herself. Breathe. Just breathe.

Forcing herself to her feet, she made her way toward the small bathroom in the corner, each step heavier than the last. By the time she reached the sink, her fingers were trembling.

She gripped the edge of the worn porcelain, staring at herself in the tiny mirror above it.

Her reflection didn't look right.

Her skin was paler than usual, her lips slightly chapped. But what unsettled her the most was her eyes—the slight puffiness around them, the dark shadows that seemed deeper than before.

Her breath came out shakily as she lifted a hand to her cheek, pressing lightly against the skin. It wasn't a dramatic difference, but she could tell. Something was off.

A wave of exhaustion rolled over her, so sudden that she had to brace herself against the sink.

She reached for the faucet with trembling fingers, twisting the handle until cold water gushed out. She cupped some in her hands, splashing it over her face, hoping the shock of it would clear her mind.

It helped—only slightly.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

She wasn't panicking yet. No, not yet. But there was a quiet, creeping fear slithering into her thoughts, whispering things she didn't want to hear.

What if something's wrong?

What if this isn't normal?

She had read about pregnancy symptoms, about fatigue and dizziness. But this—this felt different. This felt like her body was trying to tell her something.

She closed her eyes, taking another slow breath.

A soft creak sounded behind her.

Her eyelids snapped open, her heart lurching slightly as she turned.

Hae-Jo stood in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim morning light. His hair was disheveled from sleep, his jeans hanging low on his hips, his shirt wrinkled from where he had been curled up against the blankets. His gaze was laced with drowsy concern, his sharp eyes scanning her face.

"You okay?" His voice was quieter now, more awake.

Seorin forced a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah. Just thirsty."

His eyes flickered toward the sink, then back to her. He didn't look convinced.

For a moment, it felt like he was going to push—like he was going to call her out, press her until she admitted that something wasn't right.

But instead, he let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face before tilting his head toward the bed.

"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice low, softer than usual.

She hesitated, glancing at herself in the mirror one last time before shutting off the faucet.

Whatever this was—whatever this strange, creeping feeling was—she would deal with it later.

For now, she nodded and let him take her hand, his fingers curling around hers as he led her back to the blankets on the floor.

The moment she laid down, his arm draped over her again, his body warmth pressing against her back.

She could hear his heartbeat, steady and unbothered, so different from hers.

She wished she could match his calmness.

But as she lay there, staring at the ceiling, her fingers unconsciously resting against her stomach, the unease in her chest didn't go away.

It only grew.

The steady rhythm of the fan hummed in the background, the only sound filling the quiet room besides the soft rustling of blankets as Seorin shifted slightly under Hae-Jo's arm. She had been drifting in and out of sleep, the exhaustion from the day weighing heavy on her limbs, but something felt off.

Then, the sharp vibration of a phone cut through the still air.

Her body jolted at the sudden noise, her heart momentarily skipping a beat. She stirred, trying to move Hae-Jo's hand, which was still draped heavily around her waist, his fingers slack against the fabric of her dress.

But before she could slip away, his groggy voice stopped her.

"Wait, it's mine," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

She froze, watching as he groaned, shifting just enough to reach into his back pocket. He fumbled with the phone, blinking at the screen before answering in a low, tired tone.

"...Okay, I'm coming."

The words sent an immediate pang through her chest.

Her head turned sharply toward him as he sat up, rubbing his face with one hand while the other stayed shoved in his pocket. "Where are you going?"

Hae-Jo barely looked at her. Instead, he stood, rolling his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. He let out a long exhale, then casually shrugged.

"To give the DNA sample." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Stay here."

Seorin felt something tighten in her chest.

She didn't like the way he said it, the way he brushed her off so easily, like she was nothing more than a temporary figure in his periphery. The weight of his warmth had barely left her side, and yet the space where he had been now felt cold, empty.

She stared at him warily as he slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

The moment he was gone, the silence became unbearable.

The room that had once been too small suddenly felt too large.

She curled deeper under the blanket, pulling it tighter around herself. But no matter how much she wrapped herself up, it wasn't the same. The warmth wasn't his warmth. The safety wasn't his safety.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

She tried to keep herself awake, tried to stay alert for the sound of his return. But exhaustion was cruel, and her body was failing her. Her eyelids grew heavier with each breath, her mind floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep.

And before she realized it, she was gone.

It was the soft creak of the door that stirred her.

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn't wake fully. The weight of sleep still clung to her, her body sluggish, her mind foggy.

Hae-Jo stepped inside, careful not to make too much noise. His steps were slow, calculated, as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile quiet.

He glanced toward her still frame, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath the blanket.

Good. She's asleep.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before crossing the small room, setting his phone down on the crate beside the TV. Without thinking, he clicked it on, lowering the volume until it was nothing more than a faint murmur of sound.

The dim glow from the screen cast flickering shadows against the wall, filling the space with a false sense of normalcy.

He sat down beside her, his body feeling heavier than before, his limbs aching from more than just exhaustion.

The chaos he had witnessed outside still clung to him—the voices, the tension, the sharp reminder of why he was even here.

He didn't want to think about it.

Didn't want to think about the time slipping through his fingers, didn't want to think about the fact that even if he found the truth, even if he found him, it wouldn't change anything.

Wouldn't change this.

Wouldn't change her.

So he focused on the cartoon playing on the screen.

It was stupid, childish. But that was exactly what he needed. Something meaningless. Something that didn't remind him of everything falling apart.

He let out a quiet, breathy laugh at whatever was happening on the screen, but it was empty. Just a distraction. Just noise.

Then, as if drawn by instinct, his fingers found hers.

Even in sleep, her hand was warm, soft. He let his fingers curl loosely around hers, his grip barely there, as if he was afraid that if he held too tightly, she would wake up and pull away.

Or worse—disappear entirely.

Because wasn't that what always happened?

Every time he got too close, every time he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he could have something real, something his—life reminded him that he wasn't meant for that kind of happiness.

His thumb traced over the ridge of her knuckles absentmindedly, his gaze locked on their intertwined fingers.

I don't want to lose you again.

The thought came unbidden, unwelcome.

He swallowed hard, pushing it down, burying it deep inside the same place he buried all the things he didn't want to admit.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted onto his back, keeping his hand loosely tangled with hers.

And for the first time in a long time, Hae-Jo allowed himself to feel something other than bitterness.

The fan hummed. The TV flickered.

And as sleep finally pulled him under, he held onto her hand just a little tighter.

Like he was afraid that if he let go—

She'd slip away forever.

When Seorin awoke, the first thing she noticed was that she was alone.

The small room was eerily quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fan that had been left running. The blankets that had once been beside her were now folded neatly in the corner, a pillow stacked on top, almost as if their previous occupant had never been there at all.

Her heart pounded.

Had he left her?

The thought hit her like a cold slap.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as she sat up too quickly, ignoring the faint dizziness that rushed to her head. Was this all just another one of his tricks? A final way to make a fool out of her before disappearing again?

She clenched her jaw.

No.

Seorin swung her legs over the edge of the pallet, determination setting her spine straight. She wouldn't be made a fool of. Not again.

She quickly began folding her own blankets, smoothing them out with stiff movements before stacking them in the corner. Every action was precise, calculated, an attempt to mask the frustration bubbling in her chest.

Her eyes flicked toward the door.

If he thought he could just abandon her here and disappear off to whatever reckless mission he had next, he was dead wrong.

She would not be left behind.

Striding toward the door, she reached for the handle—only for it to swing open just before her fingers touched the knob.

A familiar figure filled the doorway, the early morning sun casting a golden glow behind him, making him look almost ethereal.

Seorin's stomach flipped.

And then she realized who it was.

Hae-Jo.

With that insufferable smug grin.

"Going somewhere?" he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with the kind of arrogance that made her want to throw something at his head.

Seorin rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. She pushed past him without a word, stepping outside onto the small wooden step. The morning air was crisp, the scent of damp earth lingering from the night before.

"Jackass," she muttered under her breath, reaching down to grab her shoes.

But before her fingers could even brush the material, they were snatched away.

"What the—"

Before she could protest, her foot was lifted into the air.

Her breath hitched as she found herself trapped in a ridiculous scene—Hae-Jo kneeling in front of her, sliding her shoe onto her foot with the precision of a man who had done this a thousand times before.

"Are you serious right now?" she snapped, but he only smirked, not even glancing up at her.

"Shh, princess," he murmured, tying the laces swiftly before moving onto the next shoe. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing over the curve of her ankle, his touch warm against her skin.

Seorin hated how her stomach twisted at the contact.

"There," he said smoothly, patting the top of her foot like she was some sort of well-groomed pet. "All dressed up and ready to go."

She glared at him. "I can put my own damn shoes on."

"Oh, I know you can," he grinned, finally meeting her eyes. "But where's the fun in that?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, biting down the urge to shove him onto his back.

Hae-Jo stood fluidly, dusting off his jeans before stretching his arms over his head, as if tying her shoes had been the most exhausting thing he had done all day.

"Let's go eat," he announced, his voice dripping with casual nonchalance. "On the house, by the way."

He held his hand out toward her, palm open, waiting.

Seorin stared at it.

His fingers twitched slightly, almost as if he was expecting—hoping—to feel the familiar warmth of her hand slipping into his.

But instead, all he felt was the cool morning breeze.

Seorin breezed past him, completely ignoring the gesture. "I can stand on my own."

The corner of Hae-Jo's mouth twitched, his cocky expression faltering for just a fraction of a second before he recovered, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

"Well, obviously," he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes as he followed her toward the restaurant.

But even as he smirked, even as he played it off like it didn't sting—

His palm still felt cold.

The tension at the table was thick enough to slice with the very chopsticks they refused to use.

Two steaming plates of suyuk sat untouched in front of them, the aroma of the tender pork belly wafting into the small space, practically begging to be devoured. But neither Seorin nor Hae-Jo made a move, both too stubborn to be the first to cave.

It was a silent standoff, the kind that neither of them acknowledged outright but both fully participated in.

Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze lazily flicking across the room like he was completely unaffected by the delicious meal in front of him. His jaw ticked slightly, though, and Seorin knew he was hungry.

She, on the other hand, was losing the battle.

Her stomach betrayed her first, letting out a low growl that shattered the silence between them. She winced slightly but pretended she didn't hear it.

Hae-Jo, of course, smirked. "That your stomach or an animal crying for help?"

She shot him a glare before grabbing her chopsticks and stuffing a piece of pork belly into her mouth.

The moment the rich, savory flavor hit her tongue, she groaned, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth watered. The tenderness of the meat practically melted against her palate, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the man sitting across from her.

Then, an idea sparked.

"If you're not gonna eat it..." she mused, her chopsticks extending toward his plate, the mischievous glint in her eyes growing.

But just as she was about to drag his plate toward her own, a sharp slap landed against the back of her hand.

Seorin gasped dramatically, clutching her hand like he had just assaulted her. "Excuse me?!"

Hae-Jo didn't even look up. He simply took his own chopsticks and grabbed a piece of pork belly, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated hum of satisfaction.

"Eat your own," he said lazily, chewing slowly, savoring the taste.

Seorin huffed, rubbing the back of her hand. "You wish you could stop me."

"I just did," he countered, finally meeting her gaze with a smug look.

She scoffed, dramatically shoving another piece of food into her mouth as if to prove a point.

The meal continued in complete silence.

Neither of them spoke, neither of them looked at each other for too long, both pretending they weren't hyper-aware of the other's presence. The air between them was thick, filled with everything unsaid, with every memory that clung to the spaces between their words.

Hae-Jo pretended he wasn't watching the way she chewed, the way her lips parted slightly before she took a bite, the way her nose scrunched ever so slightly when she reached for the shrimp sauce.

Seorin pretended she wasn't acutely aware of the way his fingers moved, the effortless way he held his chopsticks, the way he sat with that same cocky confidence he always had, the way his tongue darted out to swipe the corner of his lip after every other bite.

They ate, pretending not to steal glances.

Pretending not to remember.

Pretending that this was just a meal, just two people sitting across from each other.

But beneath the surface—

Every look. Every movement. Every lingering second of silence.

It was all laced with the quiet, desperate ache of something unfinished.

The air in the small restaurant was warm, filled with the scent of simmering broth and the lingering spice of gochugaru. The clatter of chopsticks and muffled conversations echoed around them, blending into the background like an old, familiar song.

Seorin traced the rim of her water cup absentmindedly, her mind tangled in thoughts that had nothing to do with the steaming plate in front of her.

"When are you getting the results?" she finally asked, her voice neutral, as she lifted the glass to her lips, taking a small sip.

Across from her, Hae-Jo didn't immediately respond. He was hunched slightly over his food, chopsticks moving with practiced ease as he stuffed a piece of pork belly into his mouth, chewing like a man with no time to waste.

"I'm waiting," he said around the food, barely sparing her a glance.

Seorin's brow twitched.

"Oh, wow," she deadpanned, setting her glass down with an unimpressed clink. "The most informative answer ever."

Hae-Jo snorted, reaching for another piece of meat as if her sarcasm was nothing but air.

She rolled her eyes, but the playful irritation quickly faded as she glanced back at the older man a few feet away, sitting with his sons. They spoke in hushed but firm tones, the weight of something unspoken hanging thick between them. The daughter-in-law hovered nearby, her hands clasped together, her face tight with restrained worry.

Seorin sighed through her nose, turning back to her plate, but something had shifted.

Her appetite was gone.

The food that had been mouthwatering just minutes ago now made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Her fingers toyed with her chopsticks as she pushed the pieces around, frowning at the sight of them.

Hae-Jo caught the movement immediately.

His chewing slowed as his sharp eyes flicked to her plate, then to her expression. His brows knit together, the smug nonchalance from earlier fading into something softer.

"Why aren't you eating?"

Seorin shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. "I feel sick. Not too hungry anymore."

His chopsticks clinked against the ceramic plate as he set them down.

Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the table, eyes narrowing as he studied her. He wasn't looking at her like she was some puzzle he wanted to tease—no, this was different. This was something closer to concern.

Something dangerously close to caring.

"You sure you're not sick?" His voice was quieter now, lower, like he was afraid of the answer. "You've been acting funny."

Seorin froze for half a second, fingers tightening around her chopsticks.

But before she could respond, before she could even deflect, his attention shifted.

His head tilted slightly as his gaze drifted over her shoulder, his expression slipping into something unreadable.

He was listening.

Seorin blinked, confused, before following his line of sight.

A broad-shouldered man had walked into the restaurant, his presence immediately commanding attention. His voice was loud, sharp, carrying across the space with the practiced ease of someone who was used to speaking and being heard.

Real estate agent.

The realization settled in as Seorin watched the older man's sons and daughter-in-law hurry to seat the newcomer at a table near theirs, their movements tense.

Hae-Jo's jaw tightened. His posture shifted just slightly, but she caught it—the subtle change in his expression, the way his hand moved to rest against the table like he was grounding himself.

She knew that look.

It was the look he always got when he was listening for something important.

And just like that—he was gone.

Whatever concern had flickered in his eyes moments ago, whatever care had slipped through his defenses—it disappeared. His focus was elsewhere now, his thoughts locked onto a conversation that had nothing to do with her.

Seorin exhaled softly, a weight settling in her chest.

Of course he wasn't listening anymore.

Why would he?

She turned back to her untouched plate, her stomach churning—not just from nausea, but from something deeper, something uglier.

Because the truth was, it shouldn't have hurt.

They weren't together.

They hadn't been together for months.

He didn't owe her his attention. He didn't owe her anything.

And yet—

Something about the way he had looked at her, even for just a second, had made her want to believe. Made her want to pretend that maybe—just maybe—he still cared enough to notice when something was wrong.

But that wasn't who Hae-Jo was.

He had left her.

And yet...

Maybe he deserved to know.

Her fingers brushed against her stomach, a small, fleeting touch.

Maybe he deserved to know about the child they shared inside of her.

But looking at him now—

Listening so intently to a conversation that had nothing to do with her, with them—

She wondered if she was just fooling herself.

Because in the end, she had never been enough to make him stay.

Would this child be any different?

The tension in the room was suffocating.

The back kitchen doors swung open with force, and the third son stormed into the dining area, his face twisted in rage. His broad shoulders heaved with barely contained anger as his sharp gaze locked onto the real estate agent seated with his brothers.

"What the hell is this?!" his voice thundered through the restaurant.

He didn't wait for an answer. He reached forward, his fingers curling around the agent's collar, yanking him up from his seat with a force that sent the dishes rattling on the table.

"I'm not selling, so get the hell out of here, you dork."

Seorin furrowed her brows, watching the scene unfold in confusion. Meanwhile, Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, the picture of amusement. He wasn't just watching—he was listening, soaking in every word like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The brothers started bickering, voices overlapping in a heated argument. The real estate man held his hands up, trying to calm them down, but it was too late—the truth was spilling out. They had already begun discussing how to split the money from secretly selling the restaurant behind their father's back.

That's when Hae-Jo decided to make his move.

"A five-way split, huh?" he said casually, holding up five fingers.

The three brothers turned toward him in confusion. They exchanged glances, their brows furrowing as they struggled to place him. Who was he, and why the hell was he inserting himself into their business?

Seorin's stomach twisted with unease.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of Hae-Jo's white button-up in an attempt to pull him back, to keep him out of whatever mess he was about to make.

"Hae-Jo, stop—"

But her grip slipped as he stood up, his usual smirk plastered across his face.

"It's just that I think I deserve a cut too," he continued smoothly, his hands slipping into his pockets as he strolled toward the group.

Seorin's heart dropped.

What the hell was he doing?

"That is, if you're gonna split it between the family," he added, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with mischief.

The eldest brother squared his shoulders, his stance shifting in irritation. "And who the hell are you?"

Seorin pressed her fingers against her temple, her stomach turning. This was going to end badly.

Hae-Jo feigned a thoughtful expression, pacing between the brothers with an air of mock surprise.

"Well," he drawled, "I might actually be your brother. One of your dad's illegitimate kids."

A silence so thick it felt like the room had been vacuum-sealed settled over them.

Seorin wanted to sink into the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she muttered under her breath, watching in disbelief.

But Hae-Jo wasn't done. He leaned in slightly, speaking just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I mean, you all did say last night that the money should be split equally among the family," he pointed out, his grin widening. "You planned to sell the restaurant, your property, everything, and dump your dad in a nursing home."

The panic in their expressions was immediate.

Hae-Jo let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his chest like he was scandalized.

"Wait, wait—didn't you say that, sister-in-law?"

His gaze flicked toward the pregnant woman near the kitchen.

She froze, eyes widening in horror. But it only took a second before she masked it with a scandalized expression, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"What is he saying? What is he, mad? I didn't say that, Father!"

The second eldest son had had enough.

In one swift movement, he lunged forward, gripping Hae-Jo's collar in his fist, pulling him closer with an angry glare.

"Who are you, dude? Huh?"

Hae-Jo barely reacted. He simply looked at the man, his smirk never faltering.

"Oh yeah, that's right," he mused. "You were against it because you think you deserve everything."

He patted the son's cheeks mockingly, flashing a grin.

"For taking care of your dad while he was sick, you greedy bastard."

The air crackled with tension.

Then, without warning—

"Psycho!"

The son reeled his fist back and punched Hae-Jo hard across the jaw.

Hae-Jo stumbled back, leaning against the table as Seorin shot up from her seat, hands flying to her mouth in shock.

"Hey! Stop!" she shouted, stepping forward, but before she could reach him—

The real estate agent shoved past her.

Her body lurched forward, her side colliding hard against the table's edge.

A sharp, stabbing pain radiated from her stomach.

Her breath hitched, panic seizing her chest.

Her hand shot to her belly in an instant, pressing against it protectively. She stood there for a moment, frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Then she looked down.

She was still standing.

Still breathing.

But the fear clawed at her throat.

"Shit," she whispered under her breath, forcing herself upright.

By the time she turned back, the room had erupted into chaos.

Hae-Jo was already throwing the brothers around, dodging their attacks like he had done it a thousand times before, his grin unfazed despite the punch he had taken.

Seorin backed toward the wooden support beam, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach.

"Hae-Jo, stop," she called, her voice sharp but breathless.

Her vision swam.

A pounding sensation throbbed in her head, her body swaying slightly. She gripped the beam tighter, willing herself to stay steady.

A loud shatter rang through the room.

She looked up just in time to see the eldest son gripping the jagged remains of a broken bottle, the sharp edges glinting under the dim restaurant lights as he pointed it directly at Hae-Jo.

"You motherfucker!"

Hae-Jo let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head.

"Hey, knock it off or you'll get hurt, dipshit."

But the three brothers weren't backing down.

The restaurant owner stormed in from the kitchen, his face twisted with disbelief as he took in the chaos before him. His furious gaze swept the room before landing on Seorin, his brows furrowing.

His eyes flickered down to her stomach, confusion flashing across his face.

"What's the matter with you, son of a bitch?!" the old man roared, grabbing a nearby container of salt and throwing it directly at Hae-Jo's face.

A mix of salt and rage filled the air.

For a split second, the room stilled.

Then Seorin lurched forward, her stomach twisting violently.

She gripped the table, her breath coming out in short gasps.

"Oh my god," she rasped, her knees threatening to buckle. "I'm gonna be sick."

Her legs swayed, her vision blurring.

Hae-Jo turned sharply, his body stiffening as he watched her.

His smirk vanished.

And for the first time that day, real, unfiltered panic flickered across his face.

"Stop standing there! Help your wife and get out!"

The old man's voice rang through the restaurant, sharp and commanding. It cut through the chaos, through the tension, through the nauseating dizziness clouding Seorin's mind. Her breath hitched, her stomach still twisting from the earlier shock. The cold sweat clinging to her skin only made her feel heavier, more exhausted.

She pressed her hand against the wall, fingers searching for something solid, something stable as she tried to guide herself toward the door. Her legs felt weak, wobbly, and each step felt like moving through water. The sounds around her blurred—the furious shouting, the rustling of movement, the clatter of broken dishes on the floor—but all she could focus on was getting out, breathing fresh air, grounding herself before she lost complete control.

A strong hand suddenly found her waist, another landing on her shoulder, steadying her before she could stumble. She didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Just hold on," Hae-Jo muttered, voice softer than usual, missing its usual sharp edge.

She didn't have the energy to respond. She let him guide her out, feeling the tension in his grip—firm, protective, almost desperate.

The moment they stepped outside, the cool morning air hit her like a wave, and she barely made it to the tree before her stomach lurched. She bent over, gripping the rough bark as she emptied everything inside her onto the damp grass below. Her entire body trembled, exhaustion seeping into her bones, making her head feel light and her limbs feel heavy.

Behind her, Hae-Jo didn't say a word. He didn't flinch, didn't pull away in disgust, didn't make some careless joke about how gross she was. He just stood there, watching, his presence solid and unmoving.

And then—like the universe needed to remind him that he was still in the middle of a fight—he was ripped away.

The sons shoved him forward, throwing him onto the pavement in front of the shop. He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs for a second. But instead of reacting with anger, instead of lashing out like they wanted him to, he simply exhaled and reached for his phone.

Priorities.

Seorin wiped her mouth, wincing as she leaned back against the tree, barely catching her breath before another voice reached her ears.

"Four months with no belly? Sure."

The daughter-in-law scoffed as she walked past, her judgmental gaze sweeping over Seorin before she disappeared into the shop.

Seorin felt her stomach tighten, but this time it wasn't from nausea. It was from something else.

Her fingers instinctively found the fabric of her dress, curling against her stomach as if shielding the life growing inside her. For months, she had hidden it—hidden him, hidden her—but now, standing there in the cold air, feeling the weight of those words, she realized how cruel it felt to deny it.

She glanced up and met Hae-Jo's eyes.

He had seen it too.

His expression was unreadable, his usual cocky mask slipping just slightly. But before she could say anything, before she could even process her own emotions, the old man walked past them, his gaze lingering just a second too long on her stomach before he turned back to Hae-Jo.

"They're lying about all of it," Hae-Jo said suddenly, his voice casual but firm, as he stepped forward and held the glass door open.

The old man turned, staring at him with something close to amusement. "Well, who's lying to whom here, huh?" His voice was slow, measured, as if he was testing Hae-Jo. "Both of you were dishonest with me. Did you seriously think I had no idea about their little plan?"

Hae-Jo clenched his jaw but said nothing.

The old man scoffed, shaking his head. "I just acted clueless," he continued. "I wanted to see how far they'd go. And then you waltzed in, causing chaos in something that wasn't even your business."

Seorin watched quietly from the side, her breathing still uneven, her body still struggling to keep up with everything happening.

"Tell me who you are, kid."

Hae-Jo opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw twitched, his throat bobbed, but the words wouldn't come out.

"I..."

Then his phone vibrated.

He looked down.

Whatever was on that screen made his entire body still. His fingers tightened around the device, his grip turning white, and for a moment, his face was blank. Completely blank.

Then the tension in his shoulders loosened, his fingers slipping from the doorframe. The old man took the opportunity to close it in his face.

Seorin watched him carefully, her stomach knotting.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice barely reached him.

It took him a second to register that she had even spoken, and when he finally turned to her, his expression was hard to read.

She stepped forward, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs, and reached for his arm to balance herself. "He wasn't the one?"

Hae-Jo shook his head.

Silence.

She let out a breath, her fingers twitching against his arm before she let go. Neither of them had the words to say what they wanted.

He let out a slow exhale, rubbing a hand over his face before turning back to her. "Come on."

She barely had time to react before he was leading her toward the jeep, his hand on her back again, making sure she wouldn't collapse. When they reached the car, he gently leaned her against the hood, his eyes scanning her with something dangerously close to worry before he reached into the vehicle and pulled out a bottle of water.

"Drink."

She took it wordlessly, her fingers brushing against his as she grabbed it.

He took a few steps back, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

Seorin huffed as she twisted the cap off the bottle. "Those things are gonna kill you."

Hae-Jo smirked, but it was empty. His voice came out quieter than usual, laced with something almost bitter.

"I don't think a cigarette is gonna be the thing to take me out."

The words hit harder than she expected.

She tightened her grip on the bottle, staring at him for a long moment. She wanted to say something, but the words caught in her throat, tangled between past resentment and lingering emotions she didn't know how to deal with.

So she just drank.

And he just smoked.

The silence between them felt heavier than it should have, but neither of them broke it.

Minutes later, they were back on the road.

Seorin didn't ask where they were going.

She just leaned her head against the window, watching the passing scenery blur into streaks of green and gold.

And Hae-Jo—

He gripped the wheel a little tighter, his mind spinning with too many thoughts.

One down.

Four more to go.

#mr plankton hae jo #hae jo fanfic #haejo x reader #hae jo #mr plankton wattpad fic #mr plankton fic #mr plankton #woo do hwan #woodohwan x reader

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honeydixonn · 7 months ago

Text

die together, hae-jo | mr plankton

six, uncasual sleepover

5389 words

The road stretched endlessly before them, the soft hum of the Jeep filling the quiet space between them. Seorin had long since succumbed to sleep, exhaustion wrapping her in its grasp as the gentle rocking of the car lulled her into unconsciousness. The last light of day melted into the horizon, casting a golden glow over the rolling hills before fading into the deep hues of twilight.

Hae-Jo kept one hand firm on the wheel, but his attention flickered to her every few minutes. The first time her head hit the window, he had ignored it, thinking she'd adjust. But then it happened again. And again.

At the third thud, he winced.

How does she sleep through that?

With a quiet chuckle, he reached over and gently cradled her face, guiding her head toward him. She nuzzled unconsciously into his shoulder, her breath warm against his shirt. His hand lingered at her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing over her soft skin before coming to rest there, holding her in place.

His heart clenched painfully.

She still pouted in her sleep, her lips jutted out just slightly, as if she were displeased even in her dreams. He had always found it ridiculously cute. Even back then, he used to tease her about it, whispering little jokes just to watch her frown deeper.

God, I'll miss this.

His grip on the wheel tightened as his throat grew dry, an ache pressing at the back of his eyes. A painful lump settled in his throat, but he swallowed it down, unwilling to let it win.

She had no idea how much he had wanted this—how badly he wished he could just rewind time, undo every mistake, take back every stupid thing he had ever said to her.

He wanted to be selfish.

He wanted to tell her the truth, to confess that he had lied that day in the park—that he never stopped loving her, that every moment without her felt like he was walking toward his grave faster than his condition already promised.

But he couldn't do that to her.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of lavender that still clung to her hair. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, disappearing into the strands.

"I'm so sorry, Ae-in," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind rushing past them.

She shifted slightly, her brows knitting together for a second before relaxing back into her usual pout.

A sad smile tugged at his lips.

"I do love you," he murmured, his voice breaking just slightly.

He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand before returning both to the wheel, eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.

Truth be told, he wanted to pull over right there and let himself break. But he couldn't.

He wouldn't let his last moments with her be heavy with sorrow.

The neon glow of a wooden sign illuminated the road ahead, growing clearer as the Jeep approached:

30 Year Tradition: Sundae Soup of Fortune

Hae-Jo pulled into an empty parking spot just as the GPS confirmed their arrival. The faint aroma of broth and spice hung in the night air, but his focus remained on the woman sleeping peacefully beside him.

He sighed, his shoulder aching from holding her in the same position for so long. Carefully, he withdrew his arm, rubbing the stiffness away before turning toward her fully.

She looked so peaceful.

For once, he hesitated to wake her.

He always ruined her peace, one way or another.

Sighing, he reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. His thumbs brushed delicate circles against her skin, memorizing the warmth, the softness—the way her lashes fluttered slightly at his touch.

"Ae-in," he murmured.

She scrunched her nose, her lips pressing together in faint protest.

His grin deepened. "I know, but you're hungry, right?"

Her lashes lifted, her sleep-laden eyes peeking up at him.

His heart lurched.

She looked vulnerable like this—unguarded, drowsy, the walls she had built around herself momentarily lowered. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, to have her wake up next to him every day like they used to, curled into his side, mumbling half-awake complaints that he always found adorable.

But that was wishful thinking.

She blinked at him once before groaning. "I want food."

Hae-Jo laughed, the sound genuine as he pulled away. He stepped out of the Jeep, walking to her side before she could even reach for the handle. With a quick, practiced motion, he pulled the door open and extended a hand.

"M'Lady."

She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway as he helped her down.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

He shrugged as he closed the Jeep door behind her, his smirk widening. "Because you're a princess."

The teasing remark made her pause, her expression faltering slightly.

She wasn't sure why, but something in his tone felt... different.

The warmth of the restaurant wrapped around them as they stepped inside, a stark contrast to the cool evening air. The rich scent of simmering broth and spices lingered, settling deep in Seorin's chest. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by time, with wooden tables polished from years of use and old framed photographs lining the walls.

She rubbed her arms absentmindedly, shifting on her feet as she took in the cozy atmosphere. The feeling of stepping into a place like this—quiet, familiar, and far too intimate—made something uneasy stir in her stomach.

Hae-Jo, of course, walked in beside her like he belonged there, his presence filling every empty space effortlessly. He moved ahead, scanning the restaurant with a smirk, hands tucked lazily in his pockets. But she noticed how he kept glancing at her, like he wanted to make sure she was still beside him.

Before she could say anything, an older man behind the counter looked up and let out a sigh.

"Oh no, I wish you had gotten here a little sooner," he said regretfully, adjusting his glasses.

Seorin and Hae-Jo both turned toward him.

"I'm sorry, our kitchen's closed," the man continued, shaking his head. "At Sundae Soup of Fortune, our last order is at 9:30 p.m. You're a little late."

Hae-Jo let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back like the world had personally conspired against him. "Unbelievable."

Seorin barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Always so dramatic.

But before she could respond—before she could even think—Hae-Jo moved.

His arm slid around her waist in one smooth motion, pulling her into his side with the kind of familiarity that made her body react before her mind could process it.

Seorin stiffened.

His palm pressed against the curve of her hip, warm and steady. His touch wasn't rushed or hesitant—it was practiced, like muscle memory. Like he had never stopped holding her like this.

And then, before she could push him away, before she could question him—

"I drove six hours here," Hae-Jo began smoothly, his voice effortlessly persuasive, "because my pregnant wife was craving your famous sundae soup."

Seorin's heart stopped.

Her mind blanked, every thought crashing into itself in a tangled mess of panic.

What?

How did he—?

No. He couldn't know.

She forced herself to think rationally, to breathe. Hae-Jo was impulsive, reckless, and sharp-tongued, but he was terrible at keeping secrets. If he had figured it out, he wouldn't have been able to stay quiet about it.

Which meant...

He was lying.

Her breath left her in a slow, silent exhale. But just as relief started to settle in, the old man gasped.

"Oh my, congratulations!" His eyes dropped immediately to her stomach, a delighted smile spreading across his face.

Hae-Jo's hand on her waist didn't move, his grip firm yet gentle. His thumb brushed absently against the exposed skin of her lower back.

Seorin nearly jumped at the touch.

"Can you help us out?" Hae-Jo asked, his voice laced with just enough sincerity to be convincing.

The man hesitated before sighing in defeat. "Are you being serious? Six whole hours?"

Hae-Jo nodded, his smirk deepening. "Would I lie about my wife's cravings?"

Seorin clenched her fists. I hate him. I really, truly hate him.

The older man chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Let me check if we have any soup left. Have a seat, I'll be right back."

Seorin bowed slightly in thanks, though her face burned with frustration.

As soon as the man disappeared, she turned to Hae-Jo, her voice sharp.

"Pregnant?" she hissed.

Hae-Jo smirked down at her, finally pulling his arm away. "It was the best excuse I could think of."

Her jaw clenched. "And wife? Why did you say we were married?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he moved away from her and strode toward an empty table.

She followed instinctively, still fuming, but then—just as he always had—Hae-Jo reached out and pulled out a chair for her.

Her breath caught.

For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed, like this was just another night between them. Like he would sit beside her the way he always had, their knees brushing under the table, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on her thigh as he talked about something ridiculous.

But then—

Instead of taking the seat beside her, Hae-Jo walked around the table.

And he sat across from her.

Seorin faltered, something twisting deep in her chest.

The empty space beside her felt unnatural.

Wrong.

She hated how much she noticed it.

She wasn't supposed to care where he sat.

She wasn't supposed to feel the absence of his presence next to her.

But she did.

Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs as if he hadn't just thrown her entire world off balance. His gaze flickered to hers, and for a second—just a second—there was something wistful in his eyes.

"You were supposed to be," he finally murmured.

The words were soft, yet heavy.

Seorin swallowed hard. She glanced away, her arms folding tightly across her chest. "Not my fault."

Hae-Jo exhaled slowly, his fingers curling against the edge of the table. He looked down, his voice quieter than before.

"I know."

She almost didn't hear it.

Or maybe she did, but pretended not to.

And as the warmth of the restaurant wrapped around them, they sat in silence—two people who had once been everything to each other, now sitting across from one another.

So much distance packed into a single wooden table.

So much left unsaid between them.

So much that could have been.

Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms as if the weight of the day was nothing but an inconvenience to him. His casual demeanor was effortless, but Seorin wasn't fooled. She had spent too many years learning the language of his body, the way he masked his real thoughts behind that smirk, the way he deflected with humor when something unsettled him.

"We'll have to hang around here until maybe tomorrow afternoon," he said, rolling his shoulders, eyes flicking away from hers.

Seorin frowned, setting her spoon down against the cloth napkin. "Why? I thought you had places to be."

He clicked his tongue, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he subtly nodded toward the kitchen. "Candidate number one."

His confidence was as cocky as ever, but there was something behind his eyes—something restrained, something uncertain.

"Oh."

She watched him carefully, studying the way his fingers tapped against the wooden table in an uneven rhythm. He was trying too hard to seem nonchalant, but there was an energy in him that betrayed the act.

Without thinking, she brought her hand to her mouth, biting at the tip of her nail absentmindedly. It was a nervous habit, one she had never managed to break.

Before she could react, warmth encased her hand.

Hae-Jo's fingers wrapped around hers, pulling it away from her lips.

"Bad habit, Ae-in," he murmured, his voice low, almost affectionate.

Her cheeks flushed, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face. She quickly tucked her hands beneath the table, pressing them against the fabric of her dress.

She had forgotten how easily he could reach for her, how natural it was for him to touch her without hesitation. The way he did it now—so casually, so familiarly—made her stomach twist.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking away.

Hae-Jo watched her for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back in his seat, pretending to be absorbed by the sounds coming from the kitchen.

A moment later, the old man reappeared, pushing a cart with two steaming bowls.

"Here we are!" the man announced, his voice warm and welcoming. "Lots of extra liver and intestines, just how you like it."

Seorin's face lit up at the sight of the food, her hunger growing unbearable. "Aw, you didn't have to do that."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she glanced toward Hae-Jo and immediately froze.

She remembered too late.

"Ah, right—he's not a fan of blood sausages and liver," she blurted, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "He always said the smell bothered him."

The words had come too naturally, slipping from her like a reflex, like they were still together.

She felt the air shift.

Hae-Jo paused, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second before he let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah... I wish you had told me that sooner."

Seorin turned quickly toward the man, trying to shake off the awkward moment. "No, it's okay. I'm sure he'll be fine. Thank you so much, I'm sure it'll be plenty for the baby if he won't eat it."

The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "You're so tiny, though! How many months are you?"

Her hand instinctively drifted to her stomach, a small, automatic motion she didn't even realize she was doing.

Just as she was about to answer—

"She should be three or four."

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes widened slightly as she turned to look at him, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress.

Did he know?

No. He was guessing. He had to be.

She studied his face, searching for any sign of realization, but Hae-Jo's smirk remained perfectly in place. If anything, he looked amused.

The old man clapped his hands together. "Ah, congratulations to you two! Such a beautiful couple." He sighed fondly, glancing toward the kitchen. "My daughter-in-law is due next month, but we can't get her to stop working in that kitchen."

Seorin turned her head and found herself staring at the heavily pregnant woman in the back. The woman wiped down a table, her body moving slower, her exhaustion evident, but she still smiled, listening to the conversations around her.

A strange pang of longing settled deep in Seorin's chest.

Would she make it that far? Would she ever reach that stage?

Would she even have someone beside her when the time came?

She wasn't supposed to doubt.

But the fear clung to her, wrapping around her ribcage like a vice.

"She's such a workaholic," the old man chuckled.

Seorin barely heard him.

But Hae-Jo...

Hae-Jo was looking at the family.

His gaze had softened, the cocky energy he always carried suddenly dimming. His fingers curled slightly against the table, his expression unreadable.

"They all used to live somewhere else until I collapsed and got sick a year ago," the old man continued. "Then they insisted on moving back here. They're such good boys. You can't even imagine."

Hae-Jo's grip on his glass tightened.

For a brief moment, the mask cracked.

"...What happened?" His voice was quieter now, careful. "You were sick?"

The hope in his tone was subtle—so subtle that if Seorin hadn't known him better, she wouldn't have noticed it.

She did.

She always would.

"Oh, just a small stroke. Nothing major. I'm all better now."

The weight of disappointment was instant.

Hae-Jo's body shifted, his shoulders relaxing in forced nonchalance. He leaned back, letting out a breath.

Not him.

Not this time.

He barely had time to let it settle before he quickly covered it up with a smirk. "Oh, your hair."

Seorin's brows knitted together. "What?"

Hae-Jo suddenly leaned forward, plucking a single strand from the old man's head with practiced ease.

"I'll help you," he said smoothly, tucking the hair away.

The old man yelped, rubbing his scalp. "Oh! That hurt."

Hae-Jo waved him off. "Don't worry, I got it."

As the man left, Seorin gave him a look of disbelief. "You took his hair?"

Hae-Jo twirled it between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. "DNA," he replied simply, pouring himself a shot of soju.

Seorin shook her head as she picked up her chopsticks. Before she could take a bite, his next words nearly made her choke.

"So, why were you crying at the hospital?"

She sputtered, coughing violently.

Hae-Jo leaned in slightly, amusement playing on his lips, but there was something behind it—something too sharp, too focused.

"How did you know I was at the hospital?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I was there," he said smugly. "And I saw you."

Her brows furrowed in concern. "Why were you there?"

"Crashed my motorcycle while on an errand."

"Hae-Jo!" Her voice rose, her eyes scanning him for injuries. "Are you okay? What were you thinking? I told you time and time again to stop riding that thing!"

He smirked, watching her fuss over him. "You still care about me?"

She froze.

Her lips parted, her hands tightening into fists on the table.

Finally, she sighed. "...Yes, I still care about you, idiot."

She slapped his arm. "Stop trying to get yourself killed." Hae-Jo's smirk almost dropped.

If only you knew, Ae-in.

"Okay," he murmured. She sighed, pushing the soup toward him. "Try to eat." He wrinkled his nose. "No thanks."

"Just try, please."

He groaned, picking up his chopsticks. "I'll eat," he said, "if you tell me why you were at the hospital." She rolled her eyes. "I was just doing a checkup and found out I'm anemic."

He paused. "That's why you were crying?"

"Yes!"

Hae-Jo blinked. Then he sighed, placing a hand over hers.

"Okay, okay. Geez."

Keeping his word, he tossed the piece of sausage into his mouth.

Seorin laughed as he grimaced.

And for just a second, everything felt normal again.

Slowly, the two began to eat, though the silence between them grew heavier with each passing minute. Seorin focused on her bowl, occasionally glancing up only to find Hae-Jo picking at his food, his chopsticks carefully avoiding anything he deemed unappetizing. His nose scrunched every time he pushed aside the blood sausage, his lips twitching in faint distaste.

She let out a small huff of amusement. Some things never change.

Despite the warmth of the meal, despite the flickering glow of the restaurant lights, there was an undeniable tension sitting between them. Not the kind of tension they used to share—the playful, teasing kind where his hand would brush against hers just to see if she'd swat him away, where he'd steal bites of her food only to grin when she protested.

No, this was different.

This was heavier.

By the time their bowls were empty, the weight of everything unspoken had wrapped around them like an invisible force. The easy flow of conversation from earlier had faded into something more uncertain, more delicate.

When the kind family returned to clear their dishes, Seorin barely noticed, exhaustion settling into her limbs. The warmth of the meal left her drowsy, and the ache in her shoulders from sitting in the Jeep for hours was beginning to make itself known.

She stretched as she followed Hae-Jo toward the counter, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of her dress as she tried to shake the sleepiness from her body.

"With the bottle of soju, your total comes out to 20,000 won," the old man informed them, wiping his hands on a small towel as he stood behind the counter.

Hae-Jo patted his pockets, a frown quickly replacing the smug expression he had worn all evening. His fingers moved faster, checking his back pockets, then the inside of his coat.

His shoulders stiffened.

"Did you leave it at the shop?" Seorin asked, a flicker of worry crossing her features.

Hae-Jo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Ah, the gas station. I stopped when you were sleeping."

Seorin nibbled on her lower lip, her fingers fidgeting at the hem of her sleeve. She didn't have any cash on her either, and though she was sure they could work something out, the idea of not being able to pay left a sinking feeling in her stomach.

The old man must have noticed, because he let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "You came all the way out here just to eat, so it's on the house. No worries. You should go look for your wallet tomorrow."

Hae-Jo blinked, clearly caught off guard by the generosity. "Are you sure? I don't mind—"

The man waved him off. "I insist. Just think of it as a thank-you for the company tonight."

Seorin let out a relieved breath, bowing deeply. "Thank you so much."

But just as she thought they were about to leave, Hae-Jo suddenly reached out, his fingers lightly touching the man's arm.

"Uh, since you're already being so helpful... could we bother you to let us stay the night?" His tone was easy, smooth, but there was an underlying hesitation beneath it—something subtle, something almost nervous.

Seorin's head snapped toward him.

The old man paused, his eyes flicking between the two of them. His expression was unreadable for a moment, as if he were considering the request, weighing his options. But then, his gaze settled on Seorin—the woman he still believed to be pregnant—and his face softened.

"Why not?" he said with a smile, swinging his arm toward the back of the restaurant. "Follow me."

Seorin let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, the stiffness in her neck suddenly more apparent now that she knew she wouldn't have to sleep sitting up in the Jeep again.

Hae-Jo, satisfied with the response, casually reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as they followed the man outside.

Seorin stiffened.

She could have pulled away. Should have pulled away.

But she didn't.

The small room the man led them to was nestled outside the main restaurant, tucked between an old shed and a narrow alleyway. He unlocked the door, stepping aside to let them in.

It wasn't much.

The space was cluttered along the walls with various storage boxes and odds and ends, but there was a fan, a pile of folded blankets, and a small, old-fashioned TV sitting on a wooden crate. It was simple, cramped, but to Seorin, it was more than enough.

Hae-Jo took a long look around, his eyes scanning the space with a small smirk. "Five-star accommodations," he muttered under his breath.

Seorin elbowed him lightly, shooting him a look before turning back to the man. "This is perfect. Really, thank you so much."

The old man grinned. "It's nothing. Sleep well, you two."

As he walked away, Seorin and Hae-Jo both turned, bowing deeply in thanks before stepping inside, sliding their shoes off and leaving them by the door.

The moment they were alone, the silence stretched between them again.

"You can stay there."

His words halted Seorin mid-step as she reached for the blankets, her fingers pausing against the fabric.

"I'll make the pallets," Hae-Jo added, already lowering himself to his knees, the wooden floor creaking beneath him.

Seorin watched in silence as he worked, his hands smoothing out the makeshift beds with surprising care. The blankets were layered neatly, pillows placed at just the right angle. He left a few inches of space between them—just enough for distance, but not enough to make it feel cold.

He patted the soft material beside him, tilting his head. "Here, lay down."

Seorin hesitated, standing at the doorway with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But when she finally stepped forward, placing her hand in his, his grip was steady, warm.

She let him guide her down gently, careful that she didn't trip over the folds of her dress. His fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he let go, watching as she slipped under the blanket and shifted to get comfortable.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

She turned onto her side, facing him. "Can you turn on the fan, please?"

His gaze followed hers to the small fan across the room, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he nodded in understanding.

Of course. She always slept with a fan. She liked the white noise, the feeling of cold air against her skin. He had never understood it at first, but after years of falling asleep beside her, he had adjusted. Now, he found himself unable to sleep without it either.

He reached forward, flipping the switch to high. The fan whirred to life, sending a cool breeze rippling through the small room, rustling their blankets.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice almost lost beneath the hum.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—

"You didn't have to hold my hand," she said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

Hae-Jo tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Didn't I?"

She narrowed her eyes. "No."

He let out a low hum, as if considering her words. Then, with a small, easy smirk, he leaned in slightly. "You didn't let go."

Seorin's breath caught in her throat.

Her fingers curled slightly against the blanket, her gaze flickering away. "I wasn't thinking."

Hae-Jo watched her carefully, his smirk still in place, but his eyes...

His eyes told a different story.

For a second—just a second—the cocky facade slipped.

There was something there. Something quiet. Something wistful.

Something longing.

But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by a lazy grin as he reached for the TV remote.

"Relax, Ae-in," he teased, turning on the old television. "I won't steal your virtue."

Seorin scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned over, tugging the blanket up around her shoulders.

Hae-Jo, however, didn't move.

He watched as her breath evened out, as the tension in her body slowly faded. He let his gaze linger on her face for a moment longer, watching the way her lips parted slightly as she drifted into thought.

You should have been my wife, he thought.

But he didn't say it.

Instead, he leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly as he turned his gaze to the ceiling.

One week, he reminded himself. That's all I have left with her.

He closed his eyes.

Make it count.

Hae-Jo turned back, only to find her already watching him.

Their eyes locked in the dim moonlight, the silver glow filtering in through the tiny window above them. The light softened her features, casting delicate shadows across her cheekbones, her lips. His stomach twisted at the sight.

"Seorin."

Her name left his lips as barely more than a whisper.

He crawled under his own blankets, mirroring her position. Face to face. Close, but not quite close enough.

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft, hesitant.

Hae-Jo swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many words that had been bottled up for five months, clawing at his insides.

I'm sorry. I regret everything. I should have never let you go. I want you back. I love you.

But when he opened his mouth, the words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.

"I—"

He faltered. His fingers curled slightly against the sheets.

Seorin waited, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched, thick and heavy between them.

He exhaled, forcing a small smirk. "Are you comfortable?"

Seorin blinked, almost as if she had expected something else. Then, after a brief pause, she nodded.

The moonlight caught on her skin, highlighting the delicate curve of her nose, the faint part of her lips. She looked so much like the girl he used to fall asleep beside every night—so much like the woman he still loved, even now.

His breath hitched.

For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to pretend. Pretend that nothing had changed. Pretend that they were still together, that this wasn't temporary.

Pretend that she was still his.

But reality crashed down on him the moment he turned away, forcing his back to her.

The hum of the fan filled the silence, mixing with the sound of their breathing. The wooden floor beneath him was hard, the blanket too thin to provide real warmth, but he barely noticed. The weight in his chest was far heavier.

Minutes passed. Neither of them moved.

Then, just as his body began to sink into the lull of exhaustion, his quiet voice broke the silence.

"Don't run away."

Her entire body tensed.

The words were so soft, almost lost in the hum of the fan, but they struck something deep inside of her.

Slowly, he turned back toward her, only to find her already staring at him.

Her eyes searched his face, her brows slightly furrowed, as if she were trying to figure out something she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to.

"I won't," she whispered.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his. The touch sent a shiver down his spine.

Hae-Jo swallowed hard.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think about it too much, he closed the space between them.

His body hovered over hers, their faces barely an inch apart.

Seorin's breath caught, her eyes widening slightly, but she didn't move away. She didn't push him back.

"Hae-Jo," she breathed.

His gaze roamed her face, memorizing every detail.

She was still so beautiful. Still so familiar. The softness of her cheeks, the curve of her lips, the flutter of her lashes against his skin—he wanted to etch it all into his memory.

Like he was afraid he'd forget.

"Ae-in," he murmured.

His fingers ghosted over her cheek, barely a touch, but enough to send warmth trickling through his fingertips.

His thumb grazed the corner of her lips, feeling the way her breath trembled beneath his touch.

God, he wanted to kiss her.

But he couldn't. Not now.

Instead, he let his forehead fall against hers, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Can I lay with you?" His voice was barely more than a breath.

Seorin didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

His heart stuttered.

Carefully, he shifted, moving to lay behind her. The moment his arm wrapped around her, she folded into him, fitting against him like she always had, as if the past five months had never happened.

His chin rested against the top of her head, her back pressing into his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, steady and soft, echoing against him in the quiet room.

Her scent filled his lungs, something light and floral, mixed with something uniquely hers.

"I'm still mad at you," she whispered.

Hae-Jo let out a breathy laugh, his lips ghosting over her temple.

"I know."

His fingers traced soft circles against the back of her hand, memorizing the way she felt beneath his touch.

"I know..."

His voice trailed off into the silence, the words barely leaving his lips before sleep pulled him under.

The floor was uncomfortable. The blanket was thin.

But at this moment, he wouldn't ask for anything more.

Because for the first time in months—

He didn't feel alone.

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