inkedwithcharm

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 14 (Final) : “For All the Days After”

The calendar was starting to fill up with small handwriting, circles and color-coded reminders that felt both exciting and overwhelming.

Doctor’s appointment — Monday, 11AM.

Catering meeting — Wednesday, 2PM.

Dress fitting. Florist. Venue walk-through.

And in between them, Jin always made sure there was something simple too: movie night, ramen run, cuddle day, remember to rest.

You were currently sitting cross-legged on the living room floor of Jin’s apartment, your notebook open, hair still slightly damp from your morning shower, flipping through swatches of fabric and half-laughing, half-panicking.

“Why are there so many shades of white?” you groaned. “This one’s called ‘Morning Cloud’ and this one is ‘Whispering Moonlight.’”

Jin, lounging on the couch with his laptop, glanced at you and smirked. “Sounds like two members of a fantasy boy band.”

You laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “Should we just let you wear your favorite hoodie and call it a day?”

“Tempting,” he said, stretching. “But not when I get to see you walking down the aisle. I want the real thing.”

Your heart did a little flip — the way it still did whenever he said things like that so easily now, like he meant every word.

“You’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

He sat up, eyes on you. “Of course I am. I told you, when I do something, I go all in. Especially when it’s with you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, smiling, eyes going back to the swatches. But your mind drifted—like it always did now—toward the quiet hope blooming in the corner of your heart.

Earlier that week, you had another checkup with Dr. Lee.

“Your numbers are responding,” she had said, cautiously optimistic. “It’s not a miracle, but the medication might be starting to work. Keep listening to your body. Keep resting.”

You remembered Jin squeezing your hand tightly in the car afterward, neither of you speaking at first. Then he looked at you and whispered, “I think we’re winning.”

And maybe you were.

Maybe that’s what healing looked like: not sudden or loud or perfect. Just one small good day after another.

That evening, after a lazy afternoon of decisions and indecisions, Jin cooked dinner — his comfort food go-to: soy-marinated grilled pork and steamed egg. He made you sit down with a glass of warm tea while he stirred, plated, and hummed under his breath.

“You’re humming again,” you teased from the table. “That means you’re happy.”

He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “I am.”

You helped clean after, washing side by side, bumping elbows occasionally. The quiet between you was soft and full, the kind of quiet that felt like trust.

Later, while the city lights flickered outside your window and you both curled up on the couch, Jin scrolled through wedding playlists.

“What about this one for the first dance?” he asked, playing a soft acoustic melody. You nodded, laying your head on his shoulder.

“I don’t need anything fancy,” you murmured. “I just want it to feel like us.”

Jin kissed the top of your head. “Then it already will.”

And sometime that night, just before bed, he turned to you in the soft dark.

“Do you still write in your diary?”

You smiled sleepily. “Sometimes.”

“Have you written about me lately?”

You turned toward him, reached for his hand in the dark. “Only every day.”

He squeezed back.

And you fell asleep like that — fingers laced, hearts hopeful, two people building forever quietly in between doctor visits and wedding folders.

The shop was bathed in soft golden light, mirrors lined like windows into another life, the kind of life you used to only dream about.

You stood in front of one now, slowly smoothing your hands over the delicate lace bodice of the wedding gown. The satin pooled around your feet like something out of a fairytale. For a moment, you didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“How does it feel?” your mom asked gently, voice filled with emotion.

You turned slowly, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “It feels… like I’m really going to marry him.”

She stepped forward and took your hand. “You are, sweetheart.”

Your stepdad and stepsister were waiting outside. Jin had offered to come with you, but you wanted this part to be shared with your mom first. And besides, he had his own task—making dinner reservations for both families.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married in three weeks,” your mom whispered as she helped you adjust the veil. “But I also can’t think of anyone more deserving of this love.”

You smiled. “It’s been six months since he proposed, and I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

Later that evening, your small apartment was filled with laughter, scents of home cooking, and that gentle chaos that only comes when two families merge.

Your aunt had returned from overseas and insisted on helping with the preparations. Jin’s parents had arrived first, bringing beautifully wrapped gifts and warm hugs. It didn’t take long before your mom and Jin’s mom were exchanging recipes and laughing like they’d known each other for years.

Dinner was held in Jin’s apartment—he wanted to cook, and you helped where you could. There were no caterers, no formal plans. Just a lovingly laid-out table, soft music playing, and people who meant the world to you.

Jin placed a grilled sea bass dish in front of your mom and smiled. “She taught me how to make this,” he said, nodding at you.

“He’s been practicing for days,” you added with a grin.

“He’s going to make a great husband,” your stepdad said, half-joking, half-serious.

“I plan to,” Jin answered simply, meeting your eyes across the table.

After dinner, conversations drifted into wedding details. Seating charts. Weather predictions. The soft debate over whether Jin should cry at the ceremony.

Your aunt wiped a tear and said, “This isn’t just a wedding. It’s a miracle.”

Jin reached for your hand beneath the table and squeezed it gently. You smiled, even though your chest ached with the emotion of it all.

Later that night, after everyone left and you stood in the quiet of his apartment, Jin wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“You looked like an angel today in that dress,” he murmured, chin resting on your shoulder.

“You weren’t even there.”

“I don’t need to be. I already know.”

You turned to him slowly, heart full. “Three weeks.”

Jin kissed your forehead. “You don’t have to wait any longer. We’ve already been through more than most couples face in a lifetime. I’m ready.”

You closed your eyes. “Me too.”

And in that quiet, the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat, steady and alive, echoing the simple, profound truth in his words.

You were ready.

You both were.

You woke up to the warmth of sunlight trickling through the blinds, stretching lazily beneath the soft sheets of Jin’s apartment. The spot beside you was already empty, the faint smell of coffee and his cologne still lingering.

He’d kissed your forehead before he left, whispering against your sleepy skin, “I have a meeting. Be ready when I text you—I’ll pick you up later.”

You had no idea what he was planning.

By late morning, you found yourself tidying up, making tea, flipping through the guest list again for the wedding. But a quiet flutter stirred in your chest—he was up to something. You could always tell.

It wasn’t until 3:42 p.m. that your phone buzzed.

Seokjin: On my way. Dress comfy, okay?

You weren’t sure where he was taking you, but you followed his directions and got in the passenger seat with your usual light smile.

“Hi,” you said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He glanced at you and smiled. “Hi, sunshine.”

The ride was quiet at first, a comfortable stillness. He held your hand on the gear shift, his thumb rubbing small, absent circles against your skin.

“Are we… going far?” you finally asked, watching as the city melted into quieter streets, greener scenery, open skies.

Jin only smiled and replied, “Not far. Just… forward.”

You raised a brow. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ll see.”

When the car finally slowed and pulled into a paved driveway surrounded by stone fences and hanging lights, your breath caught.

The villa before you wasn’t just stunning—it was storybook-level beautiful. A soft beige exterior, large bay windows, white curtains swaying gently in the breeze. There was a front porch with a swing. To the side, a small but lush garden bloomed—lavender, mint, small rows of potted herbs, and even a little patch of earth that looked untouched.

Your chest tightened with wonder.

“Jin…” you said quietly, stepping out of the car, heart already racing. “What is this place?”

He walked around the car and held your hand, gently tugging you forward toward the front steps.

“It’s ours,” he said. “If you want it.”

You blinked. “Ours?”

“I’ve been looking for months. Something near the city, but peaceful. Somewhere quiet enough for you to breathe but close enough for me to get to work. Somewhere you can still plant things. Somewhere warm. Somewhere safe.”

You looked up at him, stunned, silent.

“This house is for after the wedding,” he continued, voice softer now. “For all the days that come next. I want a place where you can keep being you—where we can keep living, keep healing.”

You stepped into the garden barefoot, your fingers grazing the rosemary stems, your eyes watering from more than just the sunlight.

“You even left a spot for planting,” you whispered.

He smiled, proud. “Of course I did. You said your hands always feel at peace in the soil.”

Tears stung your eyes.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered. “It’s… too much.”

Jin stepped forward and took your face in his hands, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“It’s not too much. It’s what you deserve. It’s just a house, but I want it to be our home. Wherever you are… that’s home for me.”

You let yourself cry then, quietly, as you leaned into him.

“I thought you were just taking me out for ice cream,” you mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. “Yeah, well… I wanted to give you a future instead.”

Later, the two of you sat on the porch swing, barefoot, sharing a single mug of tea you made in the new kitchen.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, watching the sun begin to dip.

“I can already imagine mornings here,” you murmured. “With you, and a tiny garden, and maybe a cat that refuses to listen.”

He laughed. “And maybe one day, if you want, a small voice calling for us down the hallway.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, heart full.

He met your gaze and smiled. “There’s no rush. Just… saying. This is where I want to build everything—with you.”

And you knew, right then and there, even more than before—

You were already home.

The days were moving faster now.

One week left until the wedding, and the air around you felt different—not rushed, not chaotic, but suspended in something tender. Like the universe was holding its breath with you.

You were still staying at Seokjin’s apartment while the final touches were being done on your new home. Every morning started the same: his sleepy voice calling you “sunshine,” your shared mugs clinking, his fingers brushing against yours as you reviewed seating charts, flower samples, or cake options.

But beneath the surface of all the joy and planning, there was something else quietly settling into your chest.

You could feel it the moment you looked in the mirror.

You were healing, yes. Dr. Lee said the new treatment was working. Slowly. Your bloodwork had shown signs of responding. But even with hope blooming in your heart, the memory of uncertainty still sat like a shadow behind your smile.

Some days you woke up and felt lighter than ever. Others, your joints ached, your breath was short, and your muscles tired before noon. But Jin never once looked at you differently. Not even now.

And maybe that’s what scared you most.

Later that night, Jin found you curled up under a blanket, still in your pajamas even as the sky turned gold from the city lights. He didn’t ask questions. Just walked over, leaned down, and kissed your forehead.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Just… thinking.”

“About the wedding?”

You shook your head slowly. “About life. After it.”

He sat beside you, pulling your legs onto his lap, warming your feet with his hands.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said gently. “Not with me.”

That’s when the tears finally slipped past your lashes.

“I’m scared, Jin.”

He didn’t speak. Just let your words come.

“I’m scared because I want all of it. The mornings in the house. The garden. A small cat that hates baths. I want our first anniversary. A boring Sunday. The stupid fights over who forgot to buy milk. I want a future.”

“You can want that,” he said softly.

“But what if…” Your voice trembled. “What if my body says no? What if you wake up one day and I’m not the same?”

Jin leaned closer, his forehead against yours.

“Then I’ll love you differently. Not less.”

You swallowed hard.

He continued, “If you’re sick, I’ll hold your hand. If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you. If you forget everything, I’ll remind you every single day who you are to me. You don’t have to promise me forever. Just promise me today. And when tomorrow comes… we’ll do it again.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. And for a while, he just held you—his warmth stronger than any fear, any what-if, any ache.

The next morning, you woke up before him. The city hadn’t yet stirred. You sat quietly at the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, hand resting near your pillow, hair messy, lips slightly parted.

You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

You reached for your notebook.

And on the last page you wrote:

“You’re my dream come true,”

The sky looked like it knew.

Like the clouds had softened, and the sun had waited—paused in reverence—for the beginning of something sacred.

It was your wedding day.

You sat before the mirror, surrounded by white silk, soft curls framing your face. The makeup artist had just stepped out, leaving you alone for a moment. You stared at your reflection, but all you could see was how fast your heart was beating.

A quiet knock pulled you from your thoughts.

“Come in,” you said gently.

It was your mom.

She stepped in slowly, hands folded in front of her, her eyes instantly welling up the moment they landed on you.

“You look like a dream,” she whispered.

You gave a small laugh, but it trembled. “I’m nervous.”

She came closer, kneeling beside you.

“I know, baby. But look at you…” She held your hands. “You’ve already been through so much. And here you are—brighter than ever. You’ve already survived storms. This,” she smiled, “this is the sunrise.”

Your eyes flooded with tears, and you held onto her tightly.

“I just… I want to be okay. For him. For this.”

“You are. And whatever tomorrow brings, love like that?” She placed a hand on your heart. “It’ll carry you.”

Meanwhile, in a different room, Jungkook was helping Seokjin with his tie.

“You’re shaking, hyung,” Jungkook smirked.

“I’m not,” Jin replied, fumbling with the cufflink.

“You are,” Jungkook laughed. “It’s cute.”

Jin huffed. “I’m about to marry the love of my life. I’m allowed to be terrified.”

Jungkook stilled, watching his friend.

“You really love her.”

Seokjin didn’t hesitate. “She’s it. The one I didn’t believe existed until I met her.”

Jungkook gave him a grin that softened. “Then let’s get you married.”

The ceremony was held in a glass garden overlooking the ocean. A soft breeze carried the scent of jasmine and sea salt. Guests murmured and turned as the music began.

And then…

You stepped out.

Time stilled.

Jin couldn’t breathe.

You were walking toward him, veil glowing in the sunlight, eyes glassy with emotion, and he swore in that moment, everything he had ever lost made sense—because they all led him to you.

You met him at the altar, your fingers brushing his as you took each other’s hands.

Tears clung to your lashes, but your voice was steady.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He smiled, eyes never leaving yours. “Hi.”

The officiant began, but neither of you heard the words clearly. Just each other.

Your vows came, quiet and trembling:

“Before I met you, I thought I had made peace with a quiet life. I thought love was something that belonged to people who were whole, who didn’t live by test results or hopeful prayers.

But then I met you. And you didn’t rush me. You didn’t ask for anything except the truth of who I am—on my good days, and the ones where I didn’t feel like sunshine at all.

You saw me, not as fragile… but as real. And with every note I left, and every word you never said but somehow still meant, I began to believe that maybe I could have this.

Not just love…

But a future.

So today, I give you everything. Not a perfect version of me, but a true one. A heart that still gets scared, but chooses you anyway. A soul that found its match in your quiet strength.

I promise to love you when it’s easy—and when it isn’t. I promise to wake up every day and say thank you for you.

And if tomorrow is uncertain… then I vow to love you harder today.”

Your voice cracked. But you kept your gaze on him. And you smiled through tears.

He took your hands gently.

And then Seokjin spoke.

“I’ve lived most of my life trying to stay in control. I kept my days sharp, my emotions folded, my heart… untouchable.

And then one day, you knocked on my door. Literally.

With a note.

And I remember thinking: who is this girl who smiles at strangers, feeds birds in the park, talks about the sky like it’s her friend?

I didn’t know then… that you’d become the center of my universe.

You softened me. Not because you asked to. But because you are softness. You’re light in all the places I had turned off.

And now, I can’t imagine a world without your voice, your laugh, your stubborn hope.

I promise you this—no matter what life brings, I’ll hold your hand through it.

I’ll make you laugh on the hard days. I’ll carry your silence when you’re tired.

I will love you in the quiet and in the chaos.

Because you’re not just the love of my life.

You’re the reason I believe in second chances, in healing, and in forever.

You’re my miracle. And you always will be.”

You both were crying now.

But it was the beautiful kind—the kind that came from being seen, chosen, and deeply loved.

When the officiant spoke those long-awaited words—

“You may now kiss the bride.”

—he didn’t hesitate.

He kissed you like a man who had spent his whole life waiting for this exact moment.

The sun dipped low, casting everything in a golden glow.

The ceremony was over, but the love still lingered like a warm breeze. Guests were now gathering at the garden reception—white lights strung through trees, a gentle melody playing, tables decorated with sunflowers and soft linen. Everything looked like a dream. No—it felt like one.

You stepped into the reception, hand in hand with Seokjin—your husband now. And the applause erupted.

Cheers. Laughter. Tears.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

Jungkook, in a crisp suit but still somehow chaotic in energy, tapped his glass dramatically.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as the very handsome best man and semi-emotionally competent brother from another mother, I have something to say.”

Everyone laughed.

He looked at Seokjin. Then at you.

“But seriously, hyung, I’ve never seen you like this. You used to be all ‘business, deadlines, no time for lunch’—and now look at you. Soft.”

The crowd laughed again, but Jungkook’s smile gentled.

“She changed you. But not in a way that made you someone else. She brought out the best in you. And you—” he turned to you, raising his glass, “—thank you for loving him. You’re his light. And now… both of you are home.”

You held back tears. But Seokjin’s grip on your hand tightened.

Your mom pulled you into a hug that didn’t want to let go.

“You look so beautiful. Just like your real self again.”

She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, her voice soft. “He’s a good man. You’re going to be okay.”

Your stepdad clinked glasses with Seokjin.

“You’re not just gaining a wife,” he teased, “you’re inheriting an entire countryside full of chickens.”

Seokjin laughed—genuinely—and you could tell… he loved them already.

Your stepsister hugged you from behind.

“When I get married, I want it to feel like this.”

When the music shifted, Seokjin offered his hand to you.

“May I have this dance, Mrs. Kim?”

You giggled, taking it.

Under string lights, surrounded by laughter and quiet gasps of happiness, you swayed to the melody. It wasn’t choreographed. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

He leaned in close.

“You okay?” he whispered, always checking.

You nodded, your cheek brushing his. “More than okay. I’m yours.”

The reception had faded into a hum—guests drifting off, fairy lights still glowing like fireflies clinging to twilight.

Your heels were off. Your hair had loosened from its perfect style. The delicate pearls at your ears caught the last glimmers of the moonlight. And Seokjin… he was still holding your hand like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

He opened the door to the private villa, hand on your back, gentle. Protective.

You stepped inside.

Everything had been set up for you. Candles flickered across every surface, their light soft and golden. A bouquet of sunflowers stood in a vase beside the bed—your favorite. His favorite to give.

You turned around to face him.

And he was already looking at you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

“You’re really mine now,” he whispered.

“I always was,” you said, voice barely audible. “From the moment I left that first note on your door.”

He smiled, walking toward you.

“But tonight,” he added, “I get to say something I’ve been waiting to tell you again and again…”

You tilted your head. “What?”

He held your hands, kissed your knuckles slowly.

“That I love you. And not the kind of love that fades when things get hard. But the kind that stays. The kind that fights. The kind that waits.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I thought I wouldn’t get to have this,” you admitted softly, voice trembling. “There were days I was afraid to dream.”

“And now?” he asked, cupping your cheek.

“Now I know dreams can be real.”

You changed out of your gown, slipped into the soft silk robe your mother had given you that morning. Seokjin changed, too—but the moment he saw you, he paused. Not because of what you wore, but because of the look in your eyes.

“I’m not nervous,” you told him. “Just… full.”

“Of what?”

“Love. Peace. Hope. You.”

He walked to you slowly. Touched your shoulders, forehead resting gently against yours.

Then he wrapped you in his arms and whispered, “I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to live without any of those things again.”

You stayed there for a moment. Just breathing.

And then he kissed you.

It was soft and full—like the stars had melted into your skin. Like every note you left at his door had led to this.

You moved together slowly. Carefully. Hands mapping familiar skin now wrapped in forever. His lips whispered promises into your shoulder. Your fingers held him like a prayer. There was laughter. There were tears. There was the kind of silence that only belongs to people who truly, deeply love.

Afterward, you lay in bed with your head on his chest, drawing lazy circles on his skin with your fingers. His arm was around you, heart beating steadily beneath your cheek.

“You’re not just the girl who left notes,” he said sleepily. “You’re my miracle.”

“And you’re the man who read them all.”

Outside, the night stretched on.

But inside, the two of you had already found morning.

A new beginning.

A forever you never thought would come—but did.

And in the quiet of that last page, you whispered a promise to yourself:

If tomorrow comes, I’ll still choose this.

If tomorrow doesn’t, then let today be enough.

And as your eyes finally closed, wrapped in Seokjin’s warmth, you knew—

You were loved.

Completely.

Endlessly.

And always.

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 13: “The Night Slowed for Us”

The kitchen buzzed with warm light and laughter as the smell of grilled meat, garlic, and seaweed soup filled the air. Your mom’s birthday dinner had always been simple but filled with soul — just like the home she built.

You stood barefoot at the sink, humming softly as you washed the last of the vegetables. Your cheeks still burned from the way Seokjin looked at you earlier while you folded sunflowers into the garden soil.

He was… soft. Almost different. Yet exactly the same.

“I’ll finish up here,” he said, placing a light hand on your lower back. “You go freshen up.”

You smiled up at him, nodding. “I won’t be long.”

As you disappeared into the hallway and the water started running in the bathroom, Seokjin stood in the kitchen for a beat — as if collecting courage. Then he turned slowly to your mom, who was stirring stew at the stove.

“Ma’am?” he said gently, polite but steady.

She looked over her shoulder with a kind smile. “Hmm?”

“Would it be alright if I spoke with you and your husband for a moment?” he asked. “Just… something private. Before dinner.”

Her eyes flicked to his. And in one glance, she seemed to understand.

In the soft wooden living room, the three of them sat — your mom, your stepdad, and Seokjin. The light from the hanging lamp was golden and quiet.

“I’m sorry for the suddenness,” he began, bowing slightly. “But… this has been on my heart for a while now.”

Your mom placed a hand gently on your stepdad’s arm, saying nothing yet.

“I met your daughter at a time when I didn’t believe in much anymore,” Seokjin continued, voice low, almost reverent. “I thought I had life figured out. Then she came along — with her notes, and her silly stories, and her way of making everything light again.”

He smiled softly, gaze distant as if watching a memory play behind his eyes.

“She reminded me what it meant to hope,” he said. “To want something simple and good. To laugh again. To feel again. And I’ve never wanted anything more than… to keep doing that. With her. For the rest of my life.”

Your mom’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I know her health is uncertain,” he added gently, looking between them. But I want to be there for every second of it.”

He looked down briefly, then up again.

“So… I’d like to ask for your blessing. To marry her.”

There was a thick silence — not uncomfortable, but heavy with emotion.

Your stepdad leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “You’re a good man, Seokjin. She always said that.”

Your mom’s voice cracked as she finally said, “She’s not someone easy to forget. But she is someone easy to love. Thank you… for seeing that.”

Seokjin swallowed.

“Then… it’s a yes?” he asked, eyes quietly hopeful.

Your mom smiled. “It’s a yes.”

Later that evening, after cake and stories and gifts, Seokjin pulled you aside by the garden. The stars had begun to appear like tiny confetti in the sky.

“I was thinking…” he began, hands in his pockets.

“Hm?” you tilted your head.

“Let’s go on a mini picnic tomorrow,” he said. “Just you and me. Nothing fancy. Maybe somewhere with a lake.”

Your eyes lit up.

You didn’t know he’d already started planning the next one on the list.

And you had no idea… he was planning much more than that.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of birdsong outside the window and the soft hum of your mom’s voice floating in from the kitchen. When you sat up, the first thing you saw was a neatly packed picnic basket by the doorway — gingham cloth folded over the lid, thermos tucked at the side.

You rubbed your eyes and stepped into the kitchen barefoot, still in your sleep shirt. What you found nearly made your heart burst.

Seokjin was there. In your mom’s apron.

“I told him to stop slicing the carrots too thin,” your mom whispered to you, grinning, “but he says this is Michelin-level precision.”

You laughed softly as you leaned against the doorframe. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Well,” your mom said as she handed him another dish towel, “I’ve never seen my daughter this happy. So I’d say it’s a fair trade.”

Jin looked up just then, catching your eye across the room.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile that was all sleepy warmth.

You took a slow breath and smiled back. “Good morning.”

The morning drive was quiet in the best way — sunlight through the windows, your fingers brushing over his on the gear shift from time to time, and the breeze lifting your hair as you pointed out old buildings you remembered.

“Take a left,” you said suddenly, as the town center came into view.

“Where are we going?” he asked, eyes flicking over.

“You’ll see.”

You led him to a small, narrow building with faded pastel paint and a crooked sign that said “Maeum Children’s Library.”

Inside, it still smelled like dust, crayons, and paperback dreams.

“I used to work here part-time,” you told him, brushing your fingers along the shelves. “Before everything.”

A group of kids were sitting on the rug at the back, and when they saw you, two of them bolted up.

“Unnie!” they squealed, running over.

You knelt down, hugging them tight. “Oh, you’ve gotten so big!”

They asked who the tall man behind you was.

“This is Seokjin,” you said, standing beside him proudly. “He’s… someone very special.”

Seokjin offered a small wave, not expecting how quickly they warmed up to him.

“Do you like puppies?” one of the kids asked.

He nodded. “Very much.”

“Do you like her?” the other asked bluntly.

He blinked. You held your breath.

“Very much,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving yours.

After waving goodbye and promising to visit again, you pulled him by the wrist toward another street corner.

There was an old man selling sunflowers in recycled glass bottles, same as always.

“He still remembers me,” you said, walking up with a grin.

The man looked up. “Ah, the girl with the sunshine eyes!”

You beamed, and Seokjin smiled at how fitting that was.

“You used to come here every week,” the vendor said, handing you a single stem for free. “Still giving these to strangers when they look sad?”

“Only the special ones now,” you joked, glancing at Seokjin.

The man chuckled and nodded at him. “Then you must be the reason she’s blooming brighter lately.”

Jin didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. Just held the flower gently, and held your gaze even more carefully.

Finally, you drove to the meadow your stepmom suggested — a quiet field by a stream, surrounded by wildflowers and cicada hums.

You laid the blanket down, kicked off your shoes, and plopped beside him on the grass with a sigh of contentment.

“This is… perfect,” you said, biting into a sandwich your mom made.

He leaned on one arm, watching you eat with a small grin.

“You have something on your lip,” he said.

You wiped it.

“No, still there,” he teased.

You nudged him. “I’m not falling for that.”

The meal passed with laughter, more stories about your family, and a shared thermos of cold barley tea.

At one point, you laid back and stared at the clouds.

“If I were a cloud, I’d want to float just above this field,” you murmured.

“If I were a cloud, I’d follow yours,” he said, almost without thinking.

You turned to him. He blinked, realizing what he said.

You laughed, then looked at the wildflowers around you.

“I’ve never felt more at peace,” you admitted.

He smiled, brushing a blade of grass from your hair. “You deserve every second of this.”

Later that afternoon, as you drifted off in the sun for a brief nap, Seokjin watched you, completely still. The sunflower you brought from the vendor lay across your chest like a symbol — of the girl who brought him back to life in small, quiet ways.

He reached for the notebook in his bag while you slept.

#9: Mini Picnic Together.✔️

One more to go.

And soon… maybe one more wish of his own.

The morning sun painted golden lines across the wooden floorboards of your childhood home. Outside, birds sang the same songs they did when you were little. You could hear your stepdad tending to the chickens and your mom humming while watering the sunflowers you and Seokjin planted.

Today was your last day here — at least for now. You were heading back to Seoul in the afternoon. Your treatment schedule with Dr. Lee resumed tomorrow, and for the first time in months, it didn’t feel like something to fear.

You were improving.

But still — a part of you didn’t want to leave.

You sat on the porch, a warm blanket over your lap and a cup of barley tea in your hands. Seokjin stepped outside moments later, two sandwiches wrapped in parchment tucked under his arm.

“Breakfast delivery,” he said with a grin, handing you one.

You took it with a soft laugh. “You’re getting really good at these.”

“Well, your mom supervised me last night. Technically, it’s a team effort.”

You nibbled the edge and smiled to yourself. “I love sharing every mornings with you.”

Seokjin sat beside you, legs stretched out in front of him. “And?”

You looked at him, eyes warm. “Feels like something I want to do more of.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just gently leaned his head against yours.

Later, you took one last quiet walk through the fields behind your house. The same path you used to walk barefoot as a child. This time, Seokjin held your hand, and the silence between you was full — not empty.

The sunflowers you planted a few days ago already stood straighter, reaching for the sun.

“You think they’ll bloom properly?” you asked, watching them gently sway.

“They will,” he said, his voice confident. “They have everything they need.”

You turned to look at him. He was already looking at you.

The ride back to Seoul was peaceful.

The warm light flickering across your face, your thoughts scattered like petals in the wind. Seokjin occasionally glanced at you from the driver’s seat.

You dozed off briefly, and when you opened your eyes, the city skyline was coming into view.

You sighed quietly. “Back to reality.”

Seokjin reached for your hand. “Reality isn’t so bad with you in it.”

You didn’t say anything. You just squeezed his hand.

At the clinic, Dr. Lee greeted you with a smile — one that was a little brighter than usual.

“Your progress is steady,” she said, scanning the charts. “The treatment is responding better than expected. We’re not out of the woods yet… but we’re walking in the right direction.”

You exhaled, your shoulders finally loosening.

Seokjin stood nearby, watching you closely. He didn’t speak, but when your eyes met, you knew he was relieved too.

Outside, while waiting for your next schedule, you sat beside him under the awning.

“I’m scared sometimes,” you admitted. “Of hoping too much.”

He looked at you, eyes steady. “Then I’ll hope enough for the both of us.”

You smiled.

“By the way…” he added, voice soft. “There’s something I want to show you tonight. Just us. It’s a surprise.”

You tilted your head. “What kind of surprise?”

He leaned in with a teasing smirk. “The kind that requires your favorite dress.”

Your heart fluttered, but you played it cool.

“We’ll see,” you said, nudging him with your elbow.

You thought tonight was just another quiet dinner. Seokjin had told you he had meetings until late, but to be ready around 6:30. “Just wear something simple,” he said.

But nothing about the way he looked at you when he picked you up felt simple.

He drove a little out of Seoul, taking turns you didn’t recognize, stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The road curved through quiet trees until the city disappeared, and in its place—soft lanterns hanging from old wooden posts, a narrow dock stretching into a still lake, and warm golden light dancing in the water.

You stood by the passenger side, stunned.

“Jin… what is this?”

He didn’t answer at first. He walked toward the edge of the dock and held his hand out to you.

When you reached him, he exhaled, eyes tender. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You looked up, heart already tightening.

“I found your notebook,” he said quietly. “The one you left at your family’s house. I opened it by accident. Just one page.”

Your breath caught.

“That list,” he added, voice soft, “Ten things you wanted to do with someone you loved.”

You laughed shyly, your heart pounding.

“I kept it,” he said. “It reminded me of you. And I just… I started trying.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper—your list, lovingly copied in his handwriting.

“One,” he said, reading. “Kiss in the rain—the kind where we laugh halfway through it.” He chuckled. “Rooftop. When I pulled you into the rain then you smiled mid-kiss like it was the funniest thing.”

You covered your mouth, tears already building.

“Two and three,” he continued, “Feed the birds and watch the sunrise.”

“That morning,” you whispered

He nodded.

“Four,” he said, his smile turning soft, “Wear matching pajamas, cuddle, and watch a movie.”

You giggled, remembering the couple strawberry prints.

“Five. Dance under the moonlight.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Rooftop,” he reminded. “Fairy lights and a tiny speaker.”

You wiped a tear.

“Six. Go through something hard… together.”

His voice dipped.

“I didn’t mean to check this one so soon. But we did it. We are doing it.”

You couldn’t speak.

He folded the paper and held it gently in his hands.

“The rest,” he said, “Gallery date. Picnic. Plant something together. Watch fireworks…”

You looked up at him, lip trembling. “Tonight?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the sky bloomed into gold. Fireworks burst in silence at first, then scattered into light across the water. The reflection danced around you.

You turned, stunned. The dock, the lake, the lights — it had all been part of this moment.

And when you turned back to Jin, he wasn’t holding the list anymore.

He was holding a ring.

“I didn’t want to just check off wishes,” he said, stepping close. “I wanted to become someone who could give you more reasons to keep writing new ones.”

You were already crying.

“I love you,” he whispered. “With every part of me. I don’t know what the future holds, but I want it to be with you.”

He didn’t kneel.

He just looked at you like he already had everything.

“So… will you marry me?”

You said yes with tears on your cheeks and his hands wrapped around yours.

And above you, the sky kept blooming.

Because maybe real love doesn’t rush.

It lingers, it builds, and when it’s ready—it stays.

The drive home was soft and silent.

You rested your head on Seokjin’s shoulder as he drove, your hand in his. Neither of you spoke much—not because there was nothing to say, but because everything that needed to be said had already passed between your hands, your breath, your eyes.

You were engaged.

You kept touching your ring like you couldn’t believe it was real.

Inside his apartment—your home now—you kicked off your shoes, laughed softly, then stood by the window, staring out at the city lights. Seokjin came behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin brushing your shoulder.

“I was scared,” you said quietly. “To hope for things like this.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Me too.”

You leaned your head back against him. “How did we end up here?”

He chuckled, kissing your hair. “I think it started with a note.”

You turned, looking up at him, and he touched your cheek.

“Come here,” he said.

You followed him to the couch, where he pulled out your notebook. You gasped.

“Jin—how do you—?”

“I told you,” he smiled. “I kept it. It’s yours, but it felt like mine too, in a way. Every line… every wish… I read it and thought, This is who she is. And if I can give her even one moment like that, I will.”

He handed you the pen.

“I think it’s time you check this one too,” he said, eyes shimmering. “Because we already have the most important part.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you held the pen and slowly drew a small heart next to the final line.

Then, right underneath it, you added:

“Everything else�� we’ll figure out together.”

Jin smiled.

“You’re my someday,” you whispered.

He pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, the kind of kiss that promises everything.

And that night, you slept tangled with him under the covers, your notebook by the bed.

Ten wishes.

All fulfilled.

But your story?

Just beginning.

Chapter 14

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 12: “The Quiet Art of Loving You”

You opened your eyes to soft morning light spilling into the bedroom and the distant, familiar smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. For the first time in weeks, there was no heaviness in your chest. No pain behind your eyes. Just a quiet, gentle kind of energy in your bones — like your body was finally learning to breathe again.

You stretched under the covers, smiling.

“I feel… good today,” you said out loud, just as footsteps padded into the room.

Seokjin peeked in with two mugs in hand and a sleepy grin on his face. “You always say that, even when you look like a ghost.”

“Not today,” you beamed, sitting up straighter. “I really mean it.”

He paused, watching you a little longer, then placed the mug down and leaned to kiss the top of your head. “Good. Because we’ve got Dr. Lee this morning, and I want her to back me up when I say you look alive again.”

You nudged him playfully. “I always look alive.”

“You look luminous today,” he replied with a wink. “Like a painting.”

The hospital smelled like hand sanitizer and hushed hope. You walked beside Jin, your fingers naturally laced with his, grounding you in the quiet anxiety that still hummed at the edge of your relief.

Dr. Lee welcomed you with her usual calm presence. This time, though, her smile reached all the way to her eyes.

She took her time. Checked everything. Flipped through your chart. Then turned to you.

“You’re responding,” she said simply, yet with so much weight behind it. “The medication is doing what we hoped. I want to be cautious, but… this is progress. Real progress.”

You pressed your lips together, tears threatening.

Seokjin leaned over, his hand gently covering yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice catching.

Dr. Lee nodded. “Keep doing what you’re doing — especially whatever’s making you smile like that.”

Jin snorted softly, and you turned your hand over under his, fingers squeezing back.

Later, after a quiet lunch and an extra-long drive just to soak in the good news, Jin surprised you by pulling into a small parking space in front of a white stone building with glass windows and ivy climbing up the sides.

You looked at him. “Where are we?”

He smiled, a little sheepish. “You said you like paintings. I found a local gallery. Not crowded. Soft light. Perfect for people who feel luminous.”

Inside, the gallery smelled of old wood and soft varnish. It was quiet — just the distant shuffle of footsteps on the floorboards and the hum of air conditioning. The walls were filled with color, soft and bold, wild and tender, like different emotions frozen in time.

You walked slowly, shoulder brushing his, stopping in front of every painting that made you feel something.

“This one’s you,” he said at one point, nodding to a watercolor of a girl with sunflowers in her hands and a bandage on her wrist.

You looked up at him.

“She’s holding on,” he added. “Even when she’s hurt. Still looks at the flowers.”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and slipped your hand into his.

Near the last hallway, the two of you found a sunlit corner with a large mirrored wall and a soft-focus photo display of couples through the years — smiling, holding hands, stealing kisses behind canvas frames.

Jin looked at you.

“Wanna take one?”

You grinned. “You’d let your face be immortalized in a place like this?”

“I mean,” he said casually, “I’ve been told I look like art.”

You laughed, tugging him into the little photo booth.

The camera clicked three times.

First, you both smiled. Second, you leaned your head on his shoulder. Third, he kissed your temple just as the shutter went off.

The strip of photos slid out with a soft beep.

You looked at them like they were the most precious thing you’d ever held.

He thought of 7th on the list. Go on a gallery date and take a cute photo.

He smiled to himself, then folded the photo carefully into his wallet.

The ride back from the gallery was quiet but warm. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting golden streaks over Seokjin’s sharp profile as he drove. You leaned your head against the window, the soft hum of the car and your heart still fluttering from the day.

The art, the photos, the way he held your hand like it was always meant to be there—it all still lingered in your chest.

As he pulled up in front of his apartment, Seokjin turned to you. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. There’s a meeting I can’t miss. I would cancel if I could.”

You shook your head with a smile. “You don’t have to explain. Go save the corporate world.”

He chuckled under his breath, eyes briefly crinkling. “I’ll be home by eight. Text me if you need anything.”

“I was thinking I’d cook,” you said softly, brushing a hand through your hair. “Something simple.”

He hesitated, as if wanting to say something more. Then nodded. “I’d like that.”

One last look. Then he drove off, the hum of the engine fading as you turned and let yourself into the apartment—his space that had slowly become a shared one.

You dropped your bag, changed into something comfortable, and tied your hair up. The kitchen filled with the sound of water running, soft music, and the rhythm of chopping vegetables. There was something healing in it—the quiet, the intention. Cooking for someone felt like love in motion.

It felt like home.

Meanwhile, across the city, Seokjin stepped into his office with a sigh, loosening his collar as he reached his desk. He had barely settled in when his secretary poked her head through the door, looking uncomfortable.

“Sir… Miss Mirae is here.”

For a moment, Seokjin didn’t respond. He stared at the stack of papers in front of him, jaw tightening. “Tell her—”

Before he could finish, the door opened and Mirae stepped inside like she still owned the air between them.

“Jin,” she greeted, voice soft but confident. “Can we talk?”

His eyes didn’t soften.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said flatly.

“I just wanted to see you,” she replied, closing the door behind her. “I heard you’ve been… different lately.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “If you’re here to ask questions, I don’t owe you answers.”

“I didn’t come to fight,” she said, carefully. “I just… I miss what we had.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “You miss the idea of us. Not the truth.”

She looked at him, something breaking in her expression. “We were together for five years. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He was silent for a moment.

“It does,” he finally said. “It meant something. But it ended for a reason. We became people who couldn’t be what each other needed.”

“And now?” she asked. “You’ve replaced me with someone who barely knows this world?”

He stood. “Don’t talk about her.”

Something in his tone made her flinch.

“I’m happy now,” he continued. “Really happy. And she has nothing to do with the things you and I never worked through.”

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“This is closure, isn’t it?” she asked.

“It should have been a long time ago,” he said. “But yeah. It is.”

He walked to the door and opened it.

She lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for him to change his mind.

But he didn’t.

“Goodbye, Mirae.”

And with that, she stepped out of his life for good.

The key turned in the lock right at eight, just like he said.

You glanced up from the table, your heart doing that little somersault it had learned to do whenever it was him at the door.

Seokjin stepped inside, loosening his tie, looking tired — but when he saw the table and the glow of the candlelight, something shifted in his expression. A flicker of peace.

“It smells good,” he said, voice lower than usual, almost like it was meant for a smaller, softer world than the one he came from.

“I made something simple,” you said. “It’s nothing fancy—”

He walked to the table and set down his keys. “It’s perfect.”

He didn’t sit right away. He just stood there for a moment, looking around the room like he hadn’t seen it in a while. Like he was realizing something.

Then he moved to you.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to.”

He looked at you for a second too long, eyes unreadable.

“I needed this,” he murmured. “You have no idea.”

Dinner passed with quiet conversation. You talked about the gallery — how you loved the brushstrokes on one piece that reminded you of home, the countryside, the way light touches rice fields in the morning.

Jin listened like your words were something he didn’t know he needed until now. Like everything about you — simple, warm, kind — was a language he’d never learned but always longed to speak.

And when you asked about his day, he hesitated.

“There was… something,” he said, eyes lowering to his glass. “Mirae came to my office today.”

Your heart stopped, but you tried not to show it.

“She said she missed what we had,” he added. “But I told her it was over. That it’s been over for a long time.”

You looked down at your plate, unsure how to respond.

“I’m telling you this,” he said gently, “because I don’t want there to be secrets. Not between us.”

You nodded slowly, a small smile forming. “Thank you for telling me.”

“She’s not part of my life anymore,” he said. “You are.”

Your breath hitched at the quiet honesty in his voice.

After dinner, you brewed tea while he washed the dishes humming softly while drying spoons.

You sat together on the couch, sipping from mismatched mugs, shoulders almost touching.

The room felt full of things unsaid.

“Hey,” you said suddenly, voice soft. “Thank you for coming back.”

He turned to you, confused. “From work?”

“No. Just… coming back.”

Something passed between you then — something that didn’t need to be named. His hand brushed yours. You didn’t pull away.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said quietly.

You smiled. “Me too.”

You stirred slowly in the early light, your body wrapped in warm sheets and the scent of Seokjin lingering beside you. He was already awake, propped on his elbow, watching you — not in a way that startled you, but in a way that made your heart flutter.

His eyes were soft. Unmoving. Almost reverent.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice raspy from sleep.

He smiled — that quiet kind of smile that barely lifted his lips but reached his eyes.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he whispered. “You looked peaceful.”

You reached for his hand. Your fingers fit so easily in his now, like they’d always been meant to. You had been staying at his apartment for weeks, since the new medication had slowly started making you feel stronger. This place had become your home in every way that mattered.

There was a silence between you, not awkward but heavy with something unspoken.

You took a breath, heart fluttering. “Jin?”

He hummed.

“I think I’m ready.”

His brows knit slightly. “Ready for what?”

You met his gaze. “To be with you. Completely.”

His lips parted, but he didn’t speak right away.

You sat up slightly, still holding his hand.

“I know I’ve held back,” you said, voice low. But I’ve wanted to… I just wasn’t ready before. But now? I feel stronger. Better. And I want it to be you.”

He sat up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said gently. “I’ve never minded waiting.”

“But I want this,” you whispered. “I want you. Right here, right now.”

The tension shifted. Softened. Thickened.

And then — slowly, like a promise — he leaned in and kissed you.

It was different this time.

No hesitation. No teasing.

Only reverence.

Only warmth.

His hands moved over your skin with quiet certainty, pulling you closer as the covers fell away. Your body molded into his like it belonged there. He touched you with patience, with awe, as if memorizing every inch. When he looked at you, it wasn’t hunger that lit his eyes — it was something deeper. Something worshipful.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your neck. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You breathed out his name as your hands explored his back, his shoulders, his chest — a map you were learning with joy.

Everything was slow, aching, gentle.

The morning sun kissed your bare skin. His warmth was all around you.

When your bodies finally met, it felt like the world went quiet — as if even time stilled to let you have this moment. You clung to him, whispered promises you couldn’t even name, and let yourself be seen.

Truly seen.

And when it was over, you didn’t move right away. You stayed in his arms, his fingers stroking your back, his lips resting near your temple.

No words were needed.

Everything had already been said.

Later, you both got up slowly, dressing quietly in the golden hush of morning. Jin brewed coffee while you began preparing a small bag for the drive back to your family’s house — today was your mother’s birthday.

He watched you from the kitchen, eyes lingering on you the way a painter might study light on canvas.

“How do you do that?” he asked suddenly.

You turned. “Do what?”

“Look like the sun even after stealing the air out of my lungs this morning.”

You flushed, tossing a sock at him with a laugh. “Kim Seokjin, that was corny.”

He winked. “But true.”

The day ahead was a gentle kind of promise — a drive to the countryside, your hand in his, the comfort of being in love and being home.

The countryside air was different the second you stepped out of the car — cleaner, lighter, full of something that made your chest ache in the best way.

Home.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It smelled like sun-warmed earth, fresh herbs drying in the window, and memories that never quite left your skin.

Before you could call out, the door flew open.

“Seokjin!” your mom gasped, eyes lighting up. “You’re back with her!”

You laughed, startled — but touched — by how naturally she greeted him.

Your stepdad appeared right after, wiping his hands on a towel. “Look who finally came home,” he said with a grin. “How was the drive?”

Your younger stepsister ran out barefoot from the side of the house, hair in a messy braid. “Unnie! Oppa!” she called, waving at both of you.

They already love him.

Because Seokjin had already been part of your world — when you brought him home last time, he’d helped your dad feed the chickens, chatted with your mom over dinner, even fixed your sister’s bike chain without hesitation. He’d stayed in the guest room. Now, he felt like someone returning… not visiting.

“Thank you for letting me come again,” Seokjin said with a soft smile.

Your mom patted his arm. “You know you don’t need to ask. You’re always welcome here.”

That afternoon passed in a haze of comfort.

You helped your mom shell beans by the window. Seokjin chatted with your stepdad by the chicken coop, sleeves rolled up, laughing at something you couldn’t hear. Your stepsister kept stealing glances at him, nudging you playfully.

“You’re lucky,” she whispered, smiling. “He’s so nice to look at.”

You rolled your eyes with a blush.

Later, while your mom stepped away to check the stew and your sister disappeared inside to play music, Seokjin quietly handed you a paper bag.

“What’s this?” you asked.

He shrugged, almost too casually. “Something I thought we could do together.”

You peeked inside.

Sunflower seeds.

It took you a second to remember. Then your eyes widened.

Number 8 on your list.

Plant something together.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you looked up at him.

You were quiet, heart tight.

“Today felt like a good day to plant something together,” he said, smiling gently.

The earth behind the house was soft from last night’s rain. You knelt beside him near the wooden fence, pressing seeds into the dirt. Your hands worked slowly, carefully, and he helped dig little holes just deep enough for hope.

“Do you think they’ll grow?” you asked softly.

“I think anything will grow if you’re the one taking care of it,” he answered, without thinking.

You didn’t reply. But your heart did.

Later that night, while you changed into your pajamas and your family started setting up for your mom’s birthday dinner, Seokjin sat on the edge of the guest bed and pulled the notebook from his bag.

There it was.

Number 8: Plant something together.

A soft checkmark.

Only two left.

He traced your handwriting with the pad of his thumb, then looked up at the closed door where you were just behind it — laughing softly with your sister, the sound carrying like a lullaby.

He didn’t know what the future held. But he knew he’d do everything he could to give you the rest of those moments.

And maybe… even more.

Chapter 13

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 11: “Healing, With You Beside Me”

The morning of your scheduled tests arrived quietly, the sky outside still tinged with soft gray. You’d barely slept, your thoughts wrapped around what-ifs and possibilities. Your fingers played nervously with the edge of your hoodie as you sat at the kitchen table in Jin’s apartment.

He moved around the kitchen with calm familiarity, slicing apples and warming leftover soup, trying to coax your appetite back.

“You don’t have to eat everything,” he said gently, setting a bowl in front of you. “Just enough to help you through the blood work.”

You nodded, offering a small smile.

“I still can’t believe she called me herself.”

“She sees you,” Jin said simply. “Not just the illness. You.”

At the hospital, everything felt both familiar and different. You’d spent years in places like this — pale walls, soft footsteps, the distant beeping of machines. But today wasn’t about stabilizing what was breaking. It was about starting something that might finally change everything.

Dr. Lee welcomed you herself.

She met you and Jin just outside the consultation room, her white coat crisp, her smile warm.

“Y/N-ssi, Seokjin-ssi — I’m so glad you both could come,” she greeted.

You bowed politely, trying not to fidget.

“Thank you again for calling,” you said. “It meant a lot.”

“I read every word of your file before I made that call,” she replied, leading you inside. “And I meant every word when I said you deserve this chance.”

Inside the consultation room, she sat across from you and opened her tablet. But before diving into charts or test schedules, she paused and looked you in the eyes.

“I know your story, Y/N,” she said softly. “I’ve followed your labs, flare reports, ER visits. I know how long you’ve been asked to endure — to manage instead of treat. You’ve carried more than most. That’s why this trial matters.”

The words struck something deep. Jin reached for your hand under the table, holding it steady.

“This medication,” she continued, “has shown promise for patients like you — rare subtypes, unpredictable flare-ups. It’s not a cure, but it may offer real relief.”

She explained how L-32, the trial medication, worked — its goal to calm your immune system without weakening it entirely. Twice-weekly visits for a month, then follow-up assessments. Common side effects: fatigue, low-grade fevers, temporary inflammation.

“We’ll be monitoring you closely. If anything feels off, you contact me directly,” Dr. Lee said firmly.

“What happens if her body doesn’t respond to it?” Jin asked, voice careful but serious.

“Then we stop and reassess,” Dr. Lee said. “But we don’t walk away. You won’t be left wondering.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of labs and procedures.

Bloodwork. Vitals. A baseline physical exam. Nurses moved with quiet efficiency around you while Jin stayed at your side, murmuring soft encouragements and offering his hand when they inserted the IV.

“You’re doing great,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

You gave him a tired smile. “You say that like I ran a marathon.”

“You kind of did,” he whispered. “A medical one.”

Later, Dr. Lee returned to go over next steps. You would begin treatment in one week. She handed you a soft blue folder labeled L-32 Clinical Trial Participant Guide, with your name printed at the bottom in quiet, reassuring letters.

You stared at it for a moment.

“This makes it feel real,” you said.

“It is real,” she replied. “And you’re not alone in this.”

By the time you stepped outside into the hospital rooftop garden, the sun was slipping lower in the sky, casting golden light over everything.

You sat on a bench in silence, the guide still in your hands. Jin stood for a moment, then slowly sat beside you, his shoulder pressing into yours.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

He nodded, then tilted his head toward you. “I know.”

“What if it’s just another false hope?”

“Then we take the next one together,” he said.

You looked up at him, searching for doubt.

There wasn’t any.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” he added softly. “Not for this, not for anything.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder.

And when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, you closed your eyes and let yourself believe — not just in the treatment, but in the life you might still have waiting beyond it.

One week from now, the first dose would be administered.

And while you weren’t sure what would happen next, for the first time in a long time — you didn’t feel like you were stepping into the unknown alone.

One quiet week slipped by.

The morning light was gentle, filtered through pale curtains that swayed ever so slightly from the breeze coming through the half-open window. Jin had been up before the alarm, moving softly in the kitchen so you wouldn’t wake too early. But you had.

You always did on mornings like this.

You stood by the doorway, watching him stir porridge on the stove, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up, hair still messy from sleep.

“You didn’t have to cook,” you said quietly.

He turned and smiled — not surprised to see you awake, not annoyed. Just… calm. Steady.

“I needed to do something with my hands,” he admitted. “And you need something in your stomach before the dose.”

You nodded.

The nerves had been there since last night — quiet but persistent, sitting under your ribs like a second heartbeat. Today was the beginning of something new. Or something uncertain. Or both.

At the hospital, the nurse led you into a smaller private room, furnished with a recliner, a monitor, and soft lighting that tried its best to be gentle. Jin sat beside you, a book in his lap that he had no intention of reading.

Dr. Lee entered with a clipboard and a soft smile. “Morning, Y/N-ssi. Ready?”

You exhaled slowly. “As I’ll ever be.”

She went through her usual steps — vitals, a quick checklist of symptoms, and reminders about what to expect. A fever, maybe. Nausea. Fatigue.

“It may take a few doses to feel anything different,” she said, gently pressing the stethoscope to your back. “Don’t rush yourself.”

Jin leaned forward, watching closely, but never interfering. Just listening. Holding space for you.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“She finished about half a bowl of porridge,” Jin replied for you when you hesitated. “And tea.”

Dr. Lee nodded, then held up a small pre-filled syringe. “This is it. L-32.”

You watched her flick it gently with her fingers. A tiny thing — a small, clear vial holding so much of your fear, your hope, your waiting.

“Okay,” she said softly. “One small prick.”

You didn’t look at the needle.

Instead, you looked at Jin — who reached out and held your hand the moment your fingers twitched.

The injection itself was over in seconds.

But the weight of it lasted longer.

Afterward, they monitored your vitals for an hour. Jin helped you recline the chair, brought you your water bottle, and tucked your sweater around your shoulders. You leaned into him with a sigh, your body relaxing just enough to notice the tension leaving your spine.

“I feel okay,” you whispered.

Jin kissed your temple. “Good.”

An hour passed. Then two. No severe reactions. A low-grade fever was expected, and it came — faint warmth on your skin and a heaviness in your limbs. The nurse took your temperature, offered you a cool compress and ginger candy.

Jin stayed with you the whole time.

He helped you sit up when your arms felt too weak. He massaged your hands when they cramped. He didn’t once check his phone.

Later, when Dr. Lee returned to check on you, she smiled.

“First hurdle, cleared,” she said. “You’ve done well, Y/N-ssi.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” you said sleepily.

“You showed up,” Dr. Lee said. “That’s everything.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers still laced with Jin’s.

By the time you got home, the sun had begun to dip, casting golden warmth across the windows. Jin made you lie down while he brought soup to the couch, set your favorite show on low volume, and placed a cold towel on your forehead.

You were drowsy. Tired in a deep, strange way. But not in pain.

And not alone.

“Tell me if you feel anything new,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your face.

You reached for his hand and kept it there. “I feel safe.”

His eyes softened.

“Then I’m doing something right.”

He sat on the floor beside you, back leaned against the couch, never letting go of your hand. You dozed off at some point, your fingers still curled around his.

That night, long after the city fell quiet, Jin wrote something in the margins of your notebook while you slept.

6. Go through something hard… together.✔️

And beside it, he scribbled a line only you would understand one day:

You were brave. And I was proud to be beside you for all of it.

The ache settled in before the sunlight did.

It wasn’t sharp or dramatic — just a heavy, pulsing fog behind your eyes, a throb in your joints that made even the softness of the blanket feel too much. You were half-awake when it started, drifting in and out of shallow sleep, trying to will your body back to stillness.

Your mouth was dry. Your hands were tingling. Every muscle in your body felt like it had run a marathon in your sleep.

You shifted slowly, turning your head toward the faint light slipping through the curtains.

The apartment was quiet.

And then — faintly — you heard him.

Jin’s voice came from the other room. Low. Calm. Steady. But serious.

“I won’t be in today.”

“No, reschedule it. Move everything to Friday.”

“…I know, but I can’t leave her alone right now. She had her first dose yesterday. She’s burning up.”

You closed your eyes.

The guilt hit fast. And hard.

He had told you he’d stay. But hearing him actually cancel work — his meetings, his deadlines — because of you felt like too much.

You hated this part of yourself: the part that felt like a burden. The part that wondered if loving you meant constantly choosing you instead of something else.

He returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, soft footsteps and the familiar scent of coffee and something herbal. You pretended to be asleep at first — not to deceive, but because you didn’t know what to say.

Jin sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. His fingers were cool, comforting.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, more to himself.

You blinked slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

His hand froze.

You opened your eyes.

Jin looked at you — brows drawn together, jaw tight in a way you didn’t often see.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I heard you,” you said. “On the phone.”

He sighed softly, but not impatiently. Just tired — not of you, but of how much you thought you had to carry alone.

“I told you I’d be here.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But it’s your work, Jin. Your job. You—”

“I know what my job is,” he cut in gently, his fingers now tracing slow circles against the back of your hand. “It’s making sure you’re okay. Right now, that’s all I care about.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he said, leaning closer. His voice was still soft, but his eyes were serious. “If the roles were reversed… if I were the one sick, would you leave me alone for meetings?”

You shook your head, eyes already welling.

“Then don’t ask me to do something you never would.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, tears slipped down the corners of your eyes silently. You hated this part of being sick — the part where your heart was louder than your pain. The part where someone loved you so well it almost hurt.

Jin reached over and wiped them away gently.

“You don’t have to be strong with me all the time.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But sometimes I still want to be.”

“I know you do.” He smiled, just barely. “But right now, let me be strong for you.”

The rest of the morning passed in a soft hush.

Jin made you tea with honey and ginger. He pressed a cold towel to your forehead, propped you up with pillows, and read parts of a book out loud even though you barely processed the words. You dozed off somewhere between chapters and woke to find him still sitting beside you, scrolling through his phone on silent, your hand resting in his lap.

By late afternoon, the fever began to ease. The aches softened into something dull and manageable.

You sat up with a groggy sigh, realizing you hadn’t eaten. Jin appeared with soup already warming on the stove.

You leaned your head against his shoulder while he stirred.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he said lightly. “You didn’t even throw up on me.”

You let out a weak laugh.

“For staying,” you replied. “For still choosing me.”

He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“There was never a version of this where I wouldn’t.”

That night, as he helped you brush your teeth and walked you back to bed, you felt the guilt lessen — not disappear, but loosen its grip.

Because maybe being loved like this wasn’t about being perfect, or strong, or never needing help.

Maybe it was just about being seen — fully — and still being held anyway.

The worst of the fever passed in the early hours of dawn.

When you finally stirred, blinking slowly against the gray light of morning, you were still tired — but no longer drowning in heat and aches. Your limbs were heavy, but your chest didn’t feel like it was caving in anymore.

And for the first time in two days, you could breathe a little easier.

Jin was still beside you, sound asleep on the small couch he’d dragged to the edge of the bed. His head tilted back, arms crossed — one of his socks half falling off. His phone was face down on the floor, ignored. His body curled slightly toward yours, like even in sleep, he needed to stay close.

You watched him for a while, your heart pulling tight in your chest. You didn’t deserve this. Or maybe you did. You weren’t sure anymore.

You just knew that love — real love — wasn’t grand declarations or perfect timing.

It was this.

Staying. Even when it was hard.

Jin stirred around mid-morning when he noticed you trying to sit up.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice low, sleep still tugging at the edges.

“I feel a little better.”

He rubbed his eyes, sat up fully, then smiled. “Good. I told your immune system to behave.”

You laughed, then winced. “Still sore.”

He helped you adjust your pillows, brought warm water and soft rice porridge, and insisted you stay under the blankets while he did the rest. The day passed in quiet rhythms: soup, warm compresses, spoonfuls of honey. A low playlist humming through the apartment. Jin humming along absentmindedly while folding laundry nearby.

The quiet was comfortable. Healing.

In the late afternoon, while Jin stepped out to take a call in the hallway, you reached for your diary.

You flipped to the last page and started to write.

“It’s strange, how someone can come into your life and make the worst days feel less terrifying.

I thought this treatment would make me feel alone — like I was stepping into something no one could understand. But then there was you.

You stayed through the fever. Through my guilt. Through the way I sometimes try to push people away when I’m scared.

You stayed.

I love you.

Not just because of how you take care of me.

But because when I look at you, for once, I don’t feel broken.

I just feel… me.”

You closed the notebook quickly when you heard his footsteps returning.

“Hey,” Jin said, reentering the room. “Dr. Lee texted. She said to keep tracking your temperature, but you’re doing well.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

He smiled and went to check the soup on the stove.

What you didn’t see was the way his eyes caught the notebook you left on the couch as you shifted to the bed again. He didn’t open it intentionally. He just meant to move it out of the way.

But the last page was slightly open. And your handwriting… unmistakable.

He didn’t read the whole thing.

Just a few words.

“You stayed.

And I love you.”

His breath caught.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Then he closed the notebook gently — no smile, no sound, just a soft exhale and the way his hand lingered on the cover a second too long.

That night, he tucked you in without a word about it.

He didn’t say he read the note.

He brushed his lips against your temple, heart aching in the most beautiful way.

And with your hand still in his, he closed his eyes — and whispered “ I wouldn’t go anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

Sunlight.

Real, warm, golden sunlight.

It poured in through the windows like a quiet miracle, touching everything in soft glow. You hadn’t noticed how long the apartment had felt gray — dimmed by fever and silence — until now, when you finally opened your eyes and didn’t feel the familiar fog pressing against your ribs.

Your joints still ached, but not enough to stop you from moving.

You sat up slowly, blinking at the light.

Jin was at the kitchen counter, pouring water into a glass. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, and he was humming — softly, tunelessly — the way he always did when something in him had eased.

He turned the moment he sensed you awake.

“You’re up,” he said, his voice already smiling.

You nodded. “I think… I feel almost human again.”

Jin walked over and crouched by the edge of the bed, holding the glass out to you.

“No fever. You’re not shivering. And you haven’t called me by the wrong name in twenty-four hours.”

You laughed, taking a slow sip. “Wait — did I really?”

He grinned. “You called me Seokie. And once… Yoongles.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh my God.”

“I forgave you,” he teased, brushing his thumb over your wrist. “But only because I’m feeling generous.”

You sat back against the pillows, letting out a long, full breath.

“I missed this,” you said. “Talking. Breathing. Not melting.”

He watched you quietly for a moment, like he was memorizing your smile.

Then he said, “You want to go out for a bit? Just somewhere light. I thought maybe lunch.”

You looked at him, a little surprised. “Out? Like… outside-out?”

“If you feel strong enough,” he added quickly. “Some fresh air. A short walk. Nothing heavy.”

There was something else behind his voice — a flicker of hesitation.

“And,” he added more carefully, “Jungkook wants to meet you.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

Jin rubbed the back of his neck. “I told him about the trial… and about you. He’s been checking in, even if he doesn’t message you directly.”

You smiled slowly. “He’s protective of you.”

“He’s also just nosy,” Jin muttered. “But yeah… he’s someone important to me. I want him to meet you — if you’re ready.”

You thought for a moment.

And then you nodded. “I’d like that.”

You changed into something simple — soft jeans and a white blouse, your skin still warm but manageable. Jin insisted you wear a cap and tucked a small water bottle into your tote bag like he was preparing for a hike, not a ten-minute lunch.

The drive was short. The air smelled like spring and Seoul and something quietly alive.

You arrived at a small restaurant near the Han River, tucked between rows of cozy buildings with sun-faded signs and blooming planters. Jin chose the seat by the window — closest to the breeze — and ordered gimbap, grilled fish, and miso soup before you could even look at the menu.

“Something light,” he explained, eyes twinkling. “Doctor boyfriend instincts.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a doctor.”

“I am in this house,” he said. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Jungkook arrived not long after, mask around his chin, hair damp and unstyled like he’d just rushed from the gym.

When he spotted you both, he broke into a soft grin.

“Whoa,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “You actually exist.”

You laughed nervously. “I get that a lot.”

Jungkook offered his hand. “I’m Jungkook. Friend, adopted younger brother, and occasional chaos in Jin-hyung’s life.”

You shook his hand gently. “Y/N. Frequent hospital visitor and chaos in Jin’s schedule.”

“Perfect match,” he said brightly, before glancing at Jin. “She’s prettier than you said.”

“I never said she wasn’t,” Jin muttered.

You blushed.

Conversation flowed easier than expected. Jungkook had that ability — to disarm, to soften tension with humor that didn’t press too hard. He asked thoughtful questions about your trial, about how you were feeling, but never pried.

“I think you’re really strong,” he said after a pause. “Hyung… doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you. That’s how I knew this was different.”

You glanced at Jin, who looked mildly betrayed.

“Jungkook,” Jin warned, clearly flustered.

You just smiled.

The lunch ended with light laughter and warm soup, the sunlight lingering over the plates as the day stretched on. You parted ways with Jungkook after a brief walk down the river path, where Jin laced his fingers with yours gently — like he wasn’t sure if it was too much, but you held tighter.

“I’m glad we did this,” you said as you both paused by the edge of the water.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

And though the words didn’t rise to your lips just yet, you knew something deeper had shifted again.

You were slowly stepping back into the world.

And Jin was waiting — every step, every small piece of your healing — with his hand already outstretched.

Chapter 12

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 10: “What Love Looks Like”

You woke slowly.

Not to an alarm. Not to the sound of city traffic.

Just warmth.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across the walls. The scent of clean linen lingered faintly in the air. And there — beside you — was Jin.

His arm was draped gently over your waist, his breathing even, chest rising and falling against your back.

You didn’t move at first. You didn’t want to break the moment.

There was something rare in it — not just the comfort of his body close to yours, but the quiet knowing that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Then his thumb brushed lightly across your arm.

You froze. “Wait… are you awake?”

A pause. Then:

“Since you drooled on my shoulder,” he mumbled sleepily.

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “I did not—”

“You did,” he teased, voice raspy from sleep. “But I’ll allow it. Only because you’re cute.”

You rolled onto your back and met his eyes — puffy from sleep, lashes still heavy, lips parted in a lazy grin. He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“I feel better today,” you whispered.

His expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Like… I could go outside without getting dizzy.”

He didn’t say anything right away. But behind his eyes, something shifted.

“Then come with me,” he said suddenly, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head.

You blinked. “Where?”

“Somewhere soft.”

The sun was still rising when he parked the car near a quiet riverside park, just a few blocks away from the city’s louder morning rush. The world was tinted peach and gold, the sky barely shaking off the dark.

Jin opened the trunk and pulled out a small brown bag filled with crumbs and crushed seed.

“…Are we feeding birds?” you asked, half-laughing.

He gave a dramatic nod. “Yes. Like we’re eighty. And in love. And living our best life.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he said, handing you the bag. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

The park was nearly empty — just a few early risers jogging in silence, and some sleepy pigeons waddling near the benches. You and Jin sat beneath a tree, shoulders brushing, paper bag between you.

You tossed a few crumbs, watching the birds rush toward them in a flurry of wings and small feet.

“I used to do this as a kid,” you murmured. “It felt like the birds actually remembered me.”

“They probably did,” Jin replied. “Birds are smarter than they look.”

You turned to him. “So what’s next? Are you going to bring me to a museum and hold my hand like a drama character?”

He laughed, cheeks a little pink from the wind. “Would you say no if I did?”

“…Probably not.”

There was a pause. A moment too long. You both looked away.

Then Jin said, softly, “You know, I used to wonder what love looked like.”

You glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed on the sun rising through the trees.

“I think it’s this,” he continued. “Not big gestures. Just… mornings like this.”

Your heart caught in your throat.

You looked away, blinking at the sky.

“You’re being dangerous again,” you whispered.

“How?”

“Saying things that make me fall harder.”

He turned to you, eyes warm. “Then I’ll keep saying them.”

Later, when you were back in the car — hands warmed by the heater, cheeks still kissed with cold — Jin walked around to his side of the door.

Before sliding in, he pulled out the yellow notebook from the glove box, hidden where you wouldn’t see.

He flipped to the second page:

2 and 3. Watch the sunrise and feed the birds at the park. ✔️

Beside it, he quietly wrote the date in the margin.

Then smiled to himself.

You didn’t need to know he remembered every line.

Because today — like the sunrise — you were finally well enough to smile.

And that was enough for him.

Three wishes down.

Seven to go.

The sky was still soft with early light when you and Jin walked back into his apartment.

You were holding an empty paper bag, fingers slightly sticky from melted ice cream, cheeks flushed pink from the cold morning air and leftover laughter. The ride back had been quiet — no music, just the wind and the sound of your heartbeat as Jin drove one-handed, his other hand occasionally resting on your knee.

As he unlocked the door, you yawned.

“So we really woke up early for birds.”

He grinned. “You smiled. So worth it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the corners of your lips from lifting. As you stepped inside, Jin gently pulled your hoodie off your shoulders and handed you a pair of fuzzy socks.

“Go sit. I’ll make breakfast.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Sit,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen. “Let me take care of you. I still have time before work.”

You sank into the couch, heart too full for words.

Ten minutes later, the scent of sesame oil and garlic filled the air. Jin placed a steaming bowl of abalone porridge in front of you and slid a mug of warm ginger tea beside it.

You looked up. “You remembered I couldn’t eat too heavy in the morning.”

He smiled, wiping his hands on a towel. “Of course I did. You come with a manual. I just decided to memorize it.”

You stared at him. “You’re unreal.”

He leaned down and kissed your temple. “I’ll be back before dinner. Don’t forget to rest, hmm?”

You nodded, trying not to let your emotions show too clearly.

But he caught them anyway.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re doing so well. I see it.”

Your throat tightened.

He pulled away slowly, grabbed his bag, and with one last glance back, left quietly — like he didn’t want the morning to end.

The elevator dinged softly, and Jin stepped into the hallway, hair neatly styled, blazer fitted perfectly, but still holding that same softness in his eyes.

Jungkook spotted him near the coffee machine.

“Hyung,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re… glowing.”

Jin smirked. “It’s the sesame oil.”

Jungkook chuckled, then leaned back against the wall, sipping his coffee. “You cooked this morning?”

“Yeah,” Jin said. “She didn’t eat much yesterday. Just wanted to make sure she had something warm before I left.”

Jungkook remembered exactly when Jin told him.

It was late — maybe two, three weeks ago. The office was dim, the city beyond the windows washed in pale blue light. They’d been eating takeout at Jin’s desk, the kind of casual meal that usually came with Jin’s dramatic rants about soggy rice.

But that night, Jin had been quiet.

Too quiet.

And finally, Jungkook had asked, “Hyung, what’s wrong?”

Jin had just stared down at the paper cup in his hands.

Then, after a long pause, he’d said it — not dramatically, not tearfully, just as steady as he could manage:

“She has a medical condition.”

Jungkook blinked. “Y/N?”

Jin nodded once. “Autoimmune. Rare. Still no exact treatment. Just management, painkillers, and patience.”

There was a long silence.

Jungkook had tried to understand what that meant — what it meant to love someone whose body fought itself. But Jin hadn’t gone into detail. He hadn’t needed to.

“She didn’t want me to know at first,” Jin had added, voice low. “Thought I’d leave.”

Jungkook had looked at him then.

And that was the moment he realized: Jin wasn’t afraid of how hard it would be. He was only afraid she might think she had to face it alone.

Jungkook looked at him for a beat, thoughtful. “Is it hard? Worrying all the time?”

Jin’s face softened. “It’s not hard. It just… matters.”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment, then asked more seriously, “You’re not scared?”

Jin didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands.

“She’s strong,” he said finally. “Stronger than me, honestly.”

His voice was low. Honest.

“She has bad days. Some worse than others. But she still finds something to smile about. She still jokes. She still thanks me — like I’m doing something special by staying. But I’m not staying out of pity. I’m staying because… how could I not?”

Jungkook stared at him, something shifting in his gaze.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he murmured. “Not even close.”

Jin looked out the window, the clouds slowly moving above the skyline.

“She makes everything quieter in my head,” he said. “Even the fear.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, heart full. “You really love her.”

Jin smiled, soft and sure. “I think I’ve loved her in every version of my life. I just didn’t realize it until she looked at me like I was safe.”

And for once, Jungkook didn’t have a comeback.

He just studied his hyung — the one who used to care more about clean spreadsheets than messy feelings.

Now here he was.

Softened. Changed.

Not by force, but by love.

And Jungkook realized: this wasn’t Jin becoming someone else.

This was Jin finally letting someone in.

It was already dark by the time you finished your evening tea and walked into the living room, expecting Jin to still be working.

Instead, the lights were dimmed. The couch had been transformed into a soft fortress of pillows and blankets. The TV screen glowed with a paused movie title — Your Name, one of your favorites. On the coffee table: popcorn, warm milk, and two folded sets of pajamas.

“Wait… what’s all this?” you asked, blinking.

Jin peeked from around the corner wearing a sheepish smile — and a pajama top covered in tiny strawberries.

“Movie night,” he said. “Mandatory attendance.”

You stared. “Are we… matching?”

He held up the second set — identical, but your size. “Yes. Strawberry couple aesthetic. Very exclusive. Only available tonight.”

You laughed. “You planned this?”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes soft. “You’ve been feeling off lately. I thought maybe… something light would help.”

So you changed. And when you came out in your strawberry pajama set, Jin gave you the most ridiculous, dramatic gasp.

“Who gave you the right to be this cute?” he said, clutching his chest.

“You did. You bought these,” you deadpanned, crawling onto the couch.

He followed, settling beside you, careful not to knock over the drinks. You leaned into his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in without a word. His body was warm, heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

The movie began.

Neither of you said much during it. Every so often he’d pass you popcorn. You’d nudge his side when he got too emotionally invested. He’d murmur a dry “I’m not crying, you’re crying” whenever his eyes misted over.

But somewhere between the time loops and body switches, your fingers laced with his under the blanket. And you felt something settle in your chest — not butterflies, not heat.

Just… peace.

As the credits rolled and soft piano filled the room, Jin turned toward you.

“You still awake?” he whispered.

“Mm-hmm.”

He studied your face. “Was this okay?”

You looked up at him — soft lighting casting golden shadows across his face, pajama collar slightly wrinkled, his thumb rubbing gentle circles along your wrist.

“It was perfect,” you said. “You’re perfect.”

He blinked, a little stunned, then chuckled softly. “I’m just a guy in strawberry pajamas.”

You smiled. “Exactly. That’s the dream.”

And as you both drifted off on the couch, tangled beneath blankets and love that didn’t need words, Jin thought back to the notebook hidden in his drawer.

Later that night, when you were fast asleep, he pulled it out quietly and flipped to the next page.

4. Wear matching pajamas, cuddle, and watch a movie together. ✔️

He closed it gently, heart full, smile quiet.

Four wishes done.

And still — it felt like the beginning.

The phone rang too early.

It buzzed once… twice… three times on the nightstand, dragging you out of a half-dream. You groaned softly, blindly reaching for it without opening your eyes, expecting a wrong number or a text from your aunt.

But then you saw the name on the screen.

[DR. LEE]

You sat up so fast the blanket slipped off your shoulders.

Your heart pounded as you hit accept, pressing the phone to your ear with trembling fingers.

“Hello?”

A pause, then a familiar voice.

“Y/N-ssi. I hope I didn’t wake you too early…”

You could barely speak. “No, it’s okay. What is it?”

“We received early clearance this morning. There’s a new immunomodulator in trial — it’s designed specifically for rare autoimmune subtypes. The preliminary data… it’s promising. You’re a candidate for testing.”

You froze.

“What?” you whispered.

“We’d like to start you on a monitored dose within the next few weeks. There are risks — of course — but this is the first time something has shown this much compatibility with your markers.”

You blinked. Hard.

For years, the answer had always been: management, not cure.

You couldn’t breathe. “You’re saying…?”

“I’m saying this might change things.”

Your lip trembled. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — it was full of light.

“I’ll send the papers over today,” Dr. Lee continued gently. “I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“Thank you,” you managed, tears already blurring your vision.

After you hung up, you stared at the ceiling in stunned silence, hand pressed over your racing heart.

Then you turned, saw Jin still fast asleep beside you — soft breaths, cheek pressed against his pillow, one hand curled near his chest.

And without thinking, you reached for him.

“Jin,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Wake up.”

He stirred. “Hmm?”

You crawled closer, kneeling beside him on the bed now, hands gripping the blanket. “Jin—wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, still foggy with sleep. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shook your head, breath catching. “Nothing’s wrong. Something’s… good.”

His brows furrowed. He sat up slowly, scanning your face. “What is it?”

“The doctor called,” you said, voice small. “They found something. A new treatment. They want me to try it.”

He blinked. “Treatment?”

“For my condition,” you whispered. “They think it might actually work.”

The silence that followed was deafening — then Jin let out a shaky breath, his hand flying to the back of his neck.

“Wait—” he breathed. “What?”

You nodded, eyes spilling. “They said I’m a candidate. It’s not a cure, but it’s something. A chance.”

You didn’t even see it coming — one second he was still, stunned, and the next his arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you to his chest. His hand gripped the back of your head. His other pressed against your back like he was trying to hold all of you together.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“So are you,” you choked out, laughing and crying at the same time.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you, forehead pressed to yours, until the tears slowed.

Then finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You think I didn’t already believe you’d get better?” he whispered. “I’ve been holding on, Y/N. You think I’d let go now?”

You stared at him through wet lashes, your fingers fisting the front of his shirt.

“I didn’t want to give myself hope,” you admitted.

“Then I’ll hold the hope for both of us.”

And as the morning light poured through the window, Jin leaned in and kissed your tear-soaked cheek, then your temple, then your lips — not with urgency, but with quiet promise.

Hope had returned.

And it was wearing pajamas.

And holding you like the world just started over.

You sat at the small dining table in one of Jin’s oversized sweatshirts, knees tucked under you, hands wrapped around a bowl of rice porridge he had made with soft tofu and a drizzle of sesame oil — gentle on your body, just the way you needed.

Jin sat across from you, his glasses slipping down his nose as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally glancing up to check if you were eating.

You were halfway through a spoonful when you paused, your eyes flickering toward your phone on the table.

“Should I call her?” you asked.

Jin looked up. “Your mom?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “She deserves to know.”

He smiled gently. “She’ll be over the moon.”

You reached for your phone, fingers trembling a little as you pressed her name. Jin watched you with quiet eyes, pushing the box of cut fruit a little closer to you, just in case.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hi, Mom,” you said softly. “Are you busy?”

“Never for you. Why? What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightened. “Nothing’s wrong. Actually… something good happened.”

You could already hear the shift in her breath. “What kind of good?”

“They found a new treatment,” you said. “A real one. The doctor called this morning. They think it might actually help me.”

There was silence — then the sound of her trying to speak through a rush of tears.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my—Y/N.”

You smiled, tearing up all over again. Jin reached across the table, slipping his hand over yours gently.

“I didn’t want to tell you right away until it was sure,” you said. “But they want to begin testing in a few weeks. I’m scared, but… it feels like hope again.”

“Sweetheart,” she breathed. “Do you want me to come to Seoul? I’ll stay with you through it all.”

You opened your mouth to answer — but Jin beat you to it.

He leaned a little closer to your phone, his voice calm and certain.

“She won’t be alone, omonim. I promise.”

Your mom paused, recognizing his voice.

“I’ll take her to every test,” he continued. “Every result, every meal, every rough day — I’ll be there. I already planned time off from work when it begins.”

You looked at him, eyes wide. He didn’t even blink — just gently squeezed your hand again.

“She’s safe with me,” he added quietly. “Always.”

There was a long silence on the other end, then a quiet laugh — wet with emotion.

“I can tell,” your mom said, voice warm. “You really love her.”

Jin glanced at you, soft and certain. “Very much.”

You wiped at your cheeks with your sleeve, overwhelmed but calm, full in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your mom’s voice softened. “Then I’ll leave her in your care for now, Seokjin-ssi.”

“Thank you,” he replied sincerely.

When the call ended, you sat in silence for a moment, processing everything. The breakfast in front of you had gone a little cold, but the warmth in your chest only grew.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” you murmured, voice tight with emotion.

“I meant every word,” Jin replied.

You looked at him. “You really planned time off?”

He nodded. “I’ll show up for you, Y/N. Always.”

You reached across the table and cupped his cheek.

And as he leaned into your hand and kissed your palm, you knew: whatever came next — the trials, the healing, the fear — you weren’t walking into it alone.

It had been a week since the call that changed everything.

Since the word hope started feeling like it belonged to you again.

Your appetite had slowly returned, your sleep less restless. Jin made sure your days were soft, your meals warm, your smile never too far. The world still had its shadows, but he was a constant sun — steady, patient, and quietly orbiting around everything you were.

And tonight, the moon was full.

A pale glow spilled across the rooftop like silver lace as you stepped outside, the city’s noise hushed beneath the weight of the stars. You were wrapped in one of Jin’s cardigans, sleeves past your fingertips, and your bare feet pressed against the cool tiles.

He was already waiting.

He’d strung soft fairy lights around the railing and placed a tiny speaker on the table, now humming with quiet piano. A warm flask of tea sat beside two mismatched mugs. Everything about it was simple.

But your heart clenched anyway.

“Is this…” you began, already breathless.

“Not too much?” he asked, brushing his hand through his hair.

“It’s perfect.”

You crossed the distance between you, arms wrapping around his middle. His hands instinctively found your back.

“The stars are jealous,” you whispered against his chest.

He laughed, chest vibrating under your cheek. “That line would’ve worked on me if I wasn’t already yours.”

You pulled back and looked up at him. His face was bathed in moonlight — soft, unguarded, almost boyish in the way his eyes lingered on yours like he was afraid to blink and miss the moment.

Then his hand reached for yours.

“Dance with me?”

You blinked. “Here?”

“No better place,” he said.

So you nodded.

And as the music shifted into a slow, timeless instrumental, he pulled you in — one hand on your waist, the other cradling your fingers as you began to sway. No choreography. No rhythm to follow. Just heartbeats and breath and the moon watching quietly above.

Neither of you said much.

You didn’t need to.

The weight of everything you’d been through — the hospital rooms, the medications, the waiting — somehow all faded in the soft hush of the night. It was just you and Jin, two people dancing like the world was still whole.

“I could live in this moment,” you whispered.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours.

“You already are,” he said. “And so am I.”

He kissed you then — soft, slow, like a vow.

Not rushed. Not needy. Just full of truth.

When you finally pulled apart, your hands still twined together, you leaned against him and rested your head on his shoulder.

The city shimmered below. The tea had gone cold. But your heart… your heart was glowing.

Later that night, after you had drifted to sleep in his arms on the couch, Jin reached for the little yellow notebook tucked quietly inside his drawer.

He flipped to the next page and ran his fingers over the familiar handwriting.

5. Dance under the moonlight. ✔️

He smiled to himself, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Five down.

Five to go.

And his heart had never been this full.

Chapter 11

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 9: “For the One My Heart Waited For”

It’s been months since you came back home.

The small farm had welcomed you like an old friend—warm soil underfoot, familiar smells in the wind, and the simple sound of birds greeting each dawn. But your body didn’t welcome the change as kindly. Each morning you woke a little slower. Each evening you tired a little faster.

And yet, every weekend—without fail—Seokjin came.

From the city to the countryside, hours of driving just to be by your side. You never asked him to. But he never needed an invitation.

Sometimes, he worked at the small table by the kitchen window, his laptop open beside a glass of barley tea your mother brewed for him. Other times, he would sit in the grass outside, reading while glancing toward the porch—watching over you in his quiet way.

He didn’t hover. He didn’t panic. He just stayed.

And that was what made it so easy to fall even deeper.

That Saturday morning, you stood by the window, holding your cup of tea with trembling fingers. The mountains in the distance were half-covered in a soft mist, the sky low and white.

Jin was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, humming something under his breath as he stirred a pot of juk.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you said softly.

He turned to look at you. “Doing what?”

“Taking care of me like this.”

He smiled, warm and soft. “Who said I’m doing it for you? I’m just trying to become your mom’s favorite son-in-law candidate.”

You let out a breath of laughter despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He set the ladle down and came over to you, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe. But I’m not leaving.”

Later that week, he drove you back to Seoul for your doctor’s appointment. The hospital walls always made your chest feel tight—too white, too quiet, too cold.

You sat beside him in the waiting area, your fingers interlocked.

You didn’t need to say it. He already knew the results weren’t what you hoped for.

Still no progress.

Still no medication.

Still no answer to when this limbo might end.

The drive back was quiet. He didn’t push. He never did.

But then, as the road stretched endlessly between patches of rice fields and sleepy trees, he reached over and squeezed your hand.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re okay.”

You tried to believe him. You really did.

That evening, you sat beside the fire pit in the backyard. Jin grilled sweet potatoes while your dad watched from the porch, amused at his serious expression.

Later, Jin helped your mom peel garlic. He told your stepsister jokes that made her laugh so hard she nearly choked on her rice.

He made everyone forget—just for a little while—that something heavy was still hanging in the air.

He made you forget.

But when the lights were off and everyone had gone to bed, you lay on your side, curled beneath the quilt your mother had sewn when you were a child. The night was quiet, but your thoughts were not.

You pressed your hand over your ribs.

The ache was deeper tonight.

You weren’t sure how long you had before this illness carved out more of you. Some days you pretended you were getting stronger. Other days, like now, you didn’t have the energy to lie to yourself.

And still… you smiled during the day.

You laughed, leaned against Seokjin’s shoulder when he told corny jokes, teased him when he burned toast.

Because he didn’t need your burden. He didn’t need your pain.

He needed your sunlight.

So you gave it to him. Every last flicker.

But alone, in the dark, you let the cracks show.

You wept into the pillow, quiet and careful.

For the days slipping away.

For the truth you still hadn’t said out loud.

For the man in the room down the hall who had become your safe place—without ever asking for anything in return.

You whispered into the night, “Please, let me stay. Just a little longer.”

You woke up to the sound of clucking.

Not birdsong. Not the gentle countryside breeze.

Clucking. Loud, bossy, feather-flapping clucking.

Still half-asleep, you squinted at the clock and groaned. 6:02 a.m.

You rolled out of bed, threw on your hoodie, mismatched slippers, and trudged outside with a bucket of feed tucked under one arm. The chickens were already waiting, pacing impatiently like they ran the whole village.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered as one squawked at you.

You scattered the feed clumsily, still rubbing sleep from your eyes, when you heard a familiar voice from behind you.

“Is this what I woke up for?”

You turned.

There stood Kim Seokjin.

In pajamas. Hair a fluffy mess. Wrapped in a blanket like a depressed sushi roll. Socks soaked in morning dew.

“You followed me out?” you blinked.

He yawned. “I thought you were getting kidnapped. Turns out you were being bullied by poultry.”

You gave him a flat look. “They’re just hungry.”

“That one made eye contact with me. I’m pretty sure it wants my soul.”

You stifled a laugh as one particularly bold hen strutted up and pecked Jin’s sock.

“HEY!” he shouted, leaping back a full foot. “Control your demons!”

“She’s just saying hi.”

“She’s saying ‘I dare you to step closer.’”

You walked over and handed him the bucket. “Here. Help me.”

Jin looked at it like it was filled with radioactive waste. “This is… bird food?”

“No, it’s for your skincare routine,” you deadpanned.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Then prove it,” you smirked. “Feed the chickens.”

He sighed like he was about to sacrifice his dignity, and gently scattered some feed—only to scream seconds later when three hens charged him like he owed them money.

You doubled over laughing. “You’re worse than my step-sister!”

Jin clutched the bucket to his chest like a shield. “Remind me again why I left my expensive, chicken-free apartment for this?”

You smiled, heart warm despite your freezing toes. “Because deep down… you love it here.”

He eyed the nearest hen warily. “Debatable.”

But then he looked at you, eyes still sleepy, cheeks flushed from the morning chill—and added quietly,

“But I do love someone here.”

You blinked.

Then a chicken pecked his sock again, and he jumped behind you like a bodyguard with a death wish.

“Okay, I’m going back inside,” he muttered. “Let me know when they’ve gone back to hell.”

The sun was beginning to dip low behind the hills, casting golden shadows across the yard as smoke curled up from the small outdoor grill your stepfather had set up. The scent of sizzling meat drifted through the air, mingling with laughter and the sweet aroma of the citron tea your mom brewed earlier.

Jin stood beside your stepdad, laughing at something your stepsister said while carefully flipping the marinated pork belly. He looked completely at ease here. You could hardly believe this was the same CEO you once overheard scolding someone over the phone when you first moved into that luxurious Seoul apartment.

Now here he was—wearing your stepdad’s old apron with a sunflower embroidered on it, sleeves rolled up, face glowing in the amber light, tongs in hand.

You were sitting on the porch steps, hugging your knees to your chest, cheeks warm not just from the fire but from how naturally he fit into your world.

He caught your eye and smiled. Not his polished, professional smile—the soft one. The smile he saved just for you.

“Y/N,” he called, waving a grilled piece of meat toward you, “catch!”

You laughed as he tossed it carefully into a little lettuce wrap, placing it in your open palm. “You’re getting good at this,” you teased.

“I’ve been practicing,” he said proudly. “Your dad’s coaching is brutal.”

“You mean honest,” your dad called over his shoulder.

Everyone laughed.

Dinner was spread across a low wooden table outside—kimchi your mom made, grilled garlic, dipping sauces, and piles of ssam wraps. Jin sat beside you, shoulder brushing yours as you both passed dishes back and forth, joking, smiling, full from food and something warmer.

It felt like a family. Like a moment you’d want to freeze forever.

As the stars began to peek out from the velvet sky and your stepsister brought out slices of chilled watermelon, Jin leaned toward you slightly. His voice was low, private.

“Can I ask you something?”

You turned to him, your chin tilted curiously. “Of course.”

He hesitated, glancing around at your family, then back at you.

“I want you to meet my family,” he said gently. “Would that be okay?”

Your fingers paused mid-reach for a slice of watermelon. You blinked at him, caught between surprise and a flutter in your chest you hadn’t prepared for.

“M-Meet them?” you echoed softly.

He nodded, his tone sincere. “My parents. Maybe just a small dinner. Nothing fancy. I told my mom about you… not much, just that you’re someone very important to me.”

Your heart flipped.

Important to him.

You swallowed hard and looked down at your hands. “I—I don’t know, Jin. I mean, I want to. I do. But what if they don’t like me?”

He reached out, fingers brushing yours where they rested against your knee. “They will,” he said, unwavering. “Because I do.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You looked up to meet his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. But all you found was calm certainty.

“You’re kind,” he continued. “Bright. Thoughtful. My mom will probably cry. My dad will probably ask too many questions. But they’ll love you, Y/N.”

You smiled, small and unsure. “I’m nervous.”

“I know,” he said, squeezing your fingers gently. “But we’ll go together. When you’re ready.”

The way he said we made your heart ache in the best way.

You looked at your family—laughing around the table, your mom pouring more tea, your dad poking fun at your stepsister. Then you looked at Jin, who was slowly becoming part of that picture. Piece by piece.

You nodded. “Okay.”

His face lit up, boyish and beautiful.

“You mean it?” he asked.

You laughed softly. “I do. Just… not too soon.”

He grinned. “Deal. I’ll give you a few days to rehearse all the compliments you’ll say about me.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one receiving compliments?”

“I’ll teach you how to win them over. I’ve been doing it for years.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, and he chuckled, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear without thinking. The gesture was so natural it made your stomach flutter.

And in that quiet moment, beneath the starlit sky, with your family nearby and Seokjin’s warm hand in yours, you realized something:

You weren’t just falling deeper for him.

You were letting him in.

And even though part of you still carried the weight of uncertainty, even though your illness loomed like a quiet echo in the background… tonight, you felt whole.

Even if only for a little while.

The fire had long burned out. Dinner was over, laughter now a memory humming softly through the walls of the house. Your family had all gone to bed, the clinking of dishes and buzzing chatter fading into the hush of a countryside night.

Only you and Seokjin remained outside.

The air had turned cool, but you barely noticed. Wrapped in a shared blanket, your shoulders touched his, your hands occasionally brushing. You were sitting on the porch steps, legs folded under you, gazing at the endless sprawl of stars above.

It was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that said everything.

You leaned slightly into him, cheek brushing his shoulder. “I used to sit out here as a kid,” you murmured. “Telling stories to the sky. Pretending they were listening.”

“They probably were,” Seokjin replied softly. “I bet they remembered everything.”

You smiled faintly. “Then they know all my dreams. All my fears too.”

He turned to you, and you felt his gaze before you met it. “Tell me one,” he said.

“Which one?”

“A dream.”

You thought for a moment. “I used to dream of a simple life. Nothing grand. Just… peace. Someone to eat dinner with. Laugh with. Someone who stays even when things get hard.”

You paused, swallowing the emotion crawling up your throat.

“And now?”

“I guess… I’m living it.” You turned your head to him, smiling gently. “With you.”

His eyes softened. You watched his hand reach for yours, lacing your fingers together slowly. Like he never wanted to let go.

“You scare me sometimes,” you whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how long this will last. I want to be everything for you, but what if one day… I can’t be?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You already are everything to me.”

You tried to laugh but it broke into a tremble. “Jin—”

“I know you’re scared,” he said, voice steady, quiet. “But I’m not. Not of you. Not of your illness. I’m only afraid of not loving you right.”

Your eyes burned. You bit your lip, unable to stop the tears now.

He leaned his forehead against yours. “I want all of it. Whatever you can give.”

You shook your head slowly. “You don’t have to say that just because you feel sorry—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, firm but still gentle. “I don’t pity you. I’m in love with you. And you don’t need to be strong for me every second. Let me be strong for you, too.”

The stars blinked above, the only witnesses to your trembling breath, your soft sniffle, the way your heart cracked open even more—this time not from pain, but from the overwhelming tenderness of being truly seen.

“I’ve never said this before to anyone,” you whispered, voice barely there. “But I love you too. So much.”

A smile broke over his face like sunrise. He kissed your knuckles reverently, then pulled you into a soft embrace, his warmth folding around you like the night sky.

No more words were needed.

Just the sound of crickets, the scent of wood and grass, and two hearts choosing each other even in the unknown.

It was early afternoon when Seokjin parked the car in front of a modest yet elegant home tucked into a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Seoul. The flowers blooming along the garden path looked like something out of a magazine—vibrant, cheerful, inviting. It reminded you of him.

Your hands were clasped in your lap the whole drive. He noticed, of course.

“You’re squeezing your fingers again,” he said gently, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. “Are you nervous?”

You nodded slightly. “A little. A lot.”

“They’re going to love you.” He reached for your hand and gave it a light squeeze. “You’re kind, thoughtful, and you make me laugh. What’s not to love?”

Your smile was faint, uncertain. “Still. I’ve never done this. I don’t want to mess up.”

“Then don’t. Just be you.” He opened the door and walked around to your side, offering his hand as you stepped out. “That’s the person they need to meet.”

The front door opened just as you reached the steps. A woman emerged, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her eyes crinkled with joy.

“There’s my son,” she called warmly, then spotted you. “And this must be the one we’ve been hearing about!”

You bowed politely. “Hello, I’m—”

“You must be freezing!” she interrupted, waving her hands. “Come inside, come inside. Don’t make me scold Jin on the doorstep.”

You exchanged a look with him and followed her into the house, the scent of simmering stew and clean linen surrounding you. His father stood from the couch, offering a handshake and a small smile.

“So this is the girl,” he said quietly. “He wasn’t exaggerating.”

You blinked. “Exaggerating?”

He chuckled. “He said you glow. I see what he meant.”

Your cheeks warmed. Seokjin nudged you playfully with his shoulder. “Told you.”

The afternoon unfolded like a carefully wrapped gift—one you didn’t know you’d been hoping for. His mother ushered you to the kitchen, asking what dishes you liked, what your family was like, and if you were eating well. She reminded you a little of your own mother: warm, curious, quick to fill your plate even if you said you were full.

His father, though quiet at first, began to share old stories about Seokjin growing up—how he once ran away from piano lessons only to hide behind the shed with a whole bag of snacks. You laughed until your sides hurt. Jin looked mortified.

But it was more than just laughter—it was ease.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about your next doctor’s appointment, or how tired your body had been feeling lately. You were just there, surrounded by soft voices and quiet glances, in a space that felt oddly like home.

As the sun began to sink, Seokjin’s mother brought out hot tea and a small plate of sweet rice cakes.

“You’re always welcome here,” she said, gently placing a cup in front of you. “Really. And I mean that from a mother’s heart.”

You tried to respond, but your throat caught for a moment. You managed a soft, “Thank you so much. That means a lot.”

Later, as you and Jin sat on the porch waiting for the car to warm, you looked up at him. His arm was draped behind you on the bench, his expression calm, eyes soft in the dusk light.

“They’re lovely,” you said quietly. “You have a really good family.”

He tilted his head toward you. “They think the same about you.”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t know what the future holds, but… today felt like a dream I didn’t know I could have.”

He leaned his forehead to yours. “Then let’s have more of them. However many we can.”

And in that stillness, wrapped in early evening chill and the warmth of family, you let yourself hope again—even just a little.

The countryside was quiet that night, humming only with the chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of wind through the trees. The rain had started late in the evening—gentle, rhythmic, falling softly against the roof like a lullaby.

Inside your childhood home, the air smelled faintly of dried herbs and old pages. Jin padded barefoot down the wooden hallway, towel in one hand after his shower. The small guest room he used whenever he stayed over was just down the hall from yours.

He passed your room and paused for a moment. Your door was ajar, light off, but he heard the even sound of your breathing. Fast asleep.

He smiled to himself. You always curled up so small when you were tired. Like you didn’t want to take up too much space in the world.

With a quiet sigh, he walked into the small sitting room, where your bookshelf leaned slightly to one side. He was searching for something to read, maybe a book to help him unwind before bed. His fingers ran along cracked spines and faded covers… until something tucked between two photo albums caught his eye.

Small, worn. Yellow.

He pulled it out.

“10 Things To Do With My Future Boyfriend — Y/N, age 17.”

His thumb paused on the cover. A sunflower sticker was peeling off in the corner. He opened it gently.

Page one.

Your handwriting was round and young. The ink had smudged slightly over the years.

He stared at the page for a long time, heart aching in his chest.

You had written these at seventeen, probably sitting right here in this house. Dreaming of a love you weren’t sure would ever come. Hoping for a life full of small, honest magic.

And somehow… you still didn’t know just how loved you were now.

Jin shut the diary gently, holding it with both hands like something sacred.

You didn’t need to know he saw it. He wouldn’t tell you—not yet. This wasn’t about grand gestures. Not about proving anything.

It was about giving your younger self the love she had dreamed of.

And giving you—now—a love you didn’t have to ask for.

That night, Jin barely slept. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain.

“One by one,” he promised,

“the dreams you once tucked away—I’ll meet you in every one of them.”

You were curled up on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket from your afternoon nap, when Jin walked into the room holding two mugs of hot tea.

He set one down in front of you. “Still sleepy?”

You blinked slowly. “Still human. Humans nap.”

Jin smiled as he sat beside you, blowing gently on his tea. “I have to be in the office for a few meetings this week.”

You nodded. “Back-to-back?”

“Yeah. A few late nights too.” He paused. “That’s why I was wondering…”

You raised a brow, watching him.

“…if you’d stay with me at my place. In Seoul. Just for a few days.”

You blinked. “You mean like… live-in girlfriend status?”

He grinned. “More like VIP guest who gets fed breakfast and steals my hoodies status.”

You laughed. “And what do I do while you’re at work?”

Jin sipped his tea. “Sleep in. Water my plants. Judge my fridge. Wait for me like I’m your husband coming back from war.”

You snorted. “That last part sounds dramatic.”

“Good. I thrive on drama.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, heart beating a little faster at the idea. It wasn’t a big thing. Not really. But also… kind of huge.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll stay.”

He tilted his head, looking down at you with a soft smile.

“I’ll work faster if I know you’re waiting.”

You nudged him gently. “So needy.”

He nodded. “Unapologetically.”

And in the quiet that followed, the city beyond your windows faded, and all you could feel was his hand quietly finding yours beneath the blanket.

The drive back to Seoul was quiet at first—soft music playing as fields passed by in a blur of green and gold. You sat beside Jin, his jacket draped over your legs, head tilted toward the window.

You felt safe like this. Not because everything was okay, but because with him, it didn’t have to be.

The closer you got to the city, the heavier the clouds grew. By the time you crossed the bridge into Seoul, the sky had darkened to a deep grey, and raindrops began to streak across the windshield in slow, sleepy trails.

You exhaled. “I forgot how different the air smells when it rains here.”

Jin glanced at you, smiling. “Wanna know something crazy?”

You looked at him.

“I think Seoul misses you.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tightening around the seatbelt. “You always say the cheesiest things at the exact right time.”

“That’s my gift,” he replied, smug. “Perfect timing.”

It wasn’t long before the rain picked up, turning steady and rhythmic. Jin pulled into the underground parking of his apartment, but instead of getting out, he looked at you.

“Hey,” he said. “Wanna go up to the rooftop?”

You blinked. “Now?”

He shrugged. “We’ve got time. And I have a feeling the rain’s just right.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Jin grinned and got out of the car.

The rooftop was slick with rainwater, puddles reflecting the muted city lights. The air was cool, fresh, quiet—only the soft tapping of rain and the distant hum of traffic far below.

You followed him up, hair already damp, shoes squeaking slightly on the tiles.

“You’re seriously dragging me into the rain for no reason?” you called out, laughing as he stepped out fully into the open.

“No reason,” he echoed, turning toward you with a gleam in his eye. “Just… trust me.”

Before you could respond, he reached for your hand and pulled you into the rain.

You gasped, shrieking, “Jin! Are you insane?”

“Yes,” he said, spinning you once in the rain. “But only for you.”

You tried to scowl, but laughter escaped your lips. He held your hands, then slowly placed one on his shoulder, the other in his. Rain soaked through your sleeves and dripped down your nose, but you didn’t care.

He began swaying gently, leading you in a slow, silly dance. Your hair stuck to your cheeks. Your heartbeat was loud in your chest.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you murmured, breathless.

“I know,” he said, smiling at you like you were the only person left in the world.

Then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

Warm lips in cold rain. Real and quiet and trembling. You both laughed into it, his hands slipping to your waist as your fingers curled into his shirt.

You pulled back, eyes bright, face flushed. “That was…”

“I know,” he whispered.

Later that night, while you were curled up in his bed, fast asleep from the long day, Jin sat on the couch with a towel around his neck, still a little damp from the rain.

He reached quietly for the sunflower-yellow notebook he had tucked into his bag the night before.

Opening the first page, his eyes settled on the words:

1. Kiss in the rain. The kind where we laugh halfway through it.

He smiled to himself, pressing his thumb softly against the paper like it was something alive.

No words.

Just a quiet moment.

And one thought:

One down.

Chapter 10

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 8: “If the Sky Doesn’t Break”

At the hospital, the hallway felt quieter than usual. You passed through it like a ghost—like you’d already drifted halfway away from yourself.

Dr. Lee looked at you, gently, as always. The way doctors learn to when they don’t have good news.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Still no word on the medication. They’ve promised to expedite, but… delays are unavoidable.”

You nodded. Not surprised. Not angry. Just… tired.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, with the same smile you gave Jin on your better days.

But this one didn’t reach your eyes.

Because no matter how often you said it, your body told the truth. And the truth was this: your body was failing you slowly, and there was no clear end to this waiting.

Still, you smiled.

On the drive home, the city outside your window moved in soft blurs. Children running. Someone walking their dog. A couple laughing in matching sweatshirts. All the things you tried to become part of.

And Seokjin.

Your mind wandered to him again. How he waited for your notes. How he always knocked on your door with something to share—a smile, a story, a late-night craving. How his eyes softened when you laughed.

You bit your lip.

Because now, more than anything, you didn’t want him to see you like this.

He had just started smiling again. Laughing. Opening up. You knew his past. You knew how long it took for him to trust something good.

You wanted to be that good.

Not the girl who got tired halfway through a walk.

Not the girl who cried silently in bathrooms.

Not the girl who couldn’t promise him forever.

You wanted him to remember you as the girl who made him laugh on rooftops. Who brought him sunflower notes and stubborn morning cheer.

You wanted to stay in his memory as light.

Because he needed that.

And you couldn’t bear the look in his eyes if he ever saw you as fragile.

Not Seokjin. Not the one you liked this much.

So maybe it was better this way.

To step back while you still could.

To protect the version of you that he knew—before the version you’re becoming made him pity you.

By the time you got back to the apartment, your aunt had already stepped out again. The door clicked behind you, and the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful—it was thick with everything you couldn’t say.

You pressed your back against the door, exhaling quietly.

And then, you made your decision.

You wouldn’t tell him. Not yet.

Not until you were stronger. Not until you could smile again without effort.

Because if this was the version of you that stays in his memory…

Let it be the version who danced in the kitchen and dreamed in color.

Not the one dimmed by the waiting.

You folded your sweater carefully.

Then your notebook.

Then the letters you never gave him.

Everything you owned fit into the same suitcase you brought when you arrived—when you still believed your stay would be short, hopeful, maybe even transformative. And in many ways, it had been. Just… not the way you imagined.

Your fingers lingered over the zipper.

Not yet, you thought.

You looked around the apartment. Every corner felt like a memory.

The counter where you and your aunt drank tea late at night. The small window where you wrote your morning notes. The couch where you first dreamed about what your life might look like in the city. With him.

It was supposed to be temporary.

But somehow, it started to feel like home.

Your aunt came out of her room as you set the suitcase by the door. Her face dropped immediately.

“You’re leaving,” she said quietly.

You nodded, eyes already welling.

“I… I think it’s time. I’m not getting better here. The medication—there’s still no word. I’m just tired, Auntie. Tired of pretending to be okay when I’m not.”

She came closer, wrapping her arms around you. You folded into the hug like a child, letting the tears come without restraint.

“I don’t want to give up,” you whispered. “But I also don’t want to wait around for something that might never arrive. I need to be somewhere I can breathe.”

“You’ve been strong enough for too long,” she murmured, stroking your hair. “But, sweetheart… does he know?”

You froze.

“No,” you said, voice cracking. “And I don’t want him to. I can’t let him see me like this. Not now.”

Your aunt pulled back, searching your eyes.

You looked away.

You wheeled your suitcase to the door, took one last look at the apartment, and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then you stepped outside.

You didn’t mean to stop at Seokjin’s door.

It just… happened.

There it was. The familiar dark wood. The tiny sunflower sticker you once stuck on the side as a joke. His shoes lined up neatly at the entrance. You stared at it for a long moment.

The note in your pocket crinkled.

You’d written it the night before, just in case you couldn’t say goodbye.

But now… you couldn’t bring yourself to leave it.

He would knock. He would call. He would ask.

And you—too afraid to tell the truth—would only lie.

So instead of leaving a note, you placed your hand gently on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

And that’s when it happened.

The tear fell.

Just one.

You wiped it quickly, glancing around in case someone saw.

But no one did.

Just the hallway light humming softly above your head. And his door. Closed.

Unknowing.

You turned away.

Not because you didn’t love him.

But because you did.

And right now, you were not the version of yourself he fell for on rooftops and car rides and sunflower mornings.

You were someone fading.

And you wanted him to remember the glow, not the flicker.

You didn’t know how you got here.

The scenery had blurred during the ride—hills dressed in green, the curve of rice paddies like open arms, and the hum of the countryside wrapping itself around your fragile body. But when the car finally stopped in front of your childhood home, and the breeze carried the smell of earth and cooking rice, you felt something inside you crack.

Your hands trembled as you stepped out of the car.

You hadn’t told anyone you were coming—not even your mother. Not even Seokjin.

Especially not Seokjin.

The front door creaked open before you could knock. Your mother stepped out, her apron still dusted with flour, her eyes widening.

“Y/N?” she gasped.

You managed a weak smile.

“I’m home, Eomma.”

But your voice didn’t sound like yours. Not with the weight you were carrying.

Her expression crumbled as she stepped closer, taking in your pale skin, the fatigue that clung to you like a shadow.

“My god,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around you. “What happened?”

You sat on the worn kitchen bench, hands curled around a warm cup of ginger tea. She sat across from you, her eyes never leaving your face.

“I thought things were better in Seoul,” she said quietly. “Didn’t you say you were doing okay?”

You stared down at your cup.

“I wanted to believe that,” you whispered. “But the doctors… they still haven’t found the right medication. My body’s not getting better. I’ve tried to stay positive, Eomma. I really did.”

Her hand reached for yours. It was warm, grounding.

“I didn’t come home just to rest,” you said, voice softer now. “I came home because I don’t know how long I can keep pretending.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

You stared into your cup for a moment. Then slowly, quietly, you began.

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

Her brows lifted. “You… what?”

You looked up and gave her a small, shy smile. “I’m dating my neighbor. Seokjin.”

Recognition bloomed in her eyes. “The one who came here with you before?”

You nodded.

“He’s sweet,” you said softly. “Kind. Funny. He’s… he’s been good to me. I didn’t expect it, but it happened. Slowly.”

Your mother’s face softened. “And he makes you happy?”

“He does,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “He really does.”

There was a quiet moment of warmth. But then, her expression shifted. A question in her eyes.

“And does he know?”

You didn’t need her to say it. You already knew what she meant.

You shook your head.

Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Not the whole truth. He knows I’m sick. But he doesn’t know that… that I’m not getting better.”

Her hand gently covered yours.

“I didn’t want to see the way his face might change,” you said, eyes stinging. “Not yet. I don’t want to be someone he stays with out of pity. I just wanted to enjoy a little more time where I could be normal. Where he looked at me and saw someone bright and full of life.”

“You’re still all of those things,” she said, eyes wet. “Even with everything.”

You shook your head, eyes falling.

“I’ve been getting weaker. The medication still isn’t coming. I thought I could hold it together. But I’m so tired, Eomma. I can’t even walk some mornings without feeling like I’ll fall.”

Her hand squeezed yours tightly.

“I left because I didn’t know how to let him see me like this. I wanted to protect him from the version of me that’s starting to fade.”

Your mother reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Love isn’t just built on the days you’re strong,” she said gently. “It’s built on the days you fall apart too.”

You swallowed hard, unable to speak.

“I’m glad you told me,” she whispered. “But, Y/N… maybe one day, when you’re ready, tell him too. Give him the chance to stay.”

You nodded slowly.

Outside, the wind stirred through the fields. A dog barked in the distance.

Inside your chest, your heart ached with the weight of everything left unsaid.

But at least here, in your mother’s kitchen, you weren’t hiding anymore.

You had finally said it out loud:

You loved someone.

You were afraid.

And you didn’t know how this would end.

But you were still here. Still trying.

Time passed.

He stopped keeping track of the days.

He only knew the sun kept rising, but your door remained closed. Your notes never returned. His calls were never answered. And it became harder each day to pretend he wasn’t worried—wasn’t hurt.

At first, he thought you needed space.

Then he thought maybe he did something wrong.

Then he thought you were gone for good.

But the silence—it wasn’t like you.

You weren’t the type to disappear without a word.

You always left pieces of yourself behind—a note, a smile, a sunflower, a laugh drifting from your open window.

This wasn’t you.

And it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

He tried to reason with himself.

Maybe you were tired. Maybe you went home for a bit.

But even that didn’t make sense—because you would’ve told him.

You brought him into your world once, introduced him to your family, showed him where you grew up. He remembered the chickens, your mom’s laughter, your father’s hands rough with work, and the way you glowed under the sun like something pulled from a dream.

That day stayed with him.

He thought it stayed with you too.

So he drove. No texts. No calls. Just… drove.

The countryside unfolded in front of him like memory. The trees, the curves of the road, the way the sky stretched wider than it did in Seoul. He could hear the faint chorus of insects and the sound of gravel under his tires. And when he saw the house—the same small gate, the familiar wooden steps—his chest tightened.

He wasn’t sure what he’d find.

Maybe you weren’t even there.

Maybe you didn’t want to be found.

But he had to know.

You didn’t expect the sound of tires on gravel.

Didn’t expect to hear the familiar engine cut off outside your childhood home.

Didn’t expect Seokjin to be the one stepping out of the car.

And yet there he was, standing by the gate—still, quiet, expression unreadable.

Your breath caught. You couldn’t move.

He was wearing the same shirt he wore the morning he kissed you. The same shoes he left by the door when he made you tea. But this wasn’t the soft, smiling version of him. His eyes looked different now. Sharper. Heavier.

You stepped outside anyway, heart pounding so loud it almost hurt.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Long and hard. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then softly—“So this is where you ran off to.”

Your hands curled at your sides. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to leave without a word?” he asked. His voice didn’t rise, but it cracked right in the middle. “No note, no message. Just gone.”

You flinched. “I was going to explain. I just… didn’t know how.”

His eyes flickered over you, narrowing slightly. “You don’t look well.”

You laughed a little, bitter and soft. “Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Silence.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. You tucked them into your sleeves, as if that would stop them from shaking.

Jin took a step closer. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” You looked away. “You were perfect.”

“Then why—” His voice cut off, breathless. He swallowed. “Why would you leave?”

You blinked hard. The back of your throat burned.

“I didn’t leave because of you.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, more quietly this time. “Because I’ve gone over everything. Over and over again. And nothing makes sense. You kissed me. You said yes. You smiled at me like I was the best part of your day.”

You met his gaze. “You were.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

You looked down.

He moved a little closer, cautiously. “Was it something I said? Something I did?”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Your chest rose and fell too quickly now.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you said.

“Like what?”

“Weak.”

He stiffened.

You looked at him then, his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes holding too much. And your heart broke because you knew, this would hurt him.

“I have an autoimmune disease,” you said, voice barely audible. “The kind they still don’t know how to treat. There’s no medication that works. My body’s getting worse.”

He didn’t speak. The wind blew softly between you, but it felt like a thunderclap in the stillness.

“I didn’t want to become a burden to you,” you said, fighting to keep your voice steady. “You once told me I was bright. That I made your days lighter. I wanted to stay that way in your memory.”

Jin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again—wet with unshed emotion.

“So you left,” he said, softly. “To protect me.”

You nodded.

“And you thought I’d be happier not knowing?”

“I thought… maybe it would be easier. For both of us.”

He let out a breath. Sharp. Almost angry, but mostly sad.

“I would’ve stayed,” he said. “I would’ve chosen you. Again and again.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And that’s what scared me.”

Silence. Then Jin took another step forward. Close enough to reach for your hand—but he didn’t, not yet.

“Let me ask one thing,” he said. “Did you love me?”

Tears slipped down your cheek. “I still do.”

He didn’t need more words after that.

He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, gentle but full of ache, like he was trying to hold all the broken parts together. You let yourself melt into him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his coat, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself hope that maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t walk away.

The night was quiet.

The kind of quiet that clung to your skin. Where the cicadas sang low, and the moon hung heavy over the countryside like it, too, was trying to listen.

You sat beside Seokjin on the wooden porch of your childhood home, the soft creak of the planks beneath you familiar. Your head rested against the column behind you, your shoulders a little slumped—tired, but trying.

Jin noticed.

He noticed the paleness of your skin under the porch light. The way your breaths came a little shallower than before. The way you pressed your hand discreetly to your side when you thought he wasn’t looking.

You always smiled when you were hurting. That’s what broke him the most.

He kept his hands folded on his lap, just to keep them from trembling.

“Cold?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Not really. Just… tired.”

He reached behind him, grabbed the thin blanket draped over the old wooden swing, and gently placed it over your shoulders. You didn’t argue. Just pulled it closer and gave him that small, grateful smile that always undid him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The crickets filled the silence between sentences you didn’t know how to start.

Then you said, voice quiet, “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to.”

You glanced at him, tired eyes soft. “You should hate me for running away.”

He turned toward you, expression unreadable. “I couldn’t, even if I tried.”

Your lips parted—something close to guilt, close to gratitude, close to breaking.

“I didn’t want you to carry this,” you said.

“I want to,” he answered simply. “If it means I can walk beside you.”

You looked down at your lap. “There’s no certainty, Jin. No guarantees.”

You met his eyes again. He looked calm, but behind the stillness, his heart was bruising.

“I used to imagine a future,” you murmured, “when I first moved to Seoul. I thought maybe after all this, I’d work in a flower shop, or a small bookstore. Maybe somewhere near the sea. I’d wake up to the sound of the waves and take my tea to the porch like this.”

You laughed faintly, the sound catching in your throat. “Now it feels like… I’m not sure if I’m allowed to dream anymore.”

He reached out then—slowly, cautiously—and took your hand. It was cold. He held it anyway.

“Dream anyway,” he said.

You blinked. “Even if it hurts?”

“Especially then.”

You stared at your joined hands. “You really want to stay?”

“I do.”

“But what if one day I’m not like this?” you asked, voice breaking a little. “What if I’m weaker, not able to smile or walk or… be the person you fell for?”

He inhaled, and it was shaky, but his voice didn’t waver.

“Then I’ll love you that day too.”

Your eyes welled up. “Jin…”

He didn’t let go. “You said you wanted to be remembered as someone bright. But that’s not what I need.”

“Then what do you need?”

“I need you. Even in the dark. Even when it’s hard.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“Me too,” he said. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

You leaned against him then, your body too tired to hold up your heart. And he let you, arms slipping around you gently, like cradling a miracle he didn’t deserve but would protect with everything he had.

Above you, the stars blinked quietly. The world was still uncertain. The future was still fragile.

But here, on the porch, with your hand in his and your body weak against his chest, something beautiful still remained.

You were still here.

And that was enough—for now.

Chapter 9

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 7: “Things Left Unwritten”

The sun had barely peeked through your curtains when you woke, but it wasn’t the soft light that pulled you from sleep—it was the pounding in your head. A dull ache bloomed behind your eyes, stretching down to your shoulders and making it hard to lift your limbs. Your fingers, usually quick and lively, felt stiff and slow. You knew this feeling.

You had hoped it wouldn’t return.

You sat up slowly, cradling your body like it was made of glass. Your chest ached—not with pain, but with the heaviness of dread. You reached for your diary on the bedside table but paused. You didn’t want to write anything down today. Not yet. Not when you couldn’t be honest, not even to the page.

You checked the time. 7:10 AM.

Normally, by now, you would have tiptoed to your tiny kitchen, scribbled a note with sleepy eyes and pinned it to Seokjin’s door on your way out.

But today, there was no note.

You hadn’t even brushed your hair.

You had one goal: get dressed, and go to the clinic alone. You didn’t want him to know. Not yet. Not after your first date. Not when he kissed your hand across candlelight and whispered that you looked beautiful.

You forced yourself up. You moved like you were made of water, slow and unsure, washing yourself in the bathroom and dragging a cardigan over your shoulders even though the morning was warm.

At 8:16 AM, Seokjin stood in his kitchen, frowning at his door. No note. No gentle handwriting. No folded edge peeking from behind the door frame. Just silence.

He walked over and opened the door cautiously, glancing out into the hallway.

Your lights were off.

Your shoes were gone.

He knocked, gently at first, then again, firmer. “Y/N?”

Nothing.

His chest tightened. He tried once more. Then, after a beat of silence, he pulled out his phone and called.

You answered after two rings, voice too cheery.

“Hi! Sorry—I’m at the park. Took an early morning walk.”

Jin frowned. “Oh. No note today. I got worried.”

“Oh—gosh, I forgot. I must’ve been rushing. The sunrise was really nice,” you added quickly. Too quickly.

He paused. “Are you okay?”

You laughed softly, pushing the phone tighter to your ear. “Yeah, just wanted to clear my head. You know me—sunshine and sidewalks.”

He chuckled, but something in his stomach twisted. “Alright. Just… let me know when you’re home, okay?”

“Of course,” you said, voice soft. “Thank you, Jin.”

And then you ended the call before he could hear the hitch in your breath.

The clinic’s waiting room smelled like clean floors and nervous hope.

You sat quietly, fingers curled in your lap as the nurse called your name. The walk to the doctor’s office felt longer than usual, your footsteps echoing on the sterile tiles.

Dr. Lee greeted you with a small smile, her eyes kind but alert.

“It’s good to see you again. How have you been feeling?”

You told her about the stiffness, the fatigue, the heaviness in your chest this morning.

She nodded slowly, her pen pausing over the chart. “And emotionally?”

You hesitated. “Happy,” you said honestly. “Actually… I’ve been really happy lately.”

That made her smile. “That’s wonderful.”

“But…?”

“But I feel like I’m on borrowed time,” you admitted, the words trembling out. “Like… every good day has an expiration date.”

She reached across gently. “We did more tests, and I want to be transparent. Your symptoms aren’t improving, and the current treatment isn’t showing much response.”

You nodded, already expecting it. Still, it ached like a bruise pressed too hard.

“We’ll try a new approach. I’ll do everything I can. But… the medication availability is still uncertain. There’s a waiting list.”

You blinked, swallowed hard. “Okay. That’s okay.”

Dr. Lee looked at you carefully. “You don’t have to be brave all the time.”

You smiled then, wide and gentle, like a warm breeze after a storm. “But I want to be. There’s still so much I want to do.”

The rest of the consultation blurred slightly, but you listened. You nodded. You thanked her.

When you stepped outside, the world looked the same. The sky was still blue. The trees swayed gently. Somewhere, children were laughing.

And you—despite the heaviness—smiled again.

Because you had someone waiting at home.

Back at your apartment, you slipped off your shoes quietly. You didn’t have the energy to leave a note on Jin’s door now. He might still be out, or maybe at work. You checked your phone. No new messages.

You sat on your bed and finally opened your diary.

“Today I lied to him. It was a small lie, but it hurt more than I thought. I said I went to the park. I didn’t. I went to hear how much time I might not have.

But I still want to believe that love doesn’t disappear because of fear.

I hope one day, when I finally tell him, he’ll understand why I waited.”

You closed the book gently.

And just then, a knock came.

Not hurried. Just soft.

You opened the door.

Seokjin stood there with two iced choco drinks in hand. “I figured the park walk would make you thirsty,” he said with a teasing smirk.

You looked at him—at the man who brought you a drink because he noticed your silence—and your heart ached.

You took the drink with a soft laugh. “I owe you two notes tomorrow.”

“I’ll collect them personally,” he smiled.

You both stood there a moment longer before he leaned a little closer.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, voice quiet.

You looked into his eyes.

And smiled. “I am now.”

You told the doctor you were fine. You even smiled.

But you weren’t.

You were tired.

Just as you were about to slip into your room to rest, you heard the knock.

Three gentle taps.

Then his voice. “Hey. Are you going up to the rooftop tonight?”

You pulled the door open just slightly, eyes meeting Seokjin’s warm, concerned gaze.

You tried to smile. “Not tonight.”

He looked at you for a beat longer than necessary. “Everything okay?”

You nodded a little too fast. “Yeah. I just want to rest.”

“Sure…” he said slowly, but his tone didn’t fully believe you. “Get some sleep, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You offered him a faint smile before gently closing the door again.

You didn’t even make it to your bed.

You curled up on the couch, head resting on the armrest, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like fabric softener and home. You weren’t sure how much time passed — ten minutes or an hour — before the front door opened with the telltale clink of keys and a familiar voice calling your name softly.

Your aunt.

She stepped into the apartment, suitcase in hand and exhaustion in her posture, but the moment she saw you lying there, she set everything down.

“Y/N?” she said softly, brushing the hair from your face. “Are you alright?”

You tried to sit up. “You’re back.”

She sat beside you, concern written all over her face. “You don’t look well.”

There was no point pretending.

“I went to the doctor earlier.”

Her voice dropped. “And?”

You swallowed, the words thick in your throat. “She said… things aren’t improving the way they hoped. The new medication’s still pending. My immune system is still… attacking me.”

Her face fell, pain etched deep in her expression. “Oh, sweetheart…”

You nodded slowly. “I’m okay,” you whispered, though your eyes stung.

“I wish I was here,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “I should’ve been here.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I wasn’t alone.”

She pulled back gently. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated.

“I’ve been spending time with someone,” you said, voice soft.

She waited, eyes narrowing slightly. “Someone?”

You nodded, the smile coming shyly this time. “My neighbor. The one you said had CEO energy. Seokjin.”

She blinked. “Wait. Are you saying…”

“We’re… seeing each other,” you admitted, heart skipping. “It’s still new, but… it feels real. He’s gentle. Funny. Warm. He makes me feel like I’m not sick at all.”

Your aunt beamed for a second, all soft joy and wonder. “Y/N… that’s beautiful.”

You let yourself smile, cheeks flushed.

But her expression shifted—just slightly. “Does he know?”

The question landed like a stone.

You looked down at your hands. “No.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know how,” you said, barely audible. “Everything with him is so light. I don’t want to ruin that.”

She reached out, gently holding your wrist. “The truth doesn’t ruin love. It deepens it.”

“I know,” you said, voice cracking. “But what if it’s too much? What if he walks away?”

“What if he doesn’t?” she said, eyes shining. “What if he stays? Don’t you want to be loved for all of you?”

You sat quietly, tears threatening but not falling.

She brushed your cheek, gently. “You deserve someone who stays. But he can’t choose to stay if you don’t let him see you fully.”

The room was quiet again, but different now—thicker, tender with unsaid things.

You knew you couldn’t carry this forever.

Not when someone had already started holding your heart with both hands.

You exhaled slowly, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’ll tell him,” you whispered. “Just not tonight.”

And she nodded.

Because she understood.

Because sometimes, courage doesn’t arrive all at once—but in quiet promises, made in the safety of a couch, beneath the weight of truth and the hope that love, when real, will hold steady.

A soft knock came at the door just after 8 a.m.

Your aunt was already up, sipping her coffee while watching the morning news on low volume. She stood, her robe swishing as she walked barefoot to the door.

When she opened it, Seokjin stood there — fresh and bright, his hair still slightly tousled, holding a small paper bag from the café downstairs.

“Oh,” she smiled politely, “You must be Seokjin?”

He gave a short bow, lips curling into a sheepish smile. “Yes, good morning. Is she—uh, awake?”

Your aunt tilted her head in a quiet, knowing way. “She’s in her room. Come in.”

You had just sat up in bed when you heard them talking.

“Y/N!” your aunt called from the living room, “Your boyfriend’s here!”

You winced and rubbed your forehead. It still ached. Your body still felt strangely heavy, your stomach unsettled. But you pulled yourself together, smoothed your hair, and stepped out.

Seokjin turned at the sound of your feet.

And paused.

“You don’t look well,” he said softly, eyes scanning your face — too pale, your usual brightness dimmed. You were still beautiful to him, but something was off.

You managed a small smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just didn’t sleep much, I guess.”

From behind you, your aunt — quiet but sharp — cast a glance that spoke louder than words. It landed on you like a weight. A subtle nudge. A silent plea.

Tell him.

You caught it. You felt it. But you weren’t ready.

Seokjin, still watching you carefully, lifted the bag in his hand. “I brought something light from the café. I thought we could eat together… or maybe have lunch later?”

You hesitated. You wanted to say yes. God, you wanted to.

But you couldn’t risk falling apart in front of him. Not yet.

“I think I’ll stay in and rest,” you said, forcing the words through the smile.

A beat passed. His eyes softened, but he didn’t push. He simply nodded.

“Okay. Then rest well.”

You thanked him, and he left — the bag still in his hand.

Once the door clicked shut, your aunt turned to you.

“He can see it, Y/N,” she said gently. “Maybe not everything. But he knows something’s wrong. He cares.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “I know. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

She placed a warm hand on your shoulder. “Then don’t lie.”

Seokjin held the paper bag tighter than he needed to as the door closed behind him.

He didn’t move right away. Just stood there in the hallway, heart thudding — not loudly, but persistently. Like something was off-beat. Like something was wrong.

She said she was okay.

But she wasn’t.

Even the way she said it — too fast, too rehearsed. Like a line she’d memorized just in case someone asked.

And he had asked. Because he noticed. The color had drained from her cheeks. The usual light in her voice — that sweet, sunshine lilt he had grown to quietly depend on — was muted. Dimmed.

He let out a breath and leaned his back against the wall outside her door.

The paper bag of croissants and chamomile tea crinkled in his grip.

He had woken up early — earlier than usual — and passed by the café downstairs with a quiet grin on his face. He even asked the barista if she had something calming, because you liked tea and said coffee sometimes made your chest flutter.

He remembered every small thing about you. Which was ridiculous, considering how new this all was. But maybe it wasn’t new. Maybe it had started the first time he saw you leaning over the rooftop railing, talking to the stars.

Seokjin sighed again and rubbed his thumb across his brow.

It was a quiet ache — not panic, not fear — just something dull and restless in his chest. He knew that glance from her aunt. That glance wasn’t about fevers or sleep. It was the look of someone waiting for someone else to speak.

You’re hiding something.

And you didn’t trust him enough yet to share it.

That shouldn’t hurt.

But it did.

Still, he couldn’t blame you. Whatever it was — it had to be heavy. He could feel it in your voice. In the silence between your sentences. In the hesitation when he invited you to lunch.

You wanted to say yes.

You always wanted to say yes.

And he wished you didn’t feel like you had to say no.

He looked down at the croissants again and let out a quiet laugh.

“Great plan, Jin,” he muttered to himself. “A flaky pastry to fix… whatever this is.”

He looked up at your door again.

What he wanted was to be the kind of person you could lean on.

With one last look at your door, he turned and walked back down the hallway.

He wasn’t going to ask you again today.

But he would keep showing up.

And when you’re ready to talk, he’d be there.

You heard him knock again today.

Soft, hesitant — the kind of knock that waits. That listens. That hopes.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Your body felt like lead, your limbs tired from just existing. The low-grade fever still clung to your skin like mist, and even sitting up felt like pushing through water. Your head ached, but your heart ached more.

Because you missed him.

You missed everything.

His awkward morning greetings. The way he leaned against his doorframe when you handed him a note. His quiet laugh when you told him something only people from the countryside would find funny. The warmth that bloomed in your chest when you caught him looking at you like you mattered.

But today, like the last few days, you chose silence.

You sat curled up on the couch under a thin blanket, staring at the unopened bottle of pain relievers on the table. Your aunt had gone out for groceries. She offered to bring you soup. She offered to stay, but you told her you just needed rest.

That was a lie too.

The truth?

You needed time. Or maybe courage.

You hadn’t written Jin a note in four days. And each time you passed his door, guilt weighed heavier in your chest. It would have been easy to leave something. A smiley face. A simple “good morning.” Anything to say, “I’m still here.”

But you didn’t.

Because the truth is — you were terrified.

You knew what was coming. The hospital visits. The medication trials. The possibility that the medication might not work. You knew what it meant to let someone into your life when the future wasn’t promised.

And you liked Jin too much to ruin him with your reality.

He made life feel like a good day after weeks of rain.

And you?

You were a question mark in a medical file. A fragile maybe. A girl with a tired smile and fading strength who still clung to hope like it was the last thing she had.

You didn’t want him to look at you and see sickness.

You wanted him to remember you as bright. As brave. As whole.

And that’s why it hurt — because even now, when he knocked, when you knew he was just on the other side of that door — you couldn’t get up.

You turned your phone face-down. It buzzed once, twice.

You didn’t open the messages.

You leaned your head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling, whispering, “Please… not yet.”

You remembered the last time he kissed you — soft, careful, like he was holding a wish in his hands. You remembered how he smiled after, like he didn’t regret it. Like he saw a future.

But he didn’t know everything.

Not yet.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and reached for your journal instead. You flipped to a blank page, and wrote quietly, shakily:

I think I’m in love with someone I might have to let go.

And I’m not ready to say that out loud.

You closed the journal.

And when the sun started to set, you slowly stood, walked to your front door, and looked through the peephole.

No one was there.

But you whispered anyway, “I’m sorry, Jin.”

Chapter 8

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 6: “More Than Neighbors”

You stood by the window, cup of warm barley tea in hand, watching the morning light pour over the skyline like liquid honey. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets just beginning to stir. But inside your chest, everything was buzzing.

He kissed you.

Not in a rushed, dizzying kind of way. But slow, sure, like he’d been meaning to do it for a while. It played over and over in your mind—how warm his hand was, how soft his lips felt, and how time, for a moment, didn’t matter.

You smiled to yourself and took another sip of tea.

He said he’d pick you up at ten. To drive you to the countryside.

Your home.

You hadn’t been back in weeks. The thought of seeing your mother again, the golden fields, the smell of the old wooden house… it stirred something deep in you. Joy. Longing. Maybe even something close to hope.

But beneath all of it, like a crack running under fragile glass, was the truth you hadn’t told him.

Your condition.

You set the cup down gently, fingers lingering on the ceramic. The rare autoimmune disease. The irregular flare-ups. The hospital visits. The medication that still hadn’t arrived. The uncertainty stitched into your future like a thread you didn’t choose.

You hadn’t meant to keep it from him. At first, it didn’t seem important. He was just your neighbor—the grumpy one. Then, someone who made you smile. Then… someone whose presence started to mean something more.

You weren’t sure how to tell him without shifting everything.

Would he pull away? Would he start treating you differently?

Would the warmth fade?

You looked at the clock. 9:04 AM.

You had less than an hour before he showed up at your door.

You walked into your room, pulling out a light dress and your favorite cardigan. Something about wearing soft things made you feel grounded. Safe. You packed a small bag with some fruit, a book, and the hand lotion your mom liked.

It was ridiculous, you thought, smiling faintly at the folded bottle of soy sauce in the tote. Who brings soy sauce when they visit home? But your mom always said Seoul brands tasted too sharp.

When the doorbell rang at exactly 10:00, your breath caught for a second. You stood up, smoothed your dress, and opened the door.

There he was.

Seokjin.

Wearing a clean white shirt tucked into jeans, keys in hand, his hair swept up like he hadn’t meant to try but somehow looked effortlessly handsome anyway.

“Ready?” he asked, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

You nodded, the lump in your throat hidden behind a practiced grin. “I’ve been ready since seven.”

“Of course you have,” he teased, and stepped aside to take your bag.

You both walked to the parking garage in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The kind of quiet you didn’t mind. The kind where just being beside each other was enough.

Inside the car, you glanced at him from the passenger seat. His profile in the sunlight made your chest ache. Not because of how handsome he was—though he was—but because of how safe he made you feel. Like maybe, just maybe, there was still room for gentleness in your story.

He glanced sideways. “You’re quiet.”

You gave a soft laugh. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You hesitated. “About home. My mom. The chickens. The old swing near the trees.”

He smiled. “You light up when you talk about it.”

Your hand rested on your lap, fingers curling. Maybe today wasn’t the right time. Maybe not yet.

But then again—if not today, when?

You turned to the window, heart quietly aching behind your smile.

You just weren’t sure how to tell him the truth…

That you didn’t know how many more days like this you’d get.

That your body was fighting something you couldn’t control.

That you didn’t want pity—just honesty. Just this moment. Just him.

You let the wind blow in from the slightly open window, watching the buildings blur into fields.

Maybe later, you told yourself. Not yet.

But soon.

Because he deserved to know. And because part of you hoped… he’d stay anyway.

The car hummed steadily along the highway, the morning sun laying a warm glow across the dashboard. Seoul slowly blurred behind you—glass buildings turning to tree-lined roads, traffic lights becoming patches of golden fields. The air felt softer here. You rolled down the window just a little, letting the breeze kiss your cheek.

Next to you, Seokjin focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. He wore a quiet expression, thoughtful—comfortable, even. You noticed how the sunlight danced across his profile, catching the outline of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the soft strands of hair that kept falling over his brow.

Your heart fluttered, remembering the kiss.

The way he looked at you—like you were the most important thing in the world. Like he’d been holding that moment inside him, waiting for the right second to let it slip into the air between you.

You tried not to fidget, but your fingers curled against your lap. You’d gone over a hundred different ways to bring it up. All of them sounded stupid. Too serious. Too casual. Too… needy?

But you were never one to dance around things.

So you exhaled.

Cleared your throat softly.

And said, “So… about earlier.”

Seokjin glanced at you, his eyes flicking from the road, then back. His grip on the wheel subtly shifted.

You continued before you lost your nerve. “The kiss.”

He didn’t answer right away, and the pause made your chest tighten.

You added quickly, “I’m not fishing for anything. I just—wondered if it meant something. Because it did to me. And I’m the kind of person who says what’s on her mind, even if it makes things awkward.”

He turned to look at you again, longer this time. The car moved steadily forward, trees slipping past your window in streaks of green and gold.

“I meant it,” he said quietly.

You blinked.

“I kissed you because I wanted to. Because you make things feel… different. In a way I didn’t expect.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he added, “You’re important to me.”

Your breath caught.

Seokjin’s voice was calm but certain. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. What this thing is, with you. It crept up on me. The notes. The rooftop. The way you see the world—like it’s still worth believing in. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

You looked down at your lap, emotions gathering like clouds in your chest.

He glanced at you again. “If you’ll let me… I’d like to date you. Slowly. Not because of the kiss. But because I want to know you more. Really know you. Not just the sweet neighbor who talks to birds and rescues puppies.”

You laughed quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I do talk to birds.”

“I know. It’s alarming,” he deadpanned, making you laugh again.

Then softer, he added, “But it’s also why I find myself looking forward to every day now.”

You let the words sink in.

“I’d like that,” you whispered. “To take things slow. Get to know each other.”

You stared out the window, but your smile was soft, your heart louder than the rushing wind outside.

For a moment, the silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was full—of potential, of something blooming where neither of you thought anything could grow.

You rested your head lightly against the window and closed your eyes for a second, the sound of the road, the hum of his car, and the echo of his words wrapping around you like warmth.

And when you opened your eyes again, the mountains had begun to rise in the distance.

Closer to home.

But for the first time in a long while, you weren’t afraid of what came next.

The car rolled to a slow stop at the edge of the familiar gravel path, your heart pounding in rhythm with the engine’s soft idle. You hadn’t told anyone you were coming. It was impulsive, unexpected—maybe selfish. But something about today felt like it needed to happen.

The breeze was different here—cleaner, softer, edged with the scent of damp earth and wood smoke. Birds chirped from trees you’d grown up climbing. The wind whispered through the open fields like an old friend saying welcome back.

Seokjin turned off the engine.

You looked at him, nervous all over again.

“I forgot to tell them I’m coming,” you admitted, laughing under your breath. “And especially… that I’m bringing someone with me.”

His brows lifted slightly, amused. “Do I have time to turn back?���

“Nope,” you smiled. “You’re committed now.”

You both stepped out into the sunlit countryside, and everything felt… still.

Then you heard it.

Hammering.

You turned the corner past the parked tractor and there he was—your step father, sleeves rolled up, piecing together a new chicken house with a familiar concentration on his face.

“Appa!” you called out.

He paused mid-swing, turning slowly.

At first, disbelief crossed his features.

Then it melted into joy.

“Y/N!”

You ran to him and hugged him, and he smelled like sawdust and sun and the kind of comfort that only ever lived in your memories. He patted your back, grinning.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming, huh?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” You beamed and turned, motioning toward Seokjin who stood a little awkwardly near the car, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Appa, this is Seokjin. My neighbor. My… friend.”

Your stepfather stepped forward, squinting at him against the sunlight, then offered a strong hand. “Well, any friend of my daughters are welcome here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Seokjin said with a polite bow.

From the small house just beyond the tree line, your mother’s voice rang out. “Who’s here?”

She stepped onto the porch wiping her hands on an apron, and when she saw you, her entire face lit up.

“Oh, my baby!” she gasped, hurrying down the steps.

The hug was tighter. Longer. She smelled like garlic, sesame oil, and home.

“Omma,” you whispered, tears unexpectedly pricking at your eyes.

“You didn’t even call,” she chided, but her voice was warm. “Is that… your boyfriend?” she whispered the last part teasingly in your ear.

“Omma,” you laughed. “No, he’s… just someone very kind.”

But even as you said it, you saw her glance over at Seokjin again. Her smile deepened.

Your younger stepsister ran out next, with a bucket of feed in hand. She dropped it the second she saw you and tackled you with a squeal.

“Noona!” she shouted.

You almost fell over from the force.

Seokjin stayed back quietly, watching the reunion. You caught the faintest smile on his lips. The way his eyes softened. And then he looked at the chickens, your dad’s handmade tools, the tangled garden patch to the side—and you could almost see something shifting in him.

This wasn’t a wealthy household.

But it was rich in all the things you loved most.

And for the first time since you left the city, you felt something settle inside your chest.

Later, while your mother insisted on cooking a feast and your father gave Seokjin a reluctant tour of the chicken coop, you watched him.

He was quiet. But not cold.

Curious. Observant. His laugh came easier now. His posture was more relaxed than you’d seen it.

When your dad cracked a joke about the city folks not knowing how to milk a goat, Seokjin actually laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can barely milk an espresso machine,” he joked.

You found yourself watching him when he wasn’t looking.

And you caught him doing the same.

That night, as the sun dipped behind the hills and fireflies began to rise from the tall grass, you sat on the porch beside him in silence, a shared blanket over your legs.

“This place,” he murmured, “It’s so peaceful.”

You nodded. “It’s where I learned everything that matters.”

He looked at you.

And for a long moment, didn’t say a word.

Because now, he understood.

Where your warmth came from.

Why you left notes.

Why your voice always sounded like hope.

And something told you, even if he didn’t say it out loud—he wasn’t just falling for you.

He was falling for the world you came from, too.

Your mom was already laying out bowls and chopsticks before you even stepped back inside the house. The aroma of grilled mackerel, soybean stew, and pan-fried zucchini wrapped around your senses like a childhood lullaby. It had been a while since you sat down at this table for dinner—with your mom’s quick but thoughtful meals, your stepfather’s soft humming as he poured drinks, and your step-sister brushing her hair behind her ear, always smiling.

You glanced at Seokjin, who lingered near the doorway, one hand behind his back like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here. He looked oddly tall in this small space, like he’d stepped into someone else’s memory.

“Stay for dinner?” you asked gently, watching him scan the room like it was a photograph he didn’t want to ruin.

He met your eyes and gave a quiet nod. “If it’s not a bother.”

Your mother answered before you could. “Nonsense! Sit down. You drove her all this way. I should be feeding you for a week.”

You giggled and nudged him toward the seat beside yours. The table was tight, the benches creaking with every shift of weight, but it felt like the coziest place on earth.

Over dinner, the conversation flowed like warm soup.

Your stepfather teased Seokjin about his soft hands, joking that he’d never held a hammer. Seokjin, to your surprise, leaned into it—telling your dad about the one time he tried fixing a cabinet and ended up calling a professional after cracking the door in half.

Your step-sister asked him if Seoul was really as cold as it looked on TV.

He smiled—genuinely. “Colder, sometimes. But less when you have a good neighbor.”

You looked down, hiding the way your lips curled at the corners. Your mom was watching, too.

“You two seem close,” she commented, pouring tea into your empty cup.

“We live next door,” you replied lightly, cheeks warm. “It’s nice to have someone around.”

Seokjin gave you a glance across the table. It lingered a second too long.

Then, your mom’s voice shifted.

“Have you been to the hospital recently?” she asked you, almost casually—but there was a softness to it, one only mothers knew how to use.

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t told Seokjin anything yet. And now your chopsticks felt too heavy.

“I…” you started, but you could feel Seokjin’s eyes turn toward you.

“Wait,” he said slowly, brows drawing in. “You told me you were in Seoul for medication.”

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t.

The clinking at the table continued—your stepdad sipping his drink, your sister chatting about school—but for a moment, your world quieted.

You looked up at Seokjin with a small smile. “Everything’s okay. I’m recovering well.”

He didn’t push. But something in his expression shifted.

He nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s… good to hear.”

The conversation moved forward again—your mom offering seconds, your stepdad complaining about mosquitoes—but something hung in the air between you and Jin, like a thread not pulled tight enough.

Later that night, as you sat on the porch watching fireflies, you caught Seokjin glancing at you more often.

He didn’t ask again. Not yet.

But in his quiet, observant way, you could tell he had filed the moment away. Like he wanted to understand more. Not to pry—but to be ready for when you finally decide to share.

And he would wait. You could feel it.

You stood at the edge of the yard with your overnight bag slung over your shoulder, waving one last time at your dad who stayed behind to finish the last pieces of the chicken coop.

Your mom fussed over you until the final moment—adjusting your collar, slipping some wrapped rice cakes into your hands, whispering to eat them when you missed home. Your little step-sister shyly tugged at your sleeve before giving you a sudden, tight hug.

Then came the surprise.

When Seokjin stepped beside you, brushing off his pants, your mom suddenly wrapped her arms around him in a quick but heartfelt embrace. Your step-sister followed suit, mumbling a soft thank-you for bringing you home.

Even your stepdad came over, clapped a hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Drive safe, son.”

Seokjin stood still, stunned—his eyes wide, arms slightly awkward at his sides. It took him a second before he managed to return the hugs, hesitant but moved.

As you got into the car and buckled your seatbelt, you caught his expression from the corner of your eye. Still slightly dazed, slightly touched, like he hadn’t expected to be included in something so soft.

“You okay?” you asked, voice light as you pulled your hair into a loose ponytail.

He glanced at you, and a quiet chuckle left his lips. “I just got hugged by your entire family like I belonged.”

“You kind of do,” you said gently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

The ride began in companionable silence, the countryside slowly falling away behind you. Seokjin drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Your bag sat in your lap, but you leaned your head against the window, stealing glances at him now and then.

That’s when he said it.

“Now I know why you’re so easy to fall for.”

You blinked, eyes widening just slightly as your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

Your voice was quiet but honest, not hiding behind a joke or a tease. You turned toward him fully, clutching your rice cake bag a little tighter.

He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but the edges of his lips curled upward.

“I mean it,” he said, softer now. “You’re kind, you see the world in a way I forgot was possible. Your family… it makes sense now. That kind of love—it built you.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “You don’t even know everything about me.”

“I don’t need to know everything,” he replied. “I know enough to feel this.”

You stared at him, then turned back to your window, the countryside blurring into trees and shadows. “So… what does this mean?”

He glanced at you again before shifting slightly in his seat. “I don’t want to be just neighbors. Or someone who happens to be around when you leave notes at the door.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

He continued, quieter now. “You’re more than that to me. And I’d like to be more than that to you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached down slowly, gently placing your hand over his on the center console.

He looked down at your hand, then back to the road, and something in him seemed to settle.

“Okay,” you whispered, voice thick with warmth. “Because you already are.”

For a moment, nothing else needed to be said. The quiet hum of the car, the colors of dusk, the soft grip of your fingers resting in his—it was all enough.

You didn’t need grand gestures or the perfect moment. Just this one. Just each other.

The soft rhythm of the road hummed beneath the car as Seoul drew closer, but Seokjin wasn’t paying much attention to the signs or the distance. Not when you were curled up in the passenger seat like that—cheek resting against the window, a faint smile playing on your lips, your breathing soft and even like the sound of gentle waves.

You had fallen asleep not long after leaving the countryside. Maybe it was the sun, or the full meal your mom insisted on. Maybe it was just comfort. Maybe it was trust.

Seokjin glanced at you again, and that small smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it. There was something about you when you slept—unguarded, peaceful. Beautiful in the kind of way he didn’t have the words for. Not polished, not posed. Just… real.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and exhaled.

It had been a long time since he felt this soft about someone. Since he wanted to memorize the way someone looked in the sunlight. Since he had laughed at dinner—really laughed—and felt like he was part of something again.

He remembered your stepfather’s quiet humor, your mother’s warm hospitality, your step-sister’s shy smile. They didn’t know him, but they welcomed him. And you… you never stopped smiling the whole time. You were glowing, like the entire visit breathed life into you.

He understood now—why your heart was so big. Why you looked at the world like it still had so much to offer.

“You’re lucky,” he whispered, glancing at you again. “But maybe I’m the luckier one now.”

You stirred a little at the sound of his voice, murmuring something in your sleep, shifting your head slightly so your hair spilled over your shoulder. He reached toward the console, turned the music volume even lower, and continued driving with one hand resting near yours—close but not quite touching.

He wondered, not for the first time, how he got here. From cold hallways and business meetings and empty meals… to this. Driving home from a countryside visit, after sharing a kiss that still hadn’t left his mind, with someone who made the world feel warmer just by being in it.

He remembered what you said before you left your house. That you hadn’t told your family you were coming, but somehow you knew they’d love him.

And they did.

But it wasn’t just them. It was you. It had always been you. From the moment he first heard your laugh through the hallway, from the first note, the first time you knocked on his wall just to say goodnight. You had started taking root inside his life without him even realizing it.

And now, watching you sleep peacefully next to him, Seokjin couldn’t deny it anymore.

He wanted more of this. More mornings. More long drives. More notes, more rooftop conversations, more stolen smiles over bowls of ramyeon.

More of you.

When the skyline of Seoul appeared, glittering in the distance, he sighed softly. Not because he didn’t want to go back—but because part of him already missed the quiet in-between that only the drive gave them.

He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, careful not to wake you.

“You make everything feel less heavy,” he whispered.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to carry things again—if it meant he could carry them with you.

Jin parked the car and walked you to your apartment door like he always did now—but tonight felt different. There was a weightless buzz in the air, soft and humming, like spring was blooming in the middle of Seoul’s concrete chill.

You stood by your front door, bag slung over your shoulder, the countryside still lingering in your clothes, your hair, your heart. You looked up at him with that gentle smile—the one he’d seen dozens of times now but still felt like it belonged only to him.

“Thanks for today,” you said, voice hushed like the hallway might echo if you spoke too loudly. “I didn’t think I’d get to laugh that much.”

Jin tilted his head, smiling back, one hand in his coat pocket. “You have a contagious laugh. I should’ve charged you for every time I almost snorted.”

You laughed softly, tugging your sleeve down. “Sorry you had to hear my countryside family chaos.”

“Sorry?” He leaned in a little. “That was the best meal I’ve had in years. I’ve never had your kind of chaos before. I liked it.”

There was a pause. One of those fragile, in-between seconds that stretch too long. You felt it before you saw it—his eyes flickering down to your lips. Not rushed. Not hesitant, either. Just sure.

And then, just like that, Seokjin kissed you.

It wasn’t a firework. It wasn’t a scene from a movie. It was slower, warmer. Like returning home after a long, cold day. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your ear, and you leaned into him without even thinking. Familiar. Giddy. Your breath caught in your throat the way it always did around him.

When he pulled back, it took a moment for your eyes to flutter open.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but his smile gave him away. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

You blinked up at him, lips tingling. “Don’t be sorry. Just… don’t be done.”

That made him laugh—boyish, quiet, surprised. He gently took your bag from your shoulder and opened your door like it was second nature now. As if this wasn’t just next-door. As if this was exactly where you belonged.

You stepped inside together, not even turning on the lights. The glow from the hallway spilled into your living room, soft and gold.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, suddenly serious. “And don’t laugh.”

You turned to him, eyes still dazed from the kiss. “Okay.”

“Are you… are you my girlfriend now?”

You stared for a second, then broke into laughter. He groaned.

“I said don’t laugh!”

You tried to smother it with your hand, still giggling. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just—how do you make everything sound so awkward and cute at the same time?”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So is that a yes or…?”

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest. You felt his breath hitch.

“Yes,” you murmured. “I’m your girlfriend now.”

You felt him smile against your hair.

He pulled you tighter against him like you were something precious he wasn’t ready to let go of.

The city was quiet outside your windows. Inside, it was just two hearts, shy and sincere, trying to learn how to belong to each other.

And for the first time in a long time, Seokjin didn’t feel alone anymore.

The hallway light faded as he stepped back into his own apartment, but the feeling clung to him like sunlight that refused to go down.

She said yes.

She’s mine now.

Seokjin leaned back against his closed door and exhaled, almost laughing to himself in disbelief. It had been a long time since something so simple could make him feel this good. No grand confessions, no fireworks or dramatics—just you, looking up at him with that warm, countryside smile, saying yes.

And it felt like it mattered more than anything else he’d ever had.

Meanwhile, in your apartment, you were glowing.

Wrapped in your favorite soft cardigan, legs tucked beneath you, you sat on the floor by the window with your diary open on your lap. You had already written half a page in messy, excited scrawl before realizing you were smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

June 18.

I think… no, I know—I have a boyfriend now. Kim Seokjin. My neighbor. The same one I thought would never even say good morning to me a few weeks ago. We kissed today. Twice. And he asked if I’d be his girlfriend, and I said yes like I wasn’t going to burst from joy.

I should tell him soon. About my condition. About the real reason I’m here. I know I have to… but not today. I want to hold onto this happiness a little longer.

You closed the diary and hugged it to your chest, whispering into the quiet, “Thank You. Just a little more time, please.”

The next morning, Seokjin woke up first.

Before the sun had fully risen, before the building stirred with footsteps or elevator chimes, he was already standing in his kitchen scribbling something on a post-it note.

He’d beat you to it today.

“Have a good morning, girlfriend.”

He stuck the note to your door with a small smile, glancing down the hallway for any sign of you before heading off to work, humming something stupid under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a love song.

The office was its usual chaos—meetings, schedules, calls, too many emails. But Jin, for once, wasn’t his usual cold, unreadable self. He barely noticed the inbox growing like a weed.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said, leaning over the divider, brows raised. “You look… weird.”

Jin raised a brow. “Weird?”

“You’re smiling. Like genuinely. That’s new.”

Seokjin gave a slight shrug, trying not to look too obvious. But the corners of his mouth twitched again.

“I’m dating someone.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?!”

“My neighbor. The one I told you about—the sweet one who left notes and talks about stray puppies and doesn’t stop smiling even when the elevator breaks.”

Jungkook stared at him, wide-eyed. “No way. You? Dating? The guy who told me just last month that he doesn’t have time for distractions?”

“I didn’t say she was a distraction,” Jin said, sitting back in his chair. “She’s… different.”

“Different how?”

Jin paused for a moment, looking out the window. Seoul stretched wide before him—busy, gray, relentless. But somewhere just a few districts away, she was probably writing in her diary or helping someone or smiling at a puppy in the shelter.

“She makes the world feel less loud,” he murmured. “Like I’m allowed to stop and breathe.”

Jungkook blinked. “Damn.”

Jin laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Damn.”

And for the rest of the morning, even as the office returned to its usual buzz and bluster, Seokjin carried that calm with him—the memory of you laughing with your family, smiling up at him like he’d given you the moon when all he offered was his heart.

This was new. This was good.

And for the first time in a long time, something finally felt right.

You were in the middle of fluffing your hair in the mirror when your phone lit up with a message.

[Seokjin 🐹]

I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

It’s our first date after all.

Your heart fluttered so hard it felt like wings. You stared at the message a second longer before replying.

[You]

Our first date… sounds like a big deal. Should I be nervous? 🫣

He replied almost instantly.

[Seokjin 🐹]

Only if you plan to break my heart tonight.

You laughed—hands shaking just slightly—as you tossed your phone on the bed and stepped back to your closet.

It was strange, this excitement. You were used to quiet evenings, notes on doors, rooftop conversations under the moon. But this… this was different. This was you dressing up, curling your lashes, trying on lipstick twice. This was your first real date. With him.

The grumpy neighbor who once scowled at your hello. The man who now kissed your forehead and left notes on your door and told you that you were his.

At exactly 7:00 p.m., your doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, Seokjin stood there in a dark suit and an open-collared dress shirt, hair effortlessly styled, holding a single yellow rose.

“You said you like yellow,” he said simply, handing it to you.

You took it, smiling. “I feel like I just walked into a movie scene.”

He gave you a once-over, his eyes softening. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” you said, cheeks warm. “You clean up nicely, too.”

He grinned. “Wait ‘til you see the restaurant.”

The drive was quiet at first, soft music playing through the car’s speakers. He asked if you were nervous, and you admitted you were.

“I’ve never been on a date like this,” you said, playing with the hem of your dress.

He glanced at you. “What do you mean ‘like this’?”

“Like, fancy. Big city fancy. I’ve been to the countryside fair once. That had corndogs and music.”

Seokjin chuckled. “Okay, I’ll take you to one of those next time. But tonight…” he glanced at you again, “you deserve a little luxury.”

The restaurant was nestled on the 38th floor of a hotel. All glass windows and golden chandeliers. The hostess greeted Jin by name, which surprised you even more. You walked through velvet-lined aisles until you reached a private table by the window.

The view of Seoul at night was stunning. Dotted lights. Moving rivers of traffic. A city that never slept.

And Jin, sitting across from you, smiling softly like you were the most beautiful thing in the room.

You flipped through the menu, trying not to look lost.

“There’s no price on this,” you whispered.

“That’s how you know it’s dangerous,” he smirked. “Want me to order for you?”

You nodded with a relieved smile, closing the menu. “Please. I trust you.”

When the waiter left, Jin leaned forward slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“So… our first date,” he said, fingers drumming the tablecloth gently. “How am I doing so far?”

“Let’s see,” you teased, counting on your fingers. “You showed up on time, brought me a flower, look incredibly handsome, and didn’t judge me for panicking at the menu. You’re doing okay.”

He laughed, that warm belly-laugh that made you smile without meaning to.

The food came—a parade of dishes you barely knew how to pronounce but found incredibly delicious. Jin explained what everything was, even how to pair bites, joking when you made faces at the fancy sauces.

And then… slowly, intentionally, he held your hand.

You looked at him.

He didn’t say anything—just looked back at you with that same soft, unreadable gaze. Like he was still trying to understand how he ended up here, across from someone like you. And why it felt like exactly where he was supposed to be.

“Your hand is warm,” you murmured.

“Yours is cold,” he said, gently rubbing his thumb against your palm.

“I think it’s nerves,” you whispered.

He tilted his head. “Still?”

“A little.”

Jin leaned forward again, voice low. “I won’t let anything hurt you. Just let me spoil you a little.”

You looked down at your hands—intertwined—and nodded, heart thudding like a drum in your chest.

By the time dessert arrived—something creamy and sweet with a chocolate drizzle—you were laughing at one of Jin’s absurd childhood stories. He talked about getting caught sneaking snacks at school and how his mom once scolded him in front of the whole class.

“I don’t believe that,” you said between laughs. “You? Embarrassed?”

“I was eleven! I had an image to protect!”

“You still do,” you teased. “But I’m seeing through it.”

He just looked at you then. The smile remained, but there was something else in his eyes now—fondness, yes. But also awe.

“You always see through people?” he asked.

“Only when I care enough to look.”

There was a beat. A silence filled with something unspoken.

And then he raised your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Good,” he murmured. “I hope you keep looking at me like this.”

You didn’t say anything, just smiled—nervously, sweetly—and squeezed his hand back.

You weren’t used to this.

But you liked it. You really did.

On the drive home, you rested your head against the window, watching the lights blur past.

Jin was humming softly along to the music, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your knee as he shifted gears.

You stole glances at him—how the city lights reflected in his profile, how calm he looked tonight.

And somewhere in your chest, you felt it bloom again.

That warm, slow-burning kind of affection.

The kind that felt like the beginning of something you didn’t want to end.

Chapter 7

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 5: “A Morning I’ll Remember”

You stood in the hallway, barefoot in your soft pajama pants, your fingers lightly gripping the small square of paper.

The note read simply:

“Today felt kind again. Thank you for being part of it.”

—Y/N

You didn’t expect much. You never did. The act of leaving a note wasn’t about expecting anything back — it was more like offering something soft to the world, and hoping the world softened in return.

But just as you were about to tuck the note behind the small brass number on his door, you heard a voice.

A woman’s voice.

You froze.

It was faint — muffled by the thick door — but unmistakably warm and feminine. She laughed at something, and Jin’s voice followed. Deeper. Familiar. Not quite laughing, but relaxed in a way you hadn’t heard before.

Something tugged inside your chest. You stepped back on instinct, like you’d walked into something you weren’t meant to see or hear. Something that didn’t belong to you.

The note trembled slightly in your hand.

You looked down at it. Read it again. For a moment, you thought about slipping it into your pocket, walking back, pretending you were never there.

Still you stepped forward again and gently pressed the note into place.

Not for a reaction. Not to be noticed. Just… because it still mattered to you.

You stood there for a second longer. Not bitter. Not angry. Just quietly aware of the space between you and him — a space filled with things you hadn’t asked, and things he hadn’t said.

And then you turned, and walked slowly back to your door.

Inside, you brushed your teeth in silence. Wrote in your diary by the dim light of your lamp.

“I heard a girl in his apartment tonight. It stung a little. I don’t know why. I guess I’m just not used to wishing for things. But I still left the note. Because the day was still kind. And I still meant it.”

You closed your journal, hugged it to your chest, and whispered a small prayer before turning off the light.

“Please let tomorrow feel light again. Even if it’s not for me.”

And then you slept. With the kind of ache that only comes when you’re brave enough to care.

He didn’t expect the lights to be on when he returned from the rooftop.

He stood outside his door for a moment, blinking. He was sure he turned everything off before stepping out. His mind ran through possibilities — the building staff, maybe? A malfunction?

But the second he pushed open the door, he knew.

“Mirae,” he said flatly.

She was sitting on his couch, legs crossed like she belonged there. Like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t left with nothing but a goodbye that didn’t even sound like one.

“Hi,” she said, almost sheepish. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

He stepped in and shut the door quietly behind him, but the silence that settled between them was far from quiet. It was thick. Old. Heavy with things they had left unsaid for too long.

“How did you get in?” he muttered, jaw tense.

“I still have your keys” she replied.

He nodded slowly. Of course she did.

“I guess I have to change the keys” he said simply, heading into the kitchen. He needed something to do with his hands.

She followed, of course. “Aren’t you even going to ask why I’m here?”

“You’re already here,” he replied, reaching into the fridge. “Asking won’t change that.”

She leaned against the counter. “I just… missed you, Jin. That’s all.”

He didn’t look at her. He focused on pulling out ingredients — leftover rice, some vegetables, eggs. A simple meal. One he usually made when the apartment felt too cold.

His mind was somewhere else — stuck on the rooftop, maybe. On the quiet laughter you gave him when you talked about the puppy. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. The note you left two nights ago that he had folded neatly and kept on his nightstand.

She noticed his silence. “You’re different,” she said, watching him move around the kitchen.

“I am,” he said.

He didn’t mean for it to sound like a confession, but it was.

Different because of the way the apartment had begun to feel warmer even before Mirae stepped in. Different because of the notes. The dinners. The way you greeted him like he was more than the sum of his silence.

She stayed for dinner. He didn’t ask her to. He didn’t talk much, either.

But that night, when she finally left, he stood in the hallway and noticed something tucked behind his door number.

A small note.

He read it.

“Today felt kind again. Thank you for being part of it.”

—Y/N

His throat tightened.

You must have come by while Mirae was still here.

You left the note anyway.

He didn’t know what to do with the soft guilt that rose in his chest. Not because he owed you anything — but because it hit him then, with clarity — he didn’t want you to feel like a stranger in his life anymore.

You woke up with a heaviness in your body.

It wasn’t exhaustion — not quite. It was more like your bones had quietly agreed to move slower today, and your breath carried a quiet ache in every inhale. You blinked at the ceiling, waiting for the feeling to pass.

But it didn’t.

Still, you got up.

The air was cool in the apartment, and the light from the window was soft, golden, kind. You moved through your morning slowly — brushing your hair, washing your face, pulling your favorite light jacket over a simple dress. The mirror reflected someone who looked a little pale, but still smiling.

Your aunt had already left early for work, and the apartment was quiet. You scribbled a quick note for her, just in case, then packed a small snack in your bag. Today, you were visiting the animal shelter where the puppy you rescued was recovering.

The memory made you smile. That little ball of tangled fur, whimpering behind the trash bins, licking your hand like it knew you were kind.

Before leaving, you folded a new note. Something simple. You weren’t even sure why you still left them, but it had become part of your day — like brushing your teeth or tying your shoes.

But just as you stepped into the hallway, note in hand, you found yourself face-to-face with Seokjin.

He stood at the elevator, phone in hand, dressed sharply again in black slacks and a fitted shirt, the top buttons undone casually. He looked tired. His hair was slightly tousled, like he hadn’t slept well.

You hesitated for a second, then smiled like you always did. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter than usual.

You both stepped into the elevator together.

There was a soft silence between you until you turned slightly to face him. “I, um… I left a note last night.” You didn’t expect to bring it up, but it was sitting on your chest since you heard the voice in his apartment. “I heard you talking to someone… a girl.”

He stiffened a little.

You immediately waved a hand. “I didn’t mean to listen, I swear! I just— I was already there, and then I froze and—”

“That was my ex,” he interrupted, sighing. “Mirae. She came by unexpectedly.”

“Oh.” You blinked.

“He scratched the back of his neck, awkward. “It wasn’t… I didn’t ask her to stay. It wasn’t anything like that.”

You smiled gently. “You don’t owe me an explanation, you know.”

“I know,” he said. But he gave it anyway.

Another silence passed.

Then he surprised you by clearing his throat and saying, “Are you busy tonight?”

You turned toward him, surprised. “Why?”

“I’m cooking,” he said, looking a little flustered. “Thought I should return the favor. Since you invited me before.”

You beamed. “Really? I’d love that.”

He seemed to relax a little. “Good.”

The elevator doors opened.

“I’m heading to the shelter,” you added as you both walked out. “The puppy I found is there. Thought I’d visit.”

He paused mid-step and glanced down at you. “You don’t look so great.”

You laughed, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m okay. Just a little tired.”

He said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “Text me if you feel worse. I can come pick you up.”

You blinked, startled. “You don’t even have my number.”

“Then give it to me,” he said, as casually as if he were asking for the time.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, hands still a little cold from the morning air, and handed it to him. He typed his number in, saved it with just a “J,” then gave it back.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, walking toward the parking garage.

You stood there for a few seconds, smiling like an idiot, before turning toward the street.

The day was slow, but kind. At the shelter, the puppy wagged her tail as if she remembered you. You sat with her in the sun for almost an hour, letting her rest her small head in your lap.

Later, you bought strawberries from an old lady on the corner and helped a lost tourist find the nearest station. Even with the dull ache in your chest, you whispered thank you for the quiet beauty of the day.

When you returned home, you paused in front of Jin’s door.

This time, you didn’t leave a note.

You would see him tonight.

And that — for some reason — was enough.

You held your breath for a second before you knocked—twice, lightly, like you weren’t sure if you were ready. But before doubt could settle in, the door opened.

And there he was.

Seokjin.

No longer the slightly intimidating, grumpy neighbor from across the hall. Not quite a friend. Not yet something more. But standing there barefoot, in a soft gray sweater and casual slacks, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, hair still damp from a recent shower—he looked… different.

Or maybe he had always looked like this, and you were only beginning to see it.

“Hey,” he said.

You smiled and held up a small paper bag. “My mom always said you shouldn’t visit someone’s home empty-handed.”

He peered into the bag and raised an eyebrow. “Sweet potato bread?”

“It’s comforting,” you said. “Like a hug for your mouth.”

He chuckled—one of those rare sounds from him that made you want to hear it again.

The inside of his apartment was tidy, warm, and smelled faintly of soy sauce and garlic. You stepped in slowly, your eyes taking everything in: the neat bookshelf, a muted-toned couch with a soft-looking throw, and near the window— a sunflower.

You helped him prepare dinner. It wasn’t extravagant—just homemade doenjang-jjigae, kimchi pancakes, and rice—but every movement felt new, meaningful.

He let you chop vegetables while he stirred the pot.

“So… where’d you learn to cook like this?” you asked.

He smirked. “College. If I wanted to survive. I got pretty good out of necessity.”

You nodded, watching him. “I had to learn too, but mostly because my dad used to forget the rice on the stove. We almost burned the kitchen once.”

“You really grew up in the countryside, huh?”

“Born and raised. Small house, even smaller library where I worked. Quiet days, fresh air, lots of loud frogs at night.”

“That actually sounds nice.”

“It was,” you said. “I miss it sometimes. The simple life. The stars. I wish I could take you there sometime.”

The words slipped out, natural and light.

But the moment they landed, they seemed to settle differently.

He looked at you.

Then, carefully: “I’d like that. If you mean it.”

You nodded. “I do.”

The silence that followed was not awkward. It was soft. Something else settling between the two of you.

Over dinner, the conversation deepened. You told him about the puppy shelter visit. How you still checked on Dubu. How even though today you felt a little dizzy from walking too much, you couldn’t miss the chance to see him.

He listened intently, resting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. And at some point, he said softly,

“You make everything sound easy.”

You looked at him, surprised by the quiet weight of his words.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said, “How you stay… warm. Even when everything isn’t.”

“I guess,” you began, “I just try to find one good thing in a day. Even if it’s small.”

“And today?”

“This dinner,” you said without thinking.

And then, more quietly, “You.”

He blinked at that.

There was a pause.

“I have wine,” he said, clearing his throat. “If you want.”

You smiled. “I’d prefer tea.”

He got up to boil water, and when he came back, you sat on the couch with your mug, legs curled beneath you. He sat across from you, watching steam rise from his cup.

“What did you want to be, growing up?” he asked.

“Happy,” you answered, half-joking.

But then, “A writer. Or a children’s librarian. I like stories. I like quiet things that mean something.”

He looked at you like you’d said something he hadn’t heard in a long time.

You looked away, cheeks warm.

A gentle breeze came in through the window. The light in the room glowed soft and golden. You set your mug down and looked at him again.

“I miss home sometimes,” you said. “I miss my dad’s terrible jokes. My step-sister’s drawings. My mom’s cooking.”

“You should visit,” he said, after a moment. “If you want.”

You looked up. “I’d like to. I just don’t want to go alone.”

You didn’t ask him to come with you. But something in your voice left the door open.

And maybe he heard it.

Because after a moment, he said, “Maybe I can… see that library someday. The creaky one.”

You smiled at him.

Then stood.

“I should head back.”

But you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then—he took one slow step toward you.

You looked up at him, heart suddenly racing.

He reached out, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear with quiet care. His fingers lingered near your cheek.

Your eyes met his.

Neither of you spoke.

The air buzzed with something fragile, something aching and sweet.

You tilted your head slightly. Just slightly.

He leaned in. Close. So close, you could feel his breath warm on your lips.

But then he stopped.

Eyes still on yours.

Neither of you moved for a heartbeat.

Then he stepped back.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said gently.

You nodded, breath caught in your throat.

At your door, he waited for you to go inside. You turned back before closing it.

“Thank you. For letting me in.”

He gave the faintest smile. “Thank you for staying.”

You closed the door slowly.

Later that night, you wrote something in your journal.

“Sometimes a place becomes warmer

just because someone lets you in.

Sometimes, it’s a bowl of soup.

Or the space between almost and maybe.

I don’t know what this is yet.

But I want to find out.”

Then, as always, you left a small note outside his door.

“Dinner was lovely. Thank you for being kind to me.”

And with that, you went to bed with your heart full—unsure of what this was, but deeply certain it was becoming something.

The bar was dim, the lights low enough for thoughts to feel heavier. Jin sipped his drink slowly, eyes fixed on the amber swirl in his glass.

“You’ve been quiet for ten minutes,” Jungkook finally said, nudging Jin’s arm. “What’s going on?”

Jin exhaled, leaning back in the booth. “Mirae came to my apartment.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wait, what?”

“She let herself in. I forgot she still had the keys.” Jin’s tone turned sharp. “She said she missed me. Stayed while I cooked. Like nothing happened.”

“Damn… what did you say?”

“I didn’t say much. I just… wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel anything. That’s what shocked me the most.” Jin rubbed his thumb against the rim of his glass. “It felt like she didn’t even belong there anymore.”

Jungkook stared for a moment. “So… what’s really bothering you?”

Jin was quiet. Then: “My neighbor.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “What about her?”

“She’s… nice,” Jin said slowly, like he was still figuring out the word. “Warm. The kind of person who leaves notes at your door just to wish you a good day. Who feeds birds, helps strangers, talks to you like you’re not broken.”

Jungkook smirked. “Are you telling me the grump next door has a crush?”

Jin gave him a look, but didn’t deny it. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t even know her that well, but… I feel something. I’m not used to it. It’s different from Mirae. Lighter.”

Jungkook leaned back, arms folded. “So what are you going to do?”

Jin shrugged, gaze flickering to the side. “I don’t know. She’s the kind of person who makes you want to be good.”

“You, Kim Seokjin — the king of shutting everyone out, is talking about a girl who feeds birds and leaves notes?”

“She rescued a stray puppy,” Seokjin added quietly, more to himself than Jungkook. “And she still finds something beautiful about this city every day. Even when she’s tired. Even when the world doesn’t give her a reason.”

Jungkook leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “So you like her.”

“I don’t know what this is yet,” Seokjin admitted. “But when I talk to her… I forget that life is supposed to feel so heavy.”

He didn’t say it, but youmade him feel human again — in the simplest, most unexplainable way. With you, silence wasn’t awkward. It was warm. With you, even a mundane conversation about the weather felt like sunlight breaking through years of cold gray.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “And Mirae?”

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair. “That part of my life is over. I should’ve changed the damn lock. I will. But even if she walked in every day, it wouldn’t change how I feel now.”

Jungkook smirked. “So what are you gonna do about sunshine-next-door?”

“I don’t know,” Jin said, finishing his drink. “But… I want to see her again. Not just in the elevator. Not just when she drops another note.”

Jungkook clinked their glasses together. “That’s a start.”

They sat in silence again, but this time it wasn’t heavy.

In Seokjin’s mind, he saw your smile — the one you gave so freely, like it cost you nothing. The way you looked up at the sky, always finding meaning in the mundane. The way you told him stories without needing to be interesting, because you already were.

He remembered the way you hugged him — soft, light, unexpected. He remembered how you looked at him like he wasn’t just someone in a suit. Like he was still human. Still worth something.

And maybe that was why he felt the shift now — not because of what you did, but because of who you were.

Someone who believed in light.

Even in people like him.

The soft morning light filtered in through the cream-colored curtains, wrapping the apartment in a golden hush. You stretched in bed, the familiar ache tugging at your ribs, a reminder to breathe a little slower, move a little gentler. But your body had grown used to these quiet negotiations.

You pulled the covers off, feeling the cool wood floor under your feet, and smiled faintly.

Today was a good day. You could feel it.

You padded into the kitchen where your aunt had already packed her luggage. She was zipping up her carry-on, balancing her phone between her shoulder and cheek as she murmured something to her assistant. She noticed you, gave you a warm smile, and mouthed, “Five minutes.”

You nodded, placing two mugs on the counter and preparing tea. Your aunt hung up, took one sip, and gave a sigh.

“I’m really sorry I have to go again,” she said, setting her mug down. “But I’ve left money, your hospital appointments are arranged, and the driver can take you if you’re not feeling well.”

You shook your head, “You’re already doing so much for me. Thank you, really.”

She smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear gently. “You remind me of your mother. The way you look at the world like it still has magic.”

You tried not to tear up, so you smiled instead. “Don’t worry, I have Seoul and my notes to keep me company.”

“Ah yes, the famous notes,” she teased, picking up her bag. “You keep leaving them for that neighbor of yours?”

You grinned. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” she winked. “Just don’t break his heart.”

After your aunt left, you scribbled your usual note and tiptoed out of the apartment. Today’s message was short:

“Wishing you a peaceful morning. The sky looks soft today, maybe it’s resting too. — Y/N”

You quietly slid the note into the crack of Seokjin’s door and were about to turn when the door swung open.

You jumped.

“Oh—!”

Seokjin stood there in sweats and a black t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled, eyes not fully awake but already sharp.

“I knew it,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he caught you.

You turned slowly, lips curving into an innocent smile. “Knew what, exactly?”

He nodded toward the note. “That my mysterious motivational stalker lives right next door.”

You feigned shock, dramatically placing a hand on your chest. “Wow. And here I thought I was being subtle. Maybe I should’ve used a disguise.”

Seokjin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Yeah, maybe wear sunglasses next time. Or at least stop using the same smiley face.”

You gave him a mock sigh. “Fine. I guess the secret’s out.”

He smirked. “Took you long enough to get caught.”

There was a moment of pause. Then, to your surprise, his tone softened.

“I wasn’t planning on going out today. Was thinking of just resting. Want to come in for breakfast?”

Your eyes widened a little. “Now?”

He gave a casual shrug. “I have eggs, toast… and surprisingly, real coffee.”

You grinned. “You had me at real coffee.”

The smell of eggs sizzling in butter filled the air as you stood at the marble kitchen island, watching him cook. There were small signs of life now: a ceramic mug with a cartoon bear on it, a tea towel that didn’t match anything, a sunflower in a glass on the window sill.

“You live like a movie character,” you said, sitting on the stool and resting your chin on your hand. “Only better dressed.”

Seokjin snorted. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You both sat at the counter, eating eggs and toast. He brewed coffee in silence, then passed you a steaming cup.

“This is good,” you said after one sip. “Like, really good. Maybe you should open a café.”

“You think I have the face for it?”

You giggled. “You’d terrify all the customers.”

He laughed, a real laugh this time — the kind that lingered in his eyes.

Between bites, you said quietly, “I miss home sometimes.”

“Where’s home again?” he asked.

“Jeongseon. I miss the quiet… and the way the wind smells like earth and leaves.”

He listened intently, fingers tracing the rim of his cup.

“Do you visit often?”

“I haven’t since I came here. Not even once.”

He studied you. “Do you want to go?”

You blinked at him, unsure if he meant it as small talk.

“Today,” he said suddenly. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

He tilted his head. “Why not? I have a car. You miss your family. The weather’s good. We can be back by tonight.”

Your hands flew to your chest, and without thinking, you got up and wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you said against his shoulder.

He froze for a second — then slowly relaxed, his hand hovering before settling gently on your back. You pulled away slightly, but your face was close to his now — so close.

“I haven’t felt this excited in so long,” you whispered.

He looked at you, his gaze intense but soft. “I like seeing you like this.”

Your smile faltered slightly at the sincerity in his voice. His hand was still resting lightly against your back, and the space between you felt charged — not urgent, not rushed… but inevitable.

He didn’t lean in right away. He just stared at you for a moment too long.

“You’re… really something else,” he said.

And then, finally, the distance dissolved.

His lips met yours — not fast, not demanding, but slow, almost unsure. As if asking a question you’d both been waiting to answer.

You kissed him back, softly, your hand resting on his chest. The world around you faded for that one moment — no pain, no illness, no worries.

His lips were soft — tentative at first. The kind of kiss that asks a question.

And you answered.

There was no rush, no firestorm. Just warmth. Like two people who’d been walking in the same direction for a while and finally stopped at the same place.

Seokjin’s hand hovered near your cheek but never touched. Instead, it was his breath, his closeness, his presence that wrapped around you. The kiss deepened gently — slow, like neither of you wanted it to end, but both were afraid if it went on too long, it would shatter the quiet thing forming between you.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you a little breathless — not from passion, but from realization.

He exhaled first, a soft chuckle caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.

“I didn’t mean to—” he started, then stopped, as if that wasn’t quite true.

You smiled, eyes still closed. “But you did.”

A beat passed. His voice came softer this time. “Yeah… I did.”

Your nose nudged his, and for a second, you stayed like that. Close. Unmoving. Not needing anything but the stillness.

Then, as if gravity hadn’t finished its pull, he kissed you again — slower this time, like memorizing the feel of you. Your hand lightly gripped the edge of his sleeve, grounding yourself.

Neither of you were people who rushed into things. He had lived in walls and silence, and you… you had learned how to love the world even when it wasn’t kind.

But in that moment, there was no pain, no past. Just the now.

Later, you both sat in the soft light of his living room — knees brushing, faces flushed, the air between you calm and stretched.

“I’m not good at this,” he said after a while. “The… feeling part.”

You smiled at him gently. “You just did it.”

He looked at you, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d feel anything again. Not like this.”

“Neither did I,” you whispered.

He didn’t ask what you meant. He just took it in, as he always did, quietly.

You leaned against his shoulder, and he let you — resting his cheek lightly on top of your head. No more words were needed.

Later, when you stepped back into your apartment, your heart still felt like it was wrapped in sunlight.

You washed your face, brushed your hair, and sat down at your desk. You opened your small journal and wrote just one sentence:

“If this is what it feels like to be alive, then thank You — for one more day of it.”

Seokjin’s POV

He didn’t mean for it to happen.

Not like that.

But when your arms wrapped around him — soft and warm, that sunshine of yours settling against his chest — something in him cracked, quietly but completely.

And when you pulled back to look at him… really look at him, like he was someone worth looking at, worth trusting, worth something again—

He leaned in.

Not rushed. Not reckless.

But because, somehow, it felt like everything in him had been slowly turning toward you since the first time you smiled in that elevator.

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling.

He wasn’t sure what this was. Not yet.

But tonight, something shifted.

And for the first time in a long time…

He wasn’t afraid of the shift.

He was curious where it might take him.

Maybe, just maybe — this wasn’t something meant to be figured out in one night. Maybe it was something to be felt. Gently. Slowly.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t want to go back to the man he was before you.

“God, what are you doing to me?”

But he smiled when he said it.

Because deep down, he wasn’t asking out of fear.

He was asking out of wonder.

Chapter 6

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 4: “The Flower Said Enough”

The door creaked open into silence.

He slipped his shoes off and walked into his apartment like he always did—without turning on the lights right away. Habit, maybe. Or maybe he liked the hush that came with it. The stillness.

The day played behind his eyes like a slideshow—your laugh echoing somewhere between the back of his mind and the car stereo. Your feet swinging as you ate ice cream. The way your eyes lit up at the smallest things, like they hadn’t seen the world enough to be tired of it.

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, exhaled, and reached into the fridge for a bottle of water.

He didn’t know what to make of it all.

He didn’t do things like this. Not anymore. Not since everything with Mirae fell apart—five years packed into a box she never came back to claim.

He thought whatever soft part of him existed had long since dried up, sealed under concrete schedules and unread emails.

But then there you were.

With your sunflower bag. Your questions. Your stories about goats and small libraries and how you stitched memories into everything you touched.

And now… the city felt different.

Lighter, somehow. Not easier—but less unbearable.

He passed the hallway, ready to drag himself toward a quiet shower when his foot brushed something on the floor.

A folded piece of paper. Lemon yellow.

He stared.

Another one?

He leaned down, picked it up, and unfolded it slowly like it might burst into petals.

“The city really was beautiful today. Thank you for making it even more so.”

— From the girl who still believes in sunshine

Seokjin stared at it for a long time.

A breath caught in his throat—not because it was romantic. It wasn’t. There was no flirting, no suggestiveness, no expectation.

Just… sincerity.

You meant it. Every word.

He leaned his head back against the doorframe, closing his eyes.

“The girl who still believes in sunshine.”

Who writes like that?

Who still thinks like that in a world like this?

He sat on the edge of his bed, turning the note over in his hands.

It didn’t make sense.

He had spent years calculating risk. Running numbers. Making sure nothing—not business, not relationships—spiraled beyond his control. Everything had a cost.

But you?

You gave freely. Smiles. Time. Silly facts about sunflower etymology. Even your attention—genuine, undivided. Like you weren’t expecting anything in return.

He didn’t know how to respond to it.

Didn’t know if he should.

Because you looked at the world with so much hope it terrified him. Because you reminded him—without saying anything at all—that there was a time he used to believe in things, too.

Not just love. But goodness. Grace. Serendipity.

Maybe even healing.

He reached for his phone, out of instinct more than intention, and saw an unread text from Jungkook from earlier that afternoon.

JK:

You look less like a jerk lately. Just saying.

Seokjin didn’t reply.

He tossed the phone aside, then glanced toward the folded yellow paper again.

You didn’t know it, but that note was the first thing anyone had given him in a long time without asking for something back.

Outside, the city was dimming, windows blinking off one by one like stars pulling away from the sky.

He didn’t sleep right away. Instead, he sat for a while, note still beside him, wondering how someone like you managed to stay bright in a world that had so much shadow.

And without meaning to, he thought—

Please don’t burn out.

The sunlight found you before your alarm did.

It poured through the gauzy curtains in soft golden ribbons, warming your cheeks, tickling your lashes. For a moment, you simply lay there—eyes closed, a silly smile playing on your lips, heart still wrapped in yesterday.

You had dreamed of stuffed animals and vanilla ice cream and a pair of dark eyes watching you with a softness that felt unspoken. Unintentional.

Seokjin.

You still couldn’t believe he said yes. That he came. That he smiled. That somewhere between city streets and claw machines, he didn’t feel like your grumpy neighbor anymore.

He felt… closer.

Like something was slowly unfolding.

You made yourself breakfast—a quiet morning ritual. Warm toast with yuja marmalade, and a cup of ginger tea. You’d tell your mom about the day when you called her later. She would smile and tell you, “See? I told you someone out there would like your weird, sunny self.”

You were rinsing your mug when something caught your eye—just outside your door.

You blinked.

A small white envelope.

Neat. Clean. Unfolded. Leaning gently against your shoe rack.

You opened the door quickly and looked down the hall, but the hallway was empty. No sound. No footsteps.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up and turned it over.

There was no name.

But you knew.

Somehow, you just knew.

Inside, there was a single note, handwritten in tidy, almost architectural penmanship.

You talk about the world like it still has something to offer.

Sometimes I forget that it does.

Thanks for the reminder.

— J.

You read it once.

Then again.

And again.

And your heart, already soft and full, folded quietly around it like a sunflower turning toward the light.

You pressed the paper against your chest, smiling like you were keeping a secret between just the two of you.

He didn’t say much.

But it was enough.

Because for once, the note wasn’t only from you.

This time… the universe had written back.

It was just a note.

A handful of words scribbled on simple paper, no decoration, no perfume. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not the words he wrote—he had kept them brief, careful, almost guarded. Not even close to everything he thought.

But the way he imagined you finding it.

Standing barefoot by your door, sunlight in your hair. Reading it in your quiet, soft way—like even the smallest kindnesses were something sacred.

He never meant to reply.

But the way you slid that yellow note under his door the night before, like it was the most natural thing in the world… it did something.

He read it twice.

“The city really was beautiful today. Thank you for making it even more so.”

And honesty was something he didn’t realize he missed until you started offering it without asking for anything in return.

That day, he sat by the window, coffee growing cold in his hand. The skyline stretched wide and grey in front of him, but for the first time, he wasn’t staring at it for escape.

He was thinking about you.

How your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

How you waved at every puppy on the street like you knew them personally.

How you treated life like it still held magic—even when you didn’t know if it would last forever.

And it scared him. Not because of you. But because it mattered.

Too much, too soon.

He told himself it was nothing. He barely knew you. You were just a girl from the countryside with a sunflower tote and soft-spoken words and strange little rituals like feeding birds and thanking sunsets.

But you were also the first person in a long time who made the world seem less loud.

Less cruel.

Less… empty.

The office buzzed with static.

Meetings. Messages. Calls stacked on calls. Numbers that didn’t add up. Reports needing signatures. He was usually fine—he thrived in precision, deadlines, structure.

But today?

Today something felt… off. Or rather, he did.

Because halfway through a finance meeting, he caught himself staring at the sunlight spilling across the boardroom table and thinking, Y/N would probably say something poetic about this.

He shook it off, but the thought lingered.

It wasn’t just your smile.

It was the way you made space for joy—even in small, ordinary things.

You didn’t run from the world. You opened your hands to it.

He tried to focus.

Failed.

And when the day finally ended, he walked back to his car under the honey-orange sky, shoulders heavy from hours of everything.

That’s when he saw them.

A woman near the building exit, hunched over a fold-out table with tired eyes and calloused hands, was selling flowers.

Not roses. Not lilies.

Sunflowers.

Bright, unapologetic, bursting yellow—like summer had refused to leave.

He didn’t think.

He stopped.

He bought one.

Just one.

He stood there for a moment, holding the stem like it meant something more than it should.

It was stupid, maybe.

But it reminded him of you.

That evening

He slipped the sunflower into a small brown paper bag, wrote nothing on it, and left it by your door quietly—no knock, no note, no explanation.

Then he walked away.

He didn’t know if you’d find it right away.

But he knew you would smile.

And somehow… that felt like enough.

There it was.

Propped gently against your door: a single sunflower in a brown paper bag.

No note. No name.

But you knew.

Your heart recognized it the way it recognizes warmth after cold. The way your fingers know softness without needing to open your eyes.

You bent down slowly, picked it up as if it were the most delicate thing in the world, and brought it into your apartment like a secret.

The sunflower caught the light on your windowsill. Tall. Cheerful. Resilient.

You smiled at it for longer than you meant to.

“Thank you,” you whispered, even if he couldn’t hear.

When you stepped onto the rooftop later that evening, the sky was tinted lavender, the kind of color that looked like a soft promise. He was already there—just like he’d been more and more these days.

Hands in his pockets. Tie gone. Hair tousled from the breeze. That familiar wall of stillness surrounding him like armor.

But tonight, you weren’t afraid of it.

You walked toward your usual spot with slow, quiet steps, but before you could sit, you glanced at him.

“I found something at my door,” you said, voice light.

He didn’t turn.

“A sunflower,” you added gently.

This time, his jaw twitched.

“I like to think the city gave it to me,” you continued, smiling softly to yourself, “but I know better.”

There was a long pause.

Then—so low you almost missed it—he said, “It looked like something you’d like.”

You sat down, arms around your knees, heart full of something you couldn’t quite name. “Sunflowers follow the light,” you said quietly, half to yourself. “Even on cloudy days, they still turn toward the sun.”

He looked over at you now, eyes unreadable.

“You’re the only person I know who’d say something like that and mean it.”

“I do mean it,” you said. “I think we should all be a little more like sunflowers. No matter how heavy things feel.”

You didn’t say what those “things” were. You never did.

He didn’t ask.

But something shifted then. You could feel it—like the rooftop itself had leaned in just slightly to listen.

The night carried on, soft and unhurried.

He told you about a coffee place near his office that made terrible americanos but played good jazz.

You told him about the farm back home, how the chickens were always nosy and your stepdad talked to them like they were neighbors.

You laughed about your library job, how small the town was, how some books were so well-loved the pages curled like they’d taken a bath in summer air.

And at some point—though you didn’t know exactly when—he started to smile more than he frowned.

Not wide.

Just enough.

And that felt like more than you could’ve asked for.

When the wind turned cool again, you stood to leave.

“Thanks,” you said, tilting your head gently. “For the flower.”

He didn’t meet your eyes.

But you caught the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Goodnight, sunflower girl.”

You turned, heart fluttering, and walked back inside—quietly, slowly—hoping he didn’t notice the way you smiled like your whole chest was blooming.

Chapter 5

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 3: “To the One Who Might Be Listening”

There’s something about waking up after a meaningful evening that makes everything feel a little more vivid.

The morning light creeps gently through the curtain. The city hums below your window, not loud, not soft—just there, like it always is. You sit up slowly, your arms hugging your knees under the blanket, and think about last night. The way he stood in your kitchen. The way his voice softened by the end of dinner. The way, for the first time, it felt like the space between you and Kim Seokjin wasn’t made of silence.

You smile to yourself as you get up.

The apartment is quiet. Your aunt is still away, and for once, that solitude doesn’t feel as heavy.

You wander into the kitchen and make yourself breakfast. Toast. Honey. A soft-boiled egg. You play music softly from your phone—just enough to fill the room with something gentle.

You think about the little notes again.

The ones you used to leave at his door every day, hoping—not expecting—but hoping they might make him feel something good, even just for a moment.

You haven’t left one since dinner. You hesitate. Then reach for a small piece of paper.

This time, you keep it simple.

“Wishing you a good day. It was nice talking with you.”

You add a tiny sunflower doodle in the corner, fold it, and before stepping out, you gently slide it under his door.

The library is quieter than usual when you arrive.

You take your usual seat by the window, the same corner where you can watch the trees sway when the wind picks up. You grab a novel you’ve already read three times before—something about the familiarity comforts you. The words don’t demand anything from you. They just sit there, waiting for you to step back into them.

You scribble a thought in the margin of your notebook:

“Even small days hold magic. Like a bowl of warm soup. Or when someone stays for dinner.”

You don’t stay too long.

Later, you walk slowly through a small market, letting your eyes linger on the colorful produce, the fresh flowers, the sound of vendors shouting gently to customers. You buy yourself a small bouquet. No special occasion. You just felt like it.

You think of your mom, your stepdad, your little sister. You think of the quiet hills of your home, the feel of dirt on your hands from the farm. You think of the children who visited your countryside library, how they’d tug on your sleeves asking for stories.

Your world was so different from this. Still is.

But you want to find the joy in both.

When you return home, the hallway is still and cool.

You glance at Seokjin’s door as you pass, wondering if he saw your note.

You imagine him picking it up, frowning at it with that puzzled look he always wears. But maybe—just maybe—he kept it.

You don’t expect to see him tonight on the rooftop.

But when you step through the metal door, he’s already there.

Hands in his pockets. His eyes turned toward the city.

You walk over, slow and quiet, stopping beside him with a small smile.

“Hi,” you say.

He glances at you, then gives a small nod.

You both face forward. There’s something easy about the silence. You don’t feel like you have to fill it.

“Long day?” you ask after a while.

He hums. “Busy.”

You look up at the stars. The sky is clear tonight. The city lights below flicker like the world is breathing.

“I bought myself flowers today,” you say, gently holding up your tiny bouquet.

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

You shrug. “I wanted to give myself something pretty.”

There’s a pause, and then he says quietly, “Most people wait for someone else to do that.”

You glance at him. “Yeah… but sometimes, you have to remind yourself you’re worth a little joy.”

He doesn’t reply right away. But his eyes linger on your face longer than usual. There’s a softness there that wasn’t there before.

He looks away again.

You smile, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Thanks for coming to dinner.”

He nods slowly. “Thanks for the note.”

You blink, surprised. “Which one?”

He exhales a quiet breath, almost like a chuckle. “You leave a lot.”

“Well,” you grin, “someone’s gotta brighten this hallway.”

He gives a look you can’t quite read. It isn’t annoyance. Maybe… intrigue.

“Go to sleep, sunflower,” he mutters.

You feel the corners of your mouth lift again. “Goodnight, grumpy neighbor.”

You sit a little while longer, not saying much, just watching the lights together.

And for the first time, you feel it—he’s not just tolerating your presence.

He’s beginning to wait for it.

The smell of warm soy broth and garlic greets you before the sound of keys turning in the front door.

You peek out, and sure enough—your aunt is home.

She’s still in her beige blazer, suitcase rolling behind her, hair tied in a loose bun that’s frizzed from the flight. Her eyes light up when she sees you in the hallway.

“Ah, you’re here,” she says, smiling with a tired sort of relief. “I brought omiyage.”

You hug her first before she can reach into the bag.

“Welcome home,” you say. “Did the trip go okay?”

She nods, but her eyes quickly search your face. “And you? How was the hospital yesterday?”

You pause. A heartbeat too long.

You walk into the kitchen, motioning for her to sit while you pour tea for both of you.

She takes the cup gently, but you can feel her eyes still waiting. Always waiting.

You finally sit across from her.

“They’re still working on the treatment protocol. Still testing responses on the clinical version. It’s showing promise—but they’re not sure when it’ll be approved.”

Your aunt presses her lips together. Her hands tighten slightly around her cup.

“They said if it’s not ready in six months,” you continue, “then… we’ll consider alternatives. But they were hopeful. It’s just slow. It’s always slow.”

She nods. But the way she blinks tells you everything. She’s trying not to cry.

You reach out and touch her hand. “I’m okay,” you say, as gently as you can. “We knew it would be like this.”

“But you shouldn’t have to wait for hope,” she says, her voice tight. “I should be able to do more.”

“You’re doing more than enough,” you say, squeezing her hand.

She nods again. This time, slower.

After lunch, she sits beside you on the couch while you both fold laundry and catch up.

You tell her about the library. About the puppy you helped. About the flowers you bought yourself.

She chuckles when you mention your neighbor.

“What’s he like?”

You think about last night. The way he looked at you for a second longer than necessary.

“Quiet,” you say. “A little lonely, maybe. But not unkind. He’s… trying, I think.”

Your aunt hums. “Is he handsome?”

You give her a look. “You’re shameless.”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying. If he ever smiles, let me know.”

You smile, but deep inside, something stirs.

Not romantic, not yet—but a kind of quiet awareness that he’s no longer just the cold neighbor at the end of the hallway.

That afternoon, you return to the hospital to pick up some blood test results.

You recognize the nurse behind the desk—she always greets you with a warm nod, like a silent encouragement passed in the form of kindness.

You sit in the waiting room, surrounded by the faint antiseptic scent and the low murmur of a nearby TV.

When the doctor finally calls you in, you follow him down the familiar corridor.

He explains the latest numbers. Your condition—rare, inherited, hard to treat. A progressive weakening of certain muscles and organ function, slow but steady. So far, they’ve kept it managed. But time is a thread being pulled.

You nod as he talks. You’ve heard it all before.

Still, there’s a weight to the words today.

“Your optimism is admirable,” the doctor says quietly, closing the folder. “But if there’s anything you need—support groups, therapy, even just more frequent checkups—we can arrange it.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say, and you mean it.

But you also know what you really need is… to live.

To laugh.

To cook.

To watch sunsets.

To leave a note at someone’s door and hope it warms a part of them, even just a little.

Later that evening, you return home to the apartment feeling tired in a different way. Not the physical exhaustion. Something heavier. Something quiet that settles in the bones.

Your aunt is napping on the couch. You don’t wake her.

You move through the kitchen in silence, cutting fruit, brewing tea, cleaning up bits of clutter. The normal things. The grounding things.

And before you head to your room, you pick up a square of paper again.

You don’t try too hard this time.

“Hope today wasn’t too heavy. Small good things still count.”

You draw a little moon this time instead of a sunflower. Something soft.

You slip it under Seokjin’s door, and then head back to your room, where the night greets you like an old friend.

You lie in bed, your chest rising and falling slowly, and you think about the quiet kinds of love.

The ones you give.

The ones you hope come back.

The ones that bloom like sunflowers in the city—even when no one’s looking.

The air is crisp tonight, with a hint of summer clinging to the breeze even though June is slowly giving way to warmth. You carry your tea in a ceramic cup, warm between your palms, as you make your way up the stairs to the rooftop.

You never really know if he’ll be there, but your heart always beats just a little faster when your hand pushes open the metal door.

And tonight—he is.

Kim Seokjin stands near the edge, leaned on the railing like he’s been there a while. His back is to you, and the moonlight halos the edges of his black shirt.

You step forward quietly.

He doesn’t turn, but he says, “You always come up with tea.”

You smile at his voice.

“You always come up with your hands in your pockets.”

That earns a glance. A faint smirk pulls at his lips. He doesn’t reply.

You settle beside him, standing a respectful distance away, both of you looking out at the distant bridge lights and the glimmer of the Han River in the distance. The city looks like a breathing galaxy tonight—lights blinking, shifting, never resting.

“I saw this article in a magazine today,” you say after a while, voice soft and full of a quiet excitement. “They listed ten must-visit places in Seoul. There’s this book café shaped like a greenhouse, a tea house tucked behind an old alley, a small folk village with paper lanterns…”

You glance over at him. He’s listening.

“I’d love to visit them,” you continue. “But I don’t really know anyone here.”

There’s a pause. Then he says, not unkindly, “What about your aunt?”

“She’s busy. And she’s more into brunch at hotels and boutiques,” you chuckle. “Not exactly the type to crouch on hanok floors and sip traditional plum tea.”

He exhales through his nose. It could’ve been a laugh. You’re not sure.

You take a slow sip from your cup.

“I just thought… it’d be nice to have someone to share it with,” you say, your voice turning a bit shy, almost like you didn’t mean to say it aloud. “Everything feels brighter when someone sees it with you.”

Another silence.

Then—softly, like he’s testing the words in his mouth first—he says:

“…What are you doing on Sunday?”

You blink. “I… nothing.”

He looks forward again, jaw shifting. Then, deliberately:

“I can go. With you.”

You stare at him.

He doesn’t look at you, but you see the faintest twitch in his brow—like maybe he’s regretting it already. Or maybe he’s bracing for your reaction.

You try to keep your joy from bursting out too obviously, but your whole face lights up anyway.

“Really?”

“I said it, didn’t I?”

And you do the first thing that feels natural.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him.

It’s fast, soft, and probably too sudden.

You can feel his whole body stiffen. His arms don’t move. He doesn’t hug back. But he doesn’t pull away either.

You close your eyes and rest your chin against his shoulder for a second. Just enough time to whisper:

“Thank you. You don’t know how much that means.”

When you pull back, he’s looking at you like you just glitched the system he built for himself.

You laugh gently, stepping back to your spot and sipping your tea again, like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

“I’m warning you,” he mutters, his tone dry, “if it’s a five-hour walking tour, I’m leaving you halfway.”

You grin. “Noted. I’ll bring snacks.”

His mouth twitches.

The silence between you is different tonight. Softer. Not so much empty space, but a thread quietly tying one moment to the next.

He doesn’t ask why you seem to find happiness so easily.

You don’t ask why he looks at the sky like it once let him down.

But as the wind brushes past you both, something unspoken settles into place.

He agreed to go with you.

He said yes.

And sometimes, one “yes” is all you need to believe in something better.

You woke up before your alarm.

Which, for a Sunday, was saying something.

The sky outside your window was the soft kind of blue—cloudless and hopeful—and your heart was already doing tiny leaps before your feet even touched the floor.

Today wasn’t just another day.

It was Sunday.

The Sunday.

You’d picked out your outfit the night before—nothing fancy, but something that made you feel like you. Breezy cotton, gentle color, a small daisy pin on your bag. You stared at it in the mirror once before leaving, then smiled at yourself.

You didn’t expect him to be waiting outside in a car.

A sleek black sedan idled at the curb of your apartment building, and when the passenger window rolled down, you saw him behind the wheel—elbow resting casually on the open window, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, wearing a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled past his forearms.

Kim Seokjin looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. Or a movie set. Or somewhere far too glamorous to be picking you up for a casual Sunday out.

Your breath caught for a second.

He looked up. “Are you getting in, or are we sightseeing from the sidewalk?”

You blinked out of it, cheeks warming. “Sorry.”

You got in and settled into the seat, hugging your canvas bag to your chest. It had a small sunflower stitched on the corner—your step-sister’s handiwork.

“Nice bag,” he said as he pulled into traffic.

“Thanks. My step-sister made it. She sews when she’s not chasing our goats.”

That made him glance at you. “Goats?”

You grinned. “We have five. Two are kind of evil. They’ve escaped the pen more times than I can count.”

He huffed. “Of course you have goats.”

You couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t laughing—but you could hear it in the way he said your name now. Dry. A little amused. Not as cold.

You peeked at him while he drove.

There was something about Seokjin in the sunlight. The way it touched the side of his face—the sharp jaw, the slight dimple you swore you caught when he exhaled at red lights, the natural furrow in his brow as he focused on driving.

He was, in a word, handsome. But not in a distant, perfect way. In a real, detailed kind of way. Like every piece of him had a story.

And for a second, you forgot to look away.

Stop 1: The Greenhouse Book Café

The café was tucked away behind a wall of ivy, its glass frame catching the early sunlight like something from a fairy tale.

You gasped quietly. “This is prettier than I imagined.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “You imagined cafés?”

“I grew up in a town with one noodle shop and a post office,” you said. “So yes. I imagined everything.”

Inside, the air smelled of old paper and roses. You picked a table under a hanging plant. He stood awkwardly until you pointed to a chair.

You got your rose milk tea and a pastry. He ordered black coffee, no sugar.

As you flipped through art books, you told him things like, “Did you know the Korean word for sunflower is 해바라기? It means ‘to look at the sun.’ Isn’t that sweet?”

He looked at you then, head tilted slightly.

You didn’t notice that his eyes lingered on the way you smiled when you talked.

Stop 2: Hanok Folk Village

You strolled slowly through old tiled rooftops and red wooden gates. You pointed out lanterns and laughed at the little cat you found sleeping on the windowsill of a rice cake shop.

Seokjin, for once, didn’t rush. He followed you.

When you tried grilled mochi and made him take a bite, he pretended to sigh dramatically.

“I can’t believe I’m eating street food,” he muttered.

“Pretend it’s gourmet.”

“Gourmet doesn’t come on sticks.”

But then he chewed—and didn’t say a word. You watched him. He liked it.

Stop 3: River Bench

You sat down beside him with ice cream cones in hand—yours, chestnut. His, plain vanilla.

The breeze was soft. You kicked your shoes off and let your feet stretch out.

“I used to dream about this,” you said.

He glanced sideways. “What?”

“Days like this. Just… sitting by the river. Eating ice cream. Watching people laugh.”

He didn’t reply, so you added, “When I was little, I used to mark pages in travel magazines and tell myself, ‘Someday.’”

He looked at you again, slower this time.

You were still smiling. And he couldn’t understand it.

How your face held so much light. How your voice could make memories sound beautiful—even the sad ones.

He turned away before he could say something he didn’t mean to.

Stop 4: Street Arcade

He said no three times.

You dragged him in anyway.

And by the fifth minute, he was hunched beside you at a claw machine, trying to win a round plush dog.

You gasped when the claw finally lifted it. “You did it!”

He looked pleased for half a second, then shrugged as if it was nothing. “Of course I did.”

You hugged the plush close.

He didn’t say anything when you whispered, “Best souvenir ever.”

But he was watching you again.

Your eyes sparkled when you smiled.

He didn’t know how he missed it all this time.

You were quieter on the ride back, legs curled beneath you in the passenger seat, your plushie in your lap.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the dashboard, brushing his cheekbones.

You turned to look at him. “Thanks for today.”

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You came with me,” you said. “That’s everything.”

He didn’t respond. But his voice, when it came again, was different.

“I didn’t know the city could feel like this.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He paused at a red light.

“…Light.”

And you smiled, even though he didn’t look your way.

Because somehow, that one word meant more than you realized.

You returned home with the city still humming quietly behind you, like the memory of a song you didn’t want to forget.

The elevator ride up felt strangely magical—your arms wrapped around the plush puppy Seokjin won you, the corners of your mouth refusing to settle. You glanced once at the mirror in the elevator.

Still smiling.

Still glowing.

You couldn’t remember the last time a day felt like that. Not in a forever kind of way—but in a right now is enough way. And for someone like you, who often measured life by doctor’s visits and blood test numbers, that was more than a luxury.

It felt like a miracle.

After changing into your cotton pajamas and brushing out your hair, you opened your drawer and pulled out the small notepad.

A soft lemon yellow. The color of your mood tonight.

You tore off a sheet and tapped your pen thoughtfully against your lips.

What do you even say to someone after a day like that?

You thought about how he had driven quietly, how he stood beside you at the arcade, how he said the city felt lighter.

Then, in your neatest handwriting, you wrote:

“The city really was beautiful today. Thank you for making it even more so.”

— From the girl who still believes in sunshine

You padded barefoot to the hallway, careful not to make noise. His door was just a few steps away.

You folded the note gently in half and slid it under the door, just enough so it wouldn’t blow away.

Then you stood there for a moment, your hand still on the paper, before turning back toward your apartment.

That night, you crawled into bed with the plush puppy tucked beside your pillow.

Your body was tired in the best way, as if the hours of laughing and walking and simply being had pushed away the hospital visits, the pills, the loneliness. At least for now.

And for the first time in a long time… you prayed.

Not the usual kind of prayer—the desperate ones whispered under fluorescent lights or waiting rooms.

This was softer. Warmer. Full of feeling.

Dear God… if you’re listening…

I know I’m running on borrowed time. I know there’s no guarantee. But if there’s any way—just a little more time—I’d like to keep doing this. I’d like to wake up with sunlight on my face. I’d like to walk across bridges. Drink rose tea. Watch someone I care about win a stuffed toy and pretend he doesn’t care.

Please let me have more days like today.

Please let me keep smiling like this.

You wiped a small tear from your cheek—not sad, not scared. Just… overwhelmed with how beautiful life could still be.

And as you drifted to sleep, the city was quiet. The moon hung low over the rooftop. And somewhere behind his apartment door, maybe—just maybe—someone was reading your note with a softened heart.

Chapter 4

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 2: “Sunshine & Silence”

It became a ritual.

After brushing your teeth, after reading a chapter of whatever library book you were slowly devouring, and just before you turned off the hallway light—you would write a note.

Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Just a few words of kindness, folded into a square and gently placed on the door of your neighbor.

Hope you had a warm lunch today.

—Y/N 🌼

The moon looked lovely tonight. Did you see it?

Reminder: even the smallest wins count.

You never saw him read them. Never heard footsteps behind you or a door creaking open. But every morning, the note was gone.

And that was enough.

The city had begun to hum beneath your feet in a rhythm you were starting to enjoy. Seoul moved fast, but you didn’t try to keep up. You let it pass like water around you—walking at your own pace, stopping to admire flower stands or street musicians, collecting moments instead of destinations.

Your aunt had called from Osaka to check in again. “Still eating well? Still behaving?”

You promised her you were.

Mostly.

Your condition hadn’t worsened—not yet. But the fatigue came in waves. The stiffness in your hands was more noticeable some mornings. And sometimes, you woke up with your lungs feeling like they had to be reminded how to breathe.

Still, you moved.

Still, you smiled.

Still, you left kindness like crumbs behind you, hoping maybe someone would follow them back to the part of the world where people still believed in softness.

You’d spent the afternoon under a tree at the park by the river, reading poetry and people-watching. You even made a tiny sketch of a pigeon that had stared at you for fifteen full minutes like it had questions about your existence.

By the time you returned, your backpack was full, your hands were cold, and your cheeks were warm with the joy of just… living.

You entered the lobby and pushed the elevator button.

Ding.

The doors opened—and there he was.

Black sweater. White collar peeking out. Eyes as tired as ever.

Kim Seokjin.

You stepped in quietly, smiling at him. “Hi.”

He gave a small nod, glancing forward. “Hey.”

You weren’t expecting anything else. You were used to his walls by now.

But then—his voice.

“Are you the one leaving those notes?”

Your heart stuttered in the most unexpected way.

You turned to him, blinking. “I am. Sorry—was that annoying?”

He looked at you, his gaze unreadable. “No. I just didn’t know who’d be that… persistent.”

You laughed softly. “I prefer the word consistent.”

He almost—almost—smiled. Just the corner of his mouth shifted before he caught himself.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” you said gently. “I just thought… maybe a good word at the right time could change something.”

Seokjin didn’t reply right away. The elevator climbed slowly. Floor 10… 11…

“People don’t usually think like that,” he said finally.

You shrugged. “I think they used to. Maybe they forgot.”

A beat.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you added. “But I think you already knew that.”

“I did,” he admitted.

“Are you… always this quiet?” you teased gently, then regretted it. “Sorry, that was rude.”

To your surprise, he looked at you and said, “Only when I don’t know what to say.”

You smiled. “That’s fair.”

Floor 22.

The elevator dinged.

As the doors opened, he gestured slightly. “You first.”

You stepped out, heartbeat fluttering as he followed behind.

“Goodnight, Seokjin-ssi.”

He glanced at you. Then, after a pause, said quietly:

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what it was about those three syllables—your name, in his voice—but it stayed with you. Like something warm and heavy you tucked under your ribs.

You entered your apartment and leaned your back against the door, smiling at the ceiling.

That brief moment—that small, normal conversation—meant more to you than it should have.

And you didn’t mind at all.

Later that night-

You sat cross-legged on the bed, journal open on your lap.

You hadn’t written much about Seokjin in your diary—not really. Just little thoughts. Words like:

I think he carries sadness like a second coat.

He’s not cold, just frozen.

Maybe his silence is how he keeps from breaking.

Tonight, you simply wrote:

He said goodnight to me today.

It was nothing. But it was something.

You walked to your desk, pulled out a fresh sticky note, and wrote slowly, carefully:

Note:

Even quiet people can be kind. Thanks for today.

—Y/N 🌼

You stepped into the hallway, barefoot, quiet, soft.

And you left it on his door.

Just like always.

But this time, you knew he was reading them.

And maybe, just maybe…

He was starting to wonder why.

Seoul was quieter at night.

Not quiet, really—there was always a soft hum underneath, the city’s version of a lullaby—but everything felt slower, gentler, more forgiving. The moon hung like a low whisper in the sky, and the wind had a hush to it, as though the whole city was exhaling after a long day.

You hadn’t meant to come to the rooftop.

You’d only gone out for water, but something about the heavy stillness of your apartment made you crave open air. So you grabbed your cardigan, slipped your phone into your pocket, and took the elevator up.

And when the doors slid open—

He was already there.

Leaning slightly against the railing, dressed in soft black and gray. Hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, head tilted back toward the stars like he’d just remembered they were still up there.

Kim Seokjin.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, but didn’t move.

You considered turning around and pretending you’d never come.

But instead, you stepped forward softly.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be up here,” you said, quiet but clear.

His eyes flicked to you, surprised. He didn’t frown like he usually did. Just nodded, slow. “Could say the same.”

You gave a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to ruin your peace.”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, then said, “You’re not.”

It wasn’t warm, exactly—but it wasn’t cold either.

And somehow, that felt like progress.

You settled on the far end of the bench, leaving enough space between you for the quiet to settle in comfortably. The wind teased at the edges of your cardigan, and you wrapped it a little tighter around you.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The city stretched out beneath you like a sea of lights, the Han River glinting in the distance like a silver ribbon. You listened to the occasional car horn, the soft creak of a rooftop vent, and the way the wind curled around the building.

Then his voice broke the stillness.

“You’re… the type who leaves notes for strangers.”

You looked over, eyes glinting with mischief. “You figured me out.”

“I don’t understand it,” he admitted.

“What?”

“Why you do it.”

You turned your head, watching him instead of the skyline. “Why not? Words are free. Kindness costs nothing.”

He looked at you, and you noticed something shift in his eyes—confusion, curiosity, maybe a crack in whatever wall he’d built around himself.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being… upbeat?”

You smiled, not offended. “All the time.”

“Then why keep doing it?”

You breathed in, long and slow, letting the cool air fill your lungs. “Because not everything lasts forever. And while I’m still here, I’d rather live in color than grayscale.”

Seokjin stared at you then. His brow furrowed, like he couldn’t decide if you were serious or just trying to sound poetic.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a small truce.

You both sat there, shoulder-lengths apart, watching the city buzz far below while the rooftop stayed still.

Then, softly, he asked, “You moved here recently?”

You nodded. “A few weeks ago. I’m staying with my aunt while I get some medical things sorted out.”

He didn’t ask more. Just nodded. That was enough.

“And you?” you asked. “Have you lived here long?”

“A while,” he said. “Too long, maybe.”

There was a weight in his voice that you didn’t press. But something about it made your chest ache a little.

You saw it now—not the sharpness he showed the world, but the quiet, exhausted loneliness underneath. Not anger, but absence. Like something important had been hollowed out and never quite filled again.

You didn’t know what had happened. You didn’t ask.

But in that moment, you stopped seeing him as the cold man next door.

And started seeing him as someone trying.

Eventually, he stood. “I should get back.”

You looked up, a little disappointed, but nodded. “Of course. Don’t let the city pull you under.”

He glanced back at you. “What?”

You smiled. “Just something I say to myself when things get heavy.”

He didn’t smile. But his eyes softened.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The way he said your name—it wasn’t formal this time. Not distant. Just a little quieter. More human.

You watched him walk toward the elevator, and your heart felt full for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

That night, you left another note on his door. Short, sweet, warm.

Note:

It’s nice to talk to someone under the stars. Hope you got home safely.

—Y/N 🌼

You smiled to yourself as you slipped back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.

And maybe it was nothing.

But it felt like the start of something.

The rooftop used to mean nothing.

A flat concrete space, too quiet for comfort, too high for him to feel grounded. The kind of place people romanticized but rarely stayed in for more than a few minutes.

Now, it was part of his nightly routine.

He didn’t plan it that way—he rarely planned anything outside of his calendar—but lately, around 9 or 10, his feet started drifting toward the elevator without him realizing. No phone. No company. Just him and the stillness above the city.

And sometimes, you.

He didn’t always speak to you. Often he just nodded or stood quietly at the opposite end while you filled the air with soft stories about your day—what you saw, who you met, what little joy you stumbled upon. There was no pressure in your presence. No expectation to perform.

Tonight, when the elevator doors opened, you were already there again.

Sitting cross-legged on the bench in your hoodie and skirt, arms wrapped around a thermos, eyes scanning the skyline like the buildings might talk back.

You turned when you heard him. “Hi again,” you said, that same easy smile curling at the edges of your mouth.

He nodded, giving a quiet, “Hey,” as he took his usual spot a few feet away.

You always left space. That, he appreciated.

“I rescued a puppy today,” you said, legs swinging lightly from the bench.

He blinked, unsure if he heard that right. “You what?”

“A puppy. Near the bookstore downtown. She was sitting near a vending machine, all alone. Probably abandoned.” You looked over at him, eyes soft. “She was shaking like a leaf. So I sat with her until someone from a rescue came.”

He didn’t say anything, just listened. Something he did more often around you than most people.

You took a sip of your tea. “I named her Peach. Don’t ask why—it just fit.”

He gave the smallest scoff. “Not a very fierce name.”

“She wasn’t a very fierce dog,” you replied, unfazed. “Some things aren’t meant to be fierce.”

That made him glance at you briefly.

You said things like that often. Strange, floaty comments that should’ve sounded naive but didn’t. Somehow, you always made them seem… honest.

He watched the way your fingers wrapped around your thermos. Noticed the edge of a band-aid on your pinky. You talked about Peach and the café owner who helped you call the shelter, and how the puppy sneezed in the crook of your arm like a baby.

He looked back out over the railing.

“Do you always find stray things?” he asked after a moment.

“Only the ones that want to be found.”

You said it like a joke. He didn’t laugh, but something about the line stayed with him.

The conversation drifted after that.

You didn’t need much from him. Just someone to hear you. That was rare.

Most people who approached him came with a pitch, a motive, or a plan. Even his ex, Mirae, had eventually reduced every conversation to logistics—marriage dates, investment property, shared calendars. Clean. Predictable.

You were none of those things.

And honestly, that unsettled him a little.

When the clock on his phone flashed close to midnight, you stretched your arms overhead and stood.

“Well, I should get some sleep,” you said, yawning into your sleeve. “Peach wore me out today.”

He nodded and didn’t say anything more.

But as you walked past him toward the stairwell, your hand brushed lightly against the railing beside him, and your voice drifted behind you:

“See you tomorrow, maybe.”

Not a question. Not a hope. Just… a simple line.

And yet it echoed a little louder than it should have.

Back in his apartment, Seokjin unbuttoned his coat and found something taped gently to his doorframe.

A small sticky note. Pale yellow. Your handwriting was unmistakable by now.

“Some people need a little sky to remember how big the world is. Hope tonight gave you a little.” —Y/N 🌼

He held it for a second longer than usual before slipping it into the drawer with the others.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to expect them.

Not crave. Not need. Just… expect.

Lying in bed, eyes closed, the thought returned—your voice in the dark, light and certain:

“Some things aren’t meant to be fierce.”

He didn’t know why it mattered.

But tonight, it did.

You were humming when you stepped into the elevator, arms full of groceries. The brown paper bag was just slightly too big for your grip, and the handles dug lightly into your palm. The weight wasn’t unbearable, but it leaned a little awkwardly—kind of like your mood today. Not bad. Just… homesick.

You missed your mom’s cooking. Her rice porridge with wild vegetables. The smell of garlic and sesame oil wafting through your house after a long day at the fields. Her voice calling out to you and your step-sister to come wash up before dinner. You could still hear it sometimes—especially in this quiet, unfamiliar apartment.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened with a smooth, expensive-sounding hush.

And there he was.

Kim Seokjin. Again.

This time in a charcoal wool coat, hair neatly combed back, phone in hand. You almost didn’t recognize him at first without the shadow of a frown on his face.

“Ah—hi,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, cheeks puffing from the cold and exertion.

He looked up slowly, eyes flicking toward the grocery bag in your arms.

“You always carry your whole fridge at once?” he said dryly.

You laughed. “Just missing home. Thought I’d try to cook like my mom today.”

“Hmph.”

That was his response. Not mean. Just neutral. A little more neutral than usual.

You stepped into the elevator beside him and let the silence settle comfortably between you for a moment.

Then, quietly, “I’m making stew. Do you want to eat with me?”

He didn’t turn to you right away. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, as if dinner invitations from strange-but-friendly neighbors happened to him all the time.

“You don’t even know me,” he finally said.

“True. But I’ve seen you enough times to know you might not say yes.”

He turned then, slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or not.

“I can’t promise I’ll like it,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Well, I can’t promise it’ll be good.”

Back in your apartment, you set the bag down on the counter and exhaled. The silence wrapped around you like a shawl.

You started unpacking slowly—green onions, radish, soybean paste, tofu. Things that reminded you of your mom’s steady hands and the old wooden cutting board that had a permanent curve in the middle from years of use.

You were slicing garlic when the knock came.

Soft, hesitant.

You wiped your hands and opened the door.

Seokjin stood there, hands still in his pockets.

You blinked. “Wow. You actually came.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“I kind of am.”

He glanced behind you into the apartment. “You need help?”

You stared at him, unsure if he meant it.

Then nodded. “Sure. You can wash the mushrooms.”

He followed you in without another word.

The two of you moved around the kitchen like unfamiliar planets slowly learning to orbit. You showed him how to trim the enoki mushrooms (“Not like that,” you said, laughing as he hacked at them too aggressively). He stirred the stew while you prepped the banchan. And somewhere between the sesame oil and gochugaru, you started talking.

“You cook often?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Used to. Not much lately.”

“What do you do then?”

He paused for a second. “I run a company.”

“Oh. That sounds… big.”

He shrugged, like it wasn’t. “It just sounds important. Most days it’s exhausting.”

“What kind of company?”

“Tech. Apps. Nothing romantic.”

You smiled. “Doesn’t have to be romantic to matter.”

He glanced sideways at you, lips pressed together like he didn’t quite know what to make of your answer.

“And you?” he asked. “What’s your countryside life like?”

You stirred the pot gently. “I work at a tiny library. Mostly local kids and elderly visitors. I help my parents at the farm too—well, my mom and stepdad. We grow radish, onions, cabbage. In spring, the whole house smells like soil and mint.”

He looked at you, still stirring. “That doesn’t sound real.”

You laughed. “I promise it is. I have a step-sister too. We fight over silly things. But she’s my best friend.”

He was quiet for a beat. “And you came here… just for treatment?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t ask more. And you were grateful for that.

By the time dinner was ready, the table had transformed into something soft and domestic. The steam from the stew rose between you, and your apartment—usually so polished and quiet—felt a little more like home.

You both sat, legs curled under the low table, and began to eat.

He took a bite of the soup and blinked slowly. “Okay. This is… actually good.”

You grinned. “Told you.”

He glanced at you again. This time longer. “You really do smile a lot.”

You shrugged. “I guess I do.”

“Why?”

The question surprised you.

You set down your spoon, thoughtful. “I think… because the world doesn’t always give us reasons to smile. So when I find one, I hold on to it.”

He didn’t reply. Just nodded slowly.

The rest of the meal passed with more quiet conversation.

You told him about the old man at the library who came every Thursday to read love poems, even though he claimed he didn’t believe in love anymore.

He told you about his university years, how he used to want to be a game designer, how things changed.

“I got tired of building dreams that never made it off the ground,” he said.

“So now you build things that do?”

“Sometimes. But the cost is higher.”

You nodded, understanding more than you let on.

When dinner ended, he helped you clean the dishes without being asked.

And when he turned to leave, he looked at you for a moment longer than usual.

“You’re…” he started, then stopped. “You’re different.”

“In a bad way?”

He shook his head, slowly. “No. In a way the world could use more of.”

Your breath caught slightly.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “That means more than you think.”

He gave you a short nod and left with the same quiet he’d entered with.

That night, you didn’t leave a note on his door.

Instead, you wrote something in your diary.

“Sometimes kindness comes back quietly. Like someone washing your dishes without being asked. Or noticing how you smile. Maybe the world really is still full of soft things.”

And outside your window, the city moved on.

But in one apartment, on one quiet floor, something very small had begun to change.

Chapter 3

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 1 Preview Chapter 2

Chapter 1: “Good Days Are Made of Little Things”

The scent of lemon polish and high-end fabric softener clung to the air as you stepped into your aunt’s apartment. Everything sparkled. Literally. From the chandelier glittering above your head to the glass panels that looked out over the Seoul skyline, this place was a universe away from your family’s little farmhouse tucked between rolling green fields and muddy paths.

“Wow,” you whispered, spinning in slow wonder. “I feel like I walked into a drama.”

Your aunt, chic and fast-paced, had already gone to work before you arrived. She left a handwritten note on the kitchen counter:

Y/N, welcome to your temporary palace. Use everything, eat everything, and rest. Health first. Fighting! — Aunt Min

You smiled as you pressed the note to your chest. For someone who wore heels sharper than her eyeliner, Aunt Min had a sweet heart.

Unpacking was easy—two suitcases, a box of photo frames, and a small woven pouch of your mom’s dried herbs. Home in a corner. Just like you always were.

Later That Afternoon – Hospital Checkup

The sterile hospital room had a calming hum, filled with beeping monitors and the faint smell of antiseptic. You were used to it by now. The blood draws, the scans, the polite frowns from doctors who never quite knew what to say.

Dr. Lee stood with his hands folded, kind but hesitant.

“We’re still working on the trial drug, Y/N,” he said gently. “The company’s moving forward, but… it’ll be at least six months before we can begin compassionate use treatment.”

You nodded, smile unwavering. “Six months. Got it.”

“There’s a chance—” he paused, as if searching for a less painful word, “—that if the symptoms progress too quickly, we might not have enough time.”

“Oh.” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “But there’s still a chance, right?”

Dr. Lee blinked, a little taken aback. “Yes. A slim one.”

“Then that’s something,” you said, hopping off the bed and slipping your jacket on. “Thank you for the update, Doctor. I’ll keep eating my mom’s mushroom porridge. I’m pretty sure it has superpowers.”

He smiled despite himself. You were used to people reacting that way—caught off guard by your optimism. Maybe they expected tears. But why cry when there was still time to smile?

The hallway of the 22nd floor smelled faintly of lavender air freshener and money.

You hummed a countryside tune as you unlocked the apartment, hugging your tote bag filled with hospital pamphlets and a bag of tangerines you bought from a street vendor. You were placing them in the fruit bowl when you heard the elevator ding behind you.

He stepped out again.

The same man. Dark suit. Sharp jawline. Tired eyes.

Kim Seokjin.

You turned around just in time to catch his gaze. He didn’t look surprised to see you—more like he had already decided you weren’t worth the energy.

You smiled anyway, big and genuine. “Hi again! We’re neighbors, right?”

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop. Just walked past like you were part of the wallpaper.

You blinked after him, lips still curved, a little softer now.

“Hmm. Rough day?” you murmured.

There was something about the way his shoulders were slouched, like he carried a whole storm on his back. You tilted your head.

He looked sad.

Not the kind of sad that passed in a day. The deep kind. The kind that curled in silence when no one was watching.

You stood by the door a moment longer, hand resting on the doorknob, heart tugging.

You didn’t know him. But you already wanted to.

After a long day of checkups and new faces, you slipped into your favorite sunflower-print pajamas and opened the floor-to-ceiling windows to let in the warm summer air. Seoul was a city of noise and light, but up here, twenty-two floors above the ground, it felt like you had your own secret sky.

You lit the lavender candle your mom packed, brewed a cup of barley tea, and put on your favorite playlist—trot music, soft folk ballads, and a few cheerful love songs.

Then, you settled down with your diary.

The leather cover was worn, its pages filled with countryside memories, pressed flower petals, and words you never said aloud. You clicked your pen and let it spill.

Diary Entry – June 12th

This apartment feels like a hotel in a drama.

I miss the chickens.

But… I also like it here. The sunset hits different this high up.

Also, the handsome neighbor appeared again. He’s very serious. Black suit, scowl, eyes like he hasn’t slept in three years.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Didn’t even nod.

But I smiled anyway. That’s what sunflowers do. 🌻

You were humming along to the music, brushing your hair and dancing in socks when a loud knock broke through the air.

You paused the song and padded barefoot to the door.

Another sharp knock.

You opened it to find him.

The neighbor. Again. Still in his work clothes, though the tie was gone and the sleeves rolled up. His eyes were sharp and tired. His lips pressed in a firm line.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked, flatly.

You blinked. “Um… seven-fifty?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Exactly. Which means most people are winding down. Not throwing a private concert loud enough for the next building.”

“Oh no,” you whispered, then gave an apologetic smile. “Was it that loud? I’m sorry! The walls are thinner than I thought.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “There are rules here. Etiquette. You can’t just treat a luxury apartment like a—like a farmhouse.”

You paused… then grinned. “That’s funny, because I literally grew up on a farmhouse.”

Seokjin blinked.

“Rice fields, chickens, one tiny radio, and my mom’s yelling to wake me up. So this?” You gestured to the apartment. “This is like living in space.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. His frown faltered for just a moment before returning with full force.

“You should be more considerate. This isn’t the countryside.”

“I’ll be careful from now on,” you said cheerfully. “Promise.”

He gave you a look—equal parts confusion and disbelief. “You really don’t take things seriously, do you?”

“I do,” you said gently. “Just not everything. Life’s already serious enough. No need to add more weight where there doesn’t have to be.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t figure out how. Instead, he turned without another word and walked back to his unit, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood there for a beat, unbothered, then shut your door softly.

You returned to your diary, sat down, and added a little note at the bottom of your entry.

You woke to the gentle hum of the city.

Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the bedroom, dancing across the wooden floors in golden streaks. For a moment, you didn’t move—just listened to the quiet, to the subtle sounds of Seoul waking up twenty-two floors below you.

Back home, the mornings started with roosters. Here, it was the soft whir of elevators and the occasional car horn drifting from far away.

You rolled out of bed, tying your hair into a loose bun, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

Aunt Min’s apartment had a coffee machine that looked like a spaceship, but you ignored it. Instead, you boiled water on the stove and made tea the way your mom taught you: two pinches of barley, a splash of honey, and a lemon slice for brightness. You plated a small breakfast—steamed sweet potatoes, fruit, and toast with jam.

You sat by the window, legs folded beneath you, watching the world move while the warmth of the tea settled in your chest. You didn’t rush. There was no need to.

You had time.

And even if it was ticking like a quiet clock somewhere behind your ribs, you weren’t going to waste it chasing something you couldn’t control.

You were dressed in a simple white sundress, the kind that swayed with your every step. Your favorite canvas tote hung from your shoulder, filled with a notebook, a pen case, and the book you were currently reading: Things Left Unsaid.

You pressed the elevator button and waited, humming a song under your breath.

When the doors opened, there he was.

Your mysterious neighbor.

He didn’t look pleased to see you.

Again, the same charcoal gray suit. Hair pushed back neatly. A coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other. His jaw was clenched like he was already three meetings into the day.

You smiled brightly. “Oh! Good morning again.”

He stepped in with a sigh, barely glancing your way.

“Still grumpy,” you muttered, too softly for him to hear.

The elevator descended in tense silence. He scrolled through his phone. You watched the light blink from 22 to 1.

“I like your shoes,” you offered casually, trying to break the quiet.

He blinked and looked down. Polished, expensive loafers.

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” he muttered.

You giggled. “I know. But they still deserve one.”

He looked at you for a brief second, something unreadable flickering across his face, then turned away just as fast. When the doors opened, he stepped out quickly without saying a word.

You didn’t take it personally.

Some people were just… locked doors. But that never stopped you from knocking.

The sun was high, the breeze warm and playful.

You wandered through quiet streets, your steps slow and light. A small café tucked between two buildings caught your eye—lavender hanging from the awning, the smell of cinnamon and espresso curling through the air.

You sat outside with a cold drink, sketching the people who passed by. A couple walking a tiny dog. A delivery guy singing along to his music. A baby staring wide-eyed at the world.

You walked for hours after. No destination, just curiosity.

At a crosswalk near a park, you saw a halmeoni struggling to step onto the curb. You didn’t think—just hurried over, offered your arm, and smiled.

She called you kind. You told her kindness was easy when the sun was out.

By the time you reached the Han River, the sky was beginning to blush with orange and rose.

You sat on a bench with a bag of leftover pastry crumbs, tossing them to the birds. A pigeon waddled confidently to your feet, pecking at your shoelace. You laughed.

Then you pulled out your phone and called home.

“Mom,” you whispered when she answered. “You wouldn’t believe the sky.”

“I wish I could see it with you,” she said.

“I wish you could too. It’s so beautiful here. Everything feels… big. Quiet, but big.”

You were silent for a moment, eyes locked on the rippling water.

“I was thinking,” you continued softly, “if this is all I get—this day, this weather, this feeling—I think I’d still be grateful. I just want to fill my days with small joys. Helping someone cross the street. Feeding birds. Drinking sweet tea. Loving people from far away.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m okay, Mom,” you said. “I really am. Today was gentle. And that’s enough.”

The apartment was dim and still when you returned. You changed into your soft pajamas, the ones with tiny clouds on them, and washed your face while humming.

As you stepped into the hallway to take out the recycling, your gaze drifted to his door again.

Still closed. Still quiet.

You didn’t know his name.

You didn’t know his story.

But you knew he looked tired. You knew he hadn’t smiled once.

And you knew what it was like to carry things no one else could see.

So, on a whim, you pulled out a sticky note from your planner and wrote a message in neat handwriting. Just a little something.

Note:

Hi. I hope tomorrow is kind to you.

—Your Neighbor ☀️

You stuck it gently to his door. Just a little reminder that someone was thinking of him, even if he didn’t know why.

Then you went back inside and smiled to yourself, heart full of something soft.

Kindness wasn’t loud.

Sometimes, it was just a sticky note and a little hope.

The scent of sizzling sesame oil woke you before your alarm did.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up, the sound of gentle humming and clinking pans filtering through the walls. For a moment, you forgot where you were—until you opened your eyes and remembered the tall windows, the skyline, and the quiet hum of the city just beginning to stir.

You padded into the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, wearing your favorite oversized shirt and mismatched socks.

Aunt Min stood in front of the stove, apron tied neatly, a pan of gyeran-mari slowly rolling in her skilled hands. She glanced over her shoulder as you entered.

“Good morning, sleepy bear.”

You smiled. “Something smells amazing.”

“It’s just egg rolls and rice,” she said. “But I figured you could use a real breakfast before going out.”

You sat at the counter, pulling your knees up onto the stool. “That sounds like a hug on a plate.”

She slid a plate toward you and took a seat beside you with her own cup of tea.

“So,” she asked gently, “how did the check-up go yesterday?”

You hesitated, then put your chopsticks down.

“They ran another panel,” you said. “Dr. Lee says my immune system is still weakening. There’s some inflammation in my lungs now, too. They’re… worried about how fast it’s progressing.”

Your aunt’s lips pressed into a line. She reached across the counter and placed her hand over yours.

“They’re still testing that new treatment?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “They’ve had promising results in a few trials. But it’s not approved yet. Best case? Maybe six months.”

“And worst case?”

You didn’t answer, and neither did she.

After a long pause, your aunt let out a breath and squeezed your hand tighter. “Whatever you need—medicine, therapy, a different doctor—just say the word. I’ll take care of it. That’s the least I can do.”

You looked at her, warmth in your chest despite the ache. “You’ve already done so much.”

Her eyes softened. “I wish I could do more.”

You didn’t say it aloud, but you both knew there wasn’t much anyone could do—not until the medicine came through. You’d been diagnosed last year, a rare degenerative autoimmune condition that slowly weakened your muscles, lungs, and nervous system. Some days, you were just tired. Other days, it felt like your body forgot how to breathe on its own.

But today was a good day. You could feel it in your bones. You were steady. Awake. Able.

That was enough.

“I’m visiting the library later,” you said as you finished your tea. “Just to look around.”

“Still collecting stories?” she asked.

You nodded. “Always.”

Aunt Min stood, wiping her hands. “I’ll be overseas for a few days. A conference. I was going to cancel, but—”

“No,” you said quickly. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

She studied you for a moment, then pulled you into a warm hug. “If you need anything—anything—you call me. Even if it’s just to talk.”

“I will.”

She kissed the top of your head and smiled. “Try not to charm the whole building while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

The library was quiet and cool, the scent of old pages calming as ever.

You found a sunlit corner near the windows and spent hours flipping through poetry, folding corners of lines that spoke to your heart.

“Even a single breath can be a blessing, if it carries a quiet joy.”

You copied that one into your notebook.

By evening, your bag was heavier, and your heart lighter. You stepped out just as the sky turned lavender again.

You arrived at the apartment just as another figure stepped out of the elevator down the hall.

He paused at the door.

You blinked.

Him again.

Black shirt this time, no tie, sleeves rolled up. He looked tired. Like something had clawed at the edge of his day and left him with nothing but silence.

You approached with a soft smile, your steps slow.

“Hi,” you said, stopping just before your own door. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Y/N. I’m staying here for a while.”

He turned his head slowly, eyes flicking to you with hesitation. His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke.

“Kim Seokjin,” he said, voice low.

You waited. No handshake. No smile.

Just his name, heavy and clipped.

Still, you nodded. “Nice to meet you, Seokjin-ssi.”

He said nothing else, unlocking his door and stepping inside. The door clicked shut.

You stood there for a moment longer, looking at the spot where he’d been.

Still grumpy. Still unreadable.

But at least now you had a name.

You stood at your desk with a cup of chamomile tea, staring at the blank notepad.

You weren’t sure why you kept doing this—leaving little notes for a man who barely spoke to you.

But something about him stayed with you. The silence. The way he carried something invisible and sharp. You couldn’t fix it. You couldn’t even understand it.

But you could offer something.

Something light. Small. Uncomplicated.

You pulled a sticky note from your planner and wrote simply:

Note:

Hi again. Hope today was softer than yesterday.

—Y/N 🌼

You tiptoed into the hallway and gently stuck it to his door.

You didn’t wait for anything to happen.

You just smiled to yourself and went back inside.

Because even when you couldn’t change the big things, you could still choose the little ones.

And sometimes, kindness was just a whisper left behind in a quiet hallway.

Seokjin noticed it the moment he turned the corner.

Another note.

Same handwriting. Same neat paper. Same soft curve of ink like a whisper that wasn’t trying to intrude—but always did anyway.

He didn’t pick it up right away. Just stood there, keys in one hand, phone in the other, staring at the little square stuck on his door like it had grown there overnight.

Hi again. Hope today was softer than yesterday.

—Y/N 🌼

He let out a long breath through his nose.

Her again.

The girl from 22-B.

The one with the sunny voice and too much eye contact. The one who wore sundresses like it was still spring. The one who offered him pastries in the elevator like they were friends.

He peeled the note off and stared at it in his hand.

This wasn’t the first one.

A few days ago, there was another:

I hope tomorrow is kind to you.

And before that:

Sorry for the music! But also, music makes things better. Hope it finds you too.

He’d thrown the first one out. Kept the second for reasons he didn’t understand.

And now here was a third.

Why?

Why did she keep doing this?

He couldn’t understand it. You didn’t know him. You didn’t owe him. And yet you smiled every time like he hadn’t been short with you—like his indifference didn’t matter.

He unlocked the door, slipped the note in his pocket without thinking, and stepped inside.

The bar was dim, tucked in a quieter corner of Gangnam. Industrial walls, low lights, good whiskey. It wasn’t a place for noise—it was for breathing out when everything else felt too loud.

Jungkook was already there, two glasses in, spinning a cube of ice in his tumbler.

“Took you long enough,” he said, nodding as Seokjin took the seat across from him.

“Had to finish work,” Seokjin muttered. He loosened his collar and took the drink Jungkook pushed toward him.

Jungkook raised a brow. “You look like someone told you your company’s stock dropped 30%.”

“It dropped 4%,” Seokjin said. “And she took the last of her things today.”

Jungkook blinked. “Ah.”

He didn’t have to ask who.

Seokjin took a slow sip, the whiskey burning clean down his throat.

Five years.

That’s how long they’d been together.

She used to call him every night before bed. Used to trace little hearts into his palm when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And then one day she said, “I’m tired of loving you more than you let me. You don’t even try anymore, Jin.”

And she was right.

He hadn’t tried. Not really. Not since his father died. Not since the pressure of the company fell onto his shoulders like a weight with no end.

He thought love could wait while he fixed everything else.

But love doesn’t wait.

It walks away.

Jungkook tapped his glass against Seokjin’s. “To new beginnings?”

Seokjin huffed. “To functional loneliness.”

Jungkook grinned. “Same thing, really.”

Later, when Jungkook was in the restroom and the bar had quieted to a dull murmur, Seokjin leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, and the note from earlier slipped out of his jacket pocket and landed on the table.

He stared at it.

Still neatly folded. Still warm in tone. He hadn’t thrown it away.

Why hadn’t he?

Hope today was softer than yesterday.

Soft.

That’s what she was.

Bright, open, and… painfully soft.

Didn’t she realize how the world worked? That people leave. That kindness gets used up. That softness is something people take and twist?

He didn’t understand people like her.

People who waved at neighbors. Who smiled at strangers.

Innocent, maybe.

Naive, definitely.

But…

He thought about her voice for a second. The way she’d said his name when he told her. Like she was tasting it. Like it mattered.

He thought about the way she looked at him without fear. Like he was a puzzle, not a threat.

That kind of warmth…

He hadn’t felt it in a long time.

By the time he returned to the building, the hallways were quiet again.

His footsteps echoed softly on the polished floors as he walked past 22-B.

He paused. Just for a moment.

Your light was still on, faint under the door. A shadow moved behind the curtain—probably you dancing or pacing or talking to your houseplant. Whatever cheerful, odd thing you did when no one was watching.

He kept walking.

But he didn’t crumple the note this time.

He took it inside and left it on his kitchen counter.

And when he went to bed that night, for the first time in a while, he didn’t fall asleep replaying old arguments in his head.

He thought about your handwriting.

And wondered what kind of person leaves kindness at the door of a stranger who never says thank you.

Chapter 2

[inkedwithcharm]

The Sunflower Next Door | Kim Seokjin

Genre: Slow-burn Romance, Slice of Life, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader (Y/N)

Synopsis

When life hands you lemons, you smile and make lemonade—or, in your case, herbal tea with honey and a sunflower tucked behind your ear. Diagnosed with a rare condition still awaiting a cure, you’re forced to trade your peaceful countryside life for the glass towers of Seoul, moving into your wealthy aunt’s luxurious apartment to undergo treatment.

Next door? Kim Seokjin—grumpy, devastatingly handsome neighbor, newly single after a five-year relationship, and definitely not looking for love. To him, your sunshiney optimism is as baffling as it is annoying. But to you, he’s just a lonely heart in need of a little light.

One wall apart. Two different worlds. But love has a habit of blooming in unexpected places—even between a broken realist and a girl who still believes in miracles.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Preview: “Sunshine & Silence”

The elevator smelled like jasmine and expensive perfume. You stood quietly with your backpack clutched in front of you like a schoolgirl, heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. The city buzzed outside, tall buildings reflecting the fading sun, and somewhere below, your aunt’s driver had just unloaded three suitcases and two boxes of herbal tea.

“This place looks like a fancy hospital,” you murmured as the doors opened on the 22nd floor.

You barely stepped out when someone brushed past you, a blur of a man in a dark suit, sleeves rolled up, phone glued to his ear.

“No, cancel the Shanghai meeting. I don’t care if it’s the CEO’s nephew’s wedding,” the man growled before pausing and locking eyes with you.

Time slowed. Not because of some magical connection, but because you tripped on the welcome mat and nearly flung yourself into the hallway plant.

He blinked. You giggled. He scowled.

You didn’t know it then, but that was Kim Seokjin. Your new neighbor.

And your future headache.

Or maybe… your miracle.

Chapter 1

[inkedwithcharm]

The Tal Code

OT7 | Kim Seokjin

Genre: Action | Thriller | Romance | Heist AU | Cultural Rebellion

Pairing: Kim Seokjin (Gwaechon) × Reader (Jeju)

Theme: A covert rebellion, rooted in tradition, masked in vengeance.

SYNOPSIS:

In a future Seoul where the government suppresses freedom under the guise of unity, masks aren’t just relics of the past—they’re tools of rebellion.

Ilsan (Kim Namjoon), a former strategist for the National Security Bureau, was betrayed and exiled. Now, he’s assembling a new kind of resistance. Not through loud protest, but through silence, symbols, and perfect execution.

Each member of the rebellion wears a Korean Tal (탈) mask—once used in folk dance and satire, now reimagined as emblems of defiance. They are no longer individuals, but names of forgotten cities. Their identities are code. Their cause is revenge.

But then he found you: a ghost among hackers, a name the government feared—Wraith. Orphaned by war, shaped by systems, and raised by code. Ilsan wanted your skill and your loyalty.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted something too: a reason to believe in fire.

Together, they don’t want money. They want justice.

This is not a heist. This is a ritual.

Each member wears a Korean Tal (탈) mask, once used in talchum—a traditional masked dance-drama that mocked the powerful and challenged social norms. In this rebellion, the masks have been reimagined as powerful emblems of silent defiance against government tyranny. Each mask reflects their origin, personality, role, and philosophy of rebellion.

“We wear their history on our faces. We turn satire into revolution.”

Ilsan (Namjoon)

• Role: The Mastermind, Strategist, Architect of the Plan

• Mask: Gwanno Tal (Shaman Elder) — Symbol of ancient wisdom, insight, and silent defiance. Once mocked as senile, now revered as the visionary who sees through the lies.

• Background: A former government cryptologist who uncovered a buried archive detailing decades of elite corruption. Faked his death during a staged lab explosion and disappeared—only to reemerge as the architect of the Tal Code.

• Specialties: Multi-language coding, psychological operations, history, encryption, war theory, chessmaster-level planning.

• Reason for Revenge: His family was publicly shamed and erased after he tried to publish the truth. He lost everything except the truth. Now, he builds a new system—with masks.

Gwaechon (Seokjin)

• Role: The Tactician, Field Commander, Master of Disguise

• Mask: Yangban Tal (Aristocrat) — The smiling nobleman who once ruled society, now mocking it from within. Charismatic, dangerous, deceptive.

• Background: Former Blue House intelligence officer. Grew disillusioned after witnessing assassinations passed off as “accidents.” Took matters into his own hands after his brother was killed in a secret operation.

• Specialties: Tactical leadership, deception, crowd manipulation, infiltration, hand-to-hand combat.

• Ilsan found him in the ruins of an underground gambling den, orchestrating a sting on corrupt defense officials.

• Reason for Revenge: His family was used and discarded by the elite. Now he becomes the mask they used to wear—and uses it against them.

Daegu (Yoongi)

• Role: Explosives Expert, Silent Tech Savant

• Mask: Choraengi Tal (Servant) — The comic fool, underestimated but cunning. Behind the soft lines hides a mind set on vengeance.

• Background: Once a street kid who became a brilliant black-market engineer. Designed custom frequency bombs used by the government—until he learned they were used on protestors.

• Specialties: Demolition, sound-triggered devices, black-market tech, anti-surveillance.

• Ilsan slipped him a coded music file. When Yoongi decrypted it, it led him to an empty piano room—and a single mask on the bench.

• Reason for Revenge: His cousin was killed in a protest. The government covered it up. Now, every explosion speaks the truth they silenced.

Busan (Jungkook)

• Role: Close Combat Specialist, Driver, Weapons

• Mask: Baekjeong Tal (Butcher) — Once feared and cast out of society, now fearless and essential. Bloodstained, unapologetic.

• Background: Ex-special forces. Dishonorably discharged for refusing to carry out a civilian massacre during a political sweep. Became an underground MMA champion.

• Specialties: Precision strikes, motorcycle and car chase escapes, pressure point targeting, parkour.

• Ilsan challenged him to a duel. When Jungkook lost, he asked why he was spared. Ilsan replied, “Because the war is bigger than one victory.”

• Reason for Revenge: Betrayed by the institution he gave his life to. Now, he breaks the bodies of those who used him.

Seoul (Jimin)

• Role: Seduction, Distraction, Cyber Manipulation

• Mask: Gaksi Tal (Bride) — The graceful, innocent bride. Soft smile, hidden blade.

• Background: Grew up in foster care under a fake identity. Became a cyber-siren, using his beauty and voice to manipulate intel from diplomats, CEOs, and officers.

• Specialties: Psychological manipulation, deepfake editing, AI facial map distortion, acting.

• Ilsan left him a digital bouquet in an encrypted love letter. Jimin cracked it in five minutes and showed up wearing the mask before being asked.

• Reason for Revenge: His real family was arrested and erased for protesting. He seduces power only to poison it.

Gwangju (Hoseok)

• Role: Logistics, Intel Intercept, Crowd Control

• Mask: Bune Tal (Flirtatious Woman) — The unpredictable, emotional mask. Laughter with daggers.

• Background: Former street dancer and underground courier. Used rhythm and chaos to move info no one else could. His brother disappeared after leaking documents—and Hoseok never danced the same way again.

• Specialties: Urban evasion, message drops, psychological disruption in crowds, riot manipulation.

• Ilsan left a tape in an old radio playing Hoseok’s brother’s last voice message—with the mask on top.

• Reason for Revenge: They took the one person who believed in him. Now, he makes every crowd a weapon.

Geochang (Taehyung)

• Role: Cultural Decoder, Cryptic Communications, Inside Agent

• Mask: Seonbi Tal (Scholar) — Gentle, poetic, unwavering. Once silenced by class, now a voice for truth.

• Background: A historian with deep family roots in Joseon resistance. Former museum curator who uncovered proof of rewritten history used to justify oppression.

• Specialties: Symbol decoding, document forgeries, ancient dialects, infiltration through elite networks.

• Ilsan sent him an 18th-century woodblock print. Hidden in the ink: the Tal Code.

• Reason for Revenge: His ancestors fought tyranny with ink. Now he does it with masks.

Jeju (You) – Newest Member

• Role: Master Thief, Systems Hacker, Ghost Diver

• Mask: Haenyeo Tal (Sea Woman) — Inspired by the legendary Jeju female divers. Silent, fearless, free beneath the surface.

• Background: Grew up with your grandmother, a former haenyeo, who taught you to hold your breath longer than anyone. By sixteen, you were stealing secrets from underwater data cables, breaking into island bunkers. When the government sank your village to build a luxury resort, you disappeared—and became myth.

Together, these eight masks form a rebellion—rooted in Korean culture, sharpened by vengeance, and masked by legacy.

Chapter 1 Preview: The Diver in the Smoke

Seoul – 3:13 a.m.

Warehouse District, Han River Docklands

The alarms screamed, slicing through the fog rolling off the river. Red strobes blinked like the final heartbeat of a dying beast.

You ran.

You hadn’t planned for guards. Especially not the kind who didn’t carry radios—only steel and silence.

The data chip in your glove pulsed with every step. Ministry blackmail files—evidence of political laundering, government crimes. The kind of file that could disappear an entire fishing village overnight. You knew. Your uncle had been one of them.

You vaulted over a storage crate—silent. Trained feet barely whispering against metal. Then you heard him.

Not alarms. Not boots.

Breath.

You turned—and ducked.

A fist cut through the air, nearly catching your jaw. You spun under it, striking low—his ribs. He grunted, twisted, faster than you expected. His eyes were locked on you—sharp, animal, amused.

“Fast,” he muttered. His Busan accent thick and gritty like concrete.

Another blow came. You dodged. Another. You caught it. The two of you moved like reflections in broken glass—neither landing a real hit, both testing.

He smirked.

You swept his leg.

He fell—and caught your wrist mid-air. Pulled you down with him.

The fight turned.

You rolled. Elbowed his temple. He grunted again. “Damn.”

Just as you lunged for the exit—

“That’s enough.”

The voice was calm. Smooth. Measured like poetry.

You froze.

Busan didn’t. He stepped back instantly, lowering his fists with something like…respect.

You turned, panting, arm bleeding, knuckles raw—and there he stood:

Ilsan.

Black coat. No mask. Hands behind his back like he didn’t fear the world—he’d already seen the ending, and was simply waiting for it to catch up.

His gaze scanned you like a cipher. Noted your wound. Your stance. The scar near your collarbone.

“You’re the one who broke into the Ministry’s satellite node two months ago,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

He tilted his head.

“Did you know,” he said, “when a haenyeo dives, she risks her life every time. For her family. For breath. For dignity.”

Silence.

He took a step closer.

“You were born to dive into systems and resurface with truth.”

“And I’m building a team that drowns governments.”

You looked from him to Busan—who now stood, wiping blood from his mouth, grinning like you’d passed a secret test.

Ilsan’s eyes found yours again. Not threatening. Not kind. Just…certain.

“Join us, Y/N.”

“You’ve been holding your breath long enough.”

You smirked, wiping blood from your lip with the back of your hand. The fire in your lungs had finally settled.

“ When do we start?”

He extended his hand toward you, not just as an invitation, but as a vow.

“Welcome to the Tal Code, Jeju.”

[inkedwithcharm]

When the Quiet Breaks | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 10 (Finale)

Always, Always You

You both stood at the threshold of the suite, the soft weight of silence pressing down as you turned the key and stepped inside. It was quiet, dim, the air perfumed with soft jasmine from the resort oils left by the hotel staff. A single folded note lay on the polished wooden counter near the bed, marked with your mom’s unmistakable handwriting.

“Enjoy your pre-honeymoon. See you in Seoul.”

Jin read over your shoulder and let out a stunned laugh. “They planned this.”

You swallowed hard. “Of course they did.”

He looked down at you then, eyes softening into something deeper—something that had always existed between you two, even in silence. Even when everything broke. That unspoken gravity.

You turned toward him, your eyes reflecting the flicker of lamplight. “Jin…”

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he said, voice raw, barely above a whisper.

Your answer wasn’t in words. You stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, your hands finding the edge of his shirt. Your fingers hesitated—but only for a second—before they slid underneath, grazing the warmth of his skin. He exhaled, shakily, and then he was kissing you.

Not just a kiss of reunion.

It was a kiss that remembered every scar.

His hands gripped your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish. Your breath hitched as he guided you backward toward the bed, one slow step at a time, lips never leaving yours—searching, relearning, begging to be trusted again.

When the backs of your legs met the edge of the bed, he paused, forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure?”

Your response was a nod—but your eyes said more. Your eyes said I missed you in every way a person can be missed. Your fingers answered by pulling his shirt up and over his head.

You weren’t in a hurry. You didn’t want to rush this—not when every second felt like forgiveness, like something sacred. The moment you laid back against the mattress and he followed, bare skin to bare skin, the air shifted. Warm. Humming. Magnetic.

His mouth moved along your collarbone like he was afraid to forget the taste of your skin. Your hands trembled as they touched the familiar planes of his chest, the slope of his shoulders. You felt him everywhere—in your veins, your chest, your pulse, your breath.

“I dreamt of this,” he murmured, kissing down the side of your neck. “Of you. Every damn night.”

Your nails grazed down his back in answer, making him groan into your skin.

“You were gone, and it was like… nothing meant anything anymore.”

Your breath caught. “I wanted to hate you,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He looked up then, his eyes glistening. “You can. You can hate me. Just don’t stop loving me.”

You stared at each other in the low light. There was no space between your bodies—just warmth, sweat, soft gasps, quiet apologies spoken with mouths and hands. Every kiss was deeper, every caress more desperate, every whispered name soaked in aching devotion.

He kissed you like he was trying to say thank you for staying. You kissed him like you were trying to say don’t ever break me again.

When he finally moved inside the sheets beside you, wrapped around your trembling body, you felt it all.

The ache.

The healing.

The overwhelming, undeniable love.

Your breaths were ragged, your heart racing, and still, he held you. Your hands cradled the back of his head as he kissed the tears from your cheeks.

You both lay there after—limbs tangled, hearts pressed close—your bare skin glowing in the soft light of the moon. No more space. No more lies. No more pretending.

Just love.

Maybe everything didn’t fix itself tonight.

But maybe… love was louder than heartbreak.

Maybe the universe wasn’t asking you to let go.

Maybe it was asking you to try again.

Because this—you, him, this night full of rediscovery and aching kisses and held breath—this was love worth choosing again.

And again.

And again.

The first light of morning stretched across the room in soft golds and pale pinks, filtering through the curtains like a quiet blessing. You stirred, warmth pressed to your back, and realized Jin’s arm was still draped around you. His breathing was slow and even, his chest rising and falling against yours in a rhythm that felt like home.

It was the first time in so long that morning didn’t feel heavy.

You lay still for a moment, listening to the world wake outside the window. Waves in the distance. Gulls calling softly. Jin’s heart, steady behind you.

And then, as if he could sense your thoughts, he whispered hoarsely, “Good morning.”

You turned your head slightly, and there he was — sleepy-eyed, hair tousled, his voice low and warm from sleep.

“Morning,” you whispered back.

There was a pause, comfortable but meaningful.

“I thought I dreamt last night,” he said, thumb brushing gently over your arm. “But you’re really here. We’re really… okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded, softly. “We’re trying.”

His eyes lit with a kind of hope that made your chest ache.

Back to Seoul

The flight back was quiet, but in a different way than before. Not strained. Just calm. He held your hand once—shyly, like it was the first time again—and you let him.

When you landed in Seoul, the skies were overcast but the air was light. Jin helped with your luggage as he always used to, loading it into the back of his car while humming under his breath.

“I’ll drop you off at your apartment,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Unless…”

You glanced over at him.

“Unless you… want to come back to ours?”

His voice was gentle, like he didn’t want to push. He tapped the wheel nervously with his thumb, eyes locked on the road.

You hesitated. But then, your own voice—soft but steady—broke through the silence. “Not today. I have some things at my place. But… yes. I want to come back.”

He turned to you slowly, eyes wide.

“Yeah?” he asked, like a kid being handed the stars.

You nodded. “Yes.”

And the smile that broke across his face… it wasn’t just happiness. It was relief. Like he’d been holding his breath for months and finally exhaled.

“I have a quick meeting at HYBE,” he said, practically glowing now. “Just a few hours. I’ll come back for you after. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You didn’t kiss him goodbye—but the look you shared before he drove off said enough.

You stepped into your old apartment, and it suddenly felt smaller. Not because it had changed — but because you had. What once felt like a refuge now felt like a pause in a story that was meant to keep going.

Mina showed up an hour later, as promised. She entered with two iced coffees and a knowing grin.

“So…” she said, setting the drinks down and eyeing you carefully.

You arched a brow. “So?”

“You’re glowing,” she smirked, nudging your shoulder. “Either Jeju air works miracles or… you got some closure.”

You smiled, sipping your coffee.

“I got both.”

She watched you for a beat longer, and then nodded, understanding more than you said out loud. “Good. You deserve it.”

Your phone buzzed just as she was about to ask more.

Jin: Done at HYBE. Can I come get you? 🥺

You stared at the message for a moment, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips.

Mina peeked over your shoulder. “He sent the puppy eyes emoji. It’s over for you.”

You laughed. For the first time in weeks, maybe months… you laughed freely.

And as you texted him back—

You: I’m ready. Come take me home.

—you felt it.

The shift.

Not everything was perfect. But something had changed.

And maybe love really was stronger than the heartache. Maybe it wasn’t about forgetting the pain — but choosing each other despite it.

This time, you were ready to choose again.

You stood at the edge of the curb, the late afternoon sun casting a golden hue across the pavement, your suitcase resting by your feet like a quiet companion to your waiting heart.

And then you saw him.

Jin’s car pulled up slowly, his window rolling down to reveal that boyish, sheepish smile that always made your stomach flutter—like nothing had really changed even if everything had.

But what truly took your breath away was what he held out to you.

A bouquet.

Not just any bouquet. Your favorite flowers, the exact ones he used to bring home on random Wednesdays, back when life was softer and your love lived in every corner of the shared apartment.

You blinked in surprise. “You remembered.”

“I never forgot,” he said quietly, stepping out of the car and walking around to you. He handed you the flowers with both hands like they were sacred. “I know I should’ve done this long ago… but I want to start again. From the beginning, if you’ll let me.”

Your heart ached in the best way.

You nodded, unable to form words, and let him take your suitcase. He opened the passenger door for you, and you slipped inside, the scent of the flowers already filling the car. Everything felt a little different—but not wrong. Like the beginning of something soft and healing.

The restaurant he took you to was quiet, romantic, hidden away in a garden courtyard you didn’t know existed. Candlelight flickered on the table. Soft jazz played. The air was scented with rosemary and warm bread, and you wondered how he managed to remember every little thing you liked.

He pulled your chair for you.

He ordered your favorite wine.

And when you were halfway through dinner, after laughing over a shared plate and stealing glances like teenagers again—he reached across the table for your hand.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he began, eyes serious now, voice gentle. “About everything. What we lost. What we almost gave up. I know you’re still scared. But I want to ask you something.”

You looked at him, not pulling away from his touch.

“What about the wedding?” he asked softly. “Should we start planning again?”

You went still.

Then, after a long breath, you spoke. “Only if you can promise me something.”

“Anything,” he said instantly.

You stared into his eyes, searching them like a map. “Promise me you’ll never break me again. That if anything feels like too much… you’ll tell me. No shutting down. No pushing me away. Just… talk to me. Please.”

Jin’s gaze didn’t waver. He brought your hand to his lips, kissed your knuckles with reverence.

“There won’t be ‘too much’ this time,” he whispered. “Not with you. I’ve already lived the version of life without you, and I never want to go back there again. You are my ‘home’ in every sense. I want a future with you. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You swallowed hard, emotion tightening your throat.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Whatever it takes. I’ll earn your trust back every single day if I have to. I just want to build this life with you again.”

You didn’t answer in words.

You leaned over the candlelit table, rested your forehead gently against his. Your tears met his smile halfway.

“I want that too,” you whispered.

He drove slower than usual on the way back. One hand on the wheel, the other intertwined with yours over the center console. No radio. Just silence, soft and content.

When he parked outside your shared apartment, he turned to you.

“Ready to come home?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But before you stepped out of the car, you turned to him again. “Thank you, Jin. For not giving up.”

His voice was rough when he answered. “I never stopped loving you. I just forgot how to show it.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Then let’s try again.”

His hand tightened around yours. “No more trying. This time, we’re doing it. Together.”

And as he walked you up the stairs, the weight of the past didn’t vanish—but it finally felt like it wasn’t the ending.

It was just a prologue.

You never thought you’d be walking through this door again — the familiar creak of the hinges, the soft scent of lavender and laundry detergent, the echo of memories that clung to every wall like whispers.

But you were here.

With him.

Jin stepped inside behind you, the weight of the key still in his palm, like it meant more now than it ever did before. He looked around, lips curved in a quiet smile, like he was memorizing everything again, just in case.

You dropped your bag gently by the entryway. “Everything’s still the same…”

He nodded. “I didn’t change anything. I couldn’t.” He paused, then turned to look at you, eyes shimmering with tenderness. “It didn’t feel like home when you weren’t here.”

Your breath caught in your chest.

You glanced at the couch, where you had countless late-night talks. The kitchen where you used to dance barefoot while cooking. The hallway where you’d once argued and cried… All of it — still here. Still yours.

It felt like your heart exhaled for the first time in months.

Jin slipped off his shoes and padded into the living room. “Okay,” he said suddenly, clapping his hands. “Since tonight is our first night back home, I think it’s only fair we celebrate.”

You raised a brow. “Celebrate?”

“Yes,” he grinned, disappearing into the kitchen.

Moments later, he returned with two wine glasses and a bottle you both had been saving for a “special occasion” — one you were never sure would come.

He poured you a glass with an exaggerated flourish. “To coming home,” he said, raising his glass toward you. “To second chances. And to the fact that you’re ridiculously, devastatingly in love with me again.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yet so handsome,” he added with a wink.

You clinked glasses, took a sip, then fell onto the couch beside him. Jin pulled you into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world, your legs tangled, heads resting against each other.

“How is it possible that this feels so… right?” you murmured.

“Because it is,” he whispered. “You and me — we’ve always been right. We just lost our way for a while.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “Is it okay that I still feel a little scared?”

Jin cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin like he was trying to calm every storm left inside you. “Yeah. But I’m not going anywhere. So we can be scared together.”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes — not the kind that burned, but the kind that healed.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips — soft, slow, like he had all the time in the world to relearn how to love you.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, “I thought about this every night. Coming home to you. Just like this. Your hair in a bun. Your voice in this space again. Even your coffee mug next to mine.”

You giggled. “You missed my mug?”

“Desperately. It was lonely without its soulmate.”

You slapped his arm playfully, but he caught your hand, laced his fingers with yours.

Then you both just stayed there, tangled in each other, talking about everything and nothing — the wedding again, where you might want to travel next, how Jin tried cooking once while you were gone and almost set the stove on fire.

It was silly. Soft. Perfect.

Later, you curled into bed together — your shared bed — and it felt so natural that your heart could barely contain itself.

Jin wrapped his arms around you and whispered into your hair, “Promise me we’ll keep choosing each other. Even on the hard days.”

You nodded against his chest. “I promise.”

Outside the window, the city kept moving. But inside your apartment, time had paused — just long enough for you both to remember what love really felt like when it was chosen, fought for, and found again.

Maybe this was what happily ever after looked like.

Not a fairytale.

Just two people, trying again. Loving harder. Healing softer.

And for the first time in a long time, you both slept peacefully — like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

Wedding planning had never felt this… calm.

No stress. No late-night arguments. No doubts.

Only love — and Jin, always beside you.

He came to every meeting. Sat beside you through cake tastings and flower decisions, asking all the right questions and cracking all the wrong jokes just to make you smile. Even the suppliers noticed.

“You’re lucky,” one of them whispered to you once, watching Jin lean over a table to show you chair samples. “Not all grooms are this involved.”

You only smiled. Because you knew.

He wasn’t just involved — he was present. Committed. Trying in every possible way to show you that this time, he would never let go.

You and Jin met with the organizers again that afternoon, confirming that the wedding would continue as originally scheduled. No more cancellations. No more painful detours.

Just one path — forward. Together.

You left the final appointment hand-in-hand, hearts light, excitement humming in your chest like sunlight. Jin offered to drive, and you didn’t think much of it at first — just leaned back in the passenger seat, basking in the kind of contentment you hadn’t felt in so long.

Until you noticed the route.

“…Jin, where are we going?”

He just smiled.

You blinked, your heart giving a curious flutter. “You missed the turn to the apartment.”

“I know.”

“Wait—” you sat up straighter, watching the familiar buildings pass by. “This isn’t—Jin, what are you—?”

“I need you to trust me,” he said softly, then reached into the glove compartment and pulled out something.

A blindfold.

“Seriously?” you laughed, nervous.

He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Just for a minute.”

You let him tie it over your eyes, giggling in confusion as he parked. The car door opened and closed. Then your door.

His hand found yours, warm and certain. “Come on, careful now.”

He guided you out. The air smelled clean and quiet — suburban. The kind of quiet that settles around homes.

Then he stopped.

Tugged the blindfold off gently.

And when you opened your eyes, your breath caught in your throat.

It was the house.

The one you had dreamed about.

The one you canceled when everything fell apart — when the wedding was called off and your future blurred.

But there it was now. In front of you. Lit up, windows glowing warmly, like it had been waiting.

You turned to Jin, stunned, and he was already holding out the keys.

“I bought it,” he said softly, voice thick with emotion. “Right after Jeju. I had to. I couldn’t imagine us living anywhere else.”

Tears pooled in your eyes before you could stop them.

“I wanted to give you everything back. Not just the wedding. Not just apologies. But the life we promised each other. Every brick of it.”

You looked at the keys. At him.

“Jin…”

He smiled, his own eyes glistening now, and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.

“And listen,” he whispered, lips brushing your skin. “I know we said three kids. But I’m thinking twelve.”

You laughed through your tears, hitting his chest gently.

“Are you crazy?”

“Crazy in love with you,” he grinned. “We’ll name them after constellations. Or snacks. Either works.”

You were laughing too hard to speak now, your chest aching in the best way.

And then he kissed you — long, sweet, like the very first time all over again. A kiss full of future, of foundation, of everything that was broken now built stronger.

“I love you,” he said into your hair.

“I love you,” you whispered back.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulled you close.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, it didn’t feel like you were fixing things anymore.

It felt like you were finally — truly — beginning.

Together.

You were brushing through your final skincare steps, a silk robe draped loosely around you, when a soft knock startled the quiet hum of your hotel suite.

You frowned, glancing at the clock. Nearly midnight. “Who—?”

You padded barefoot across the room and opened the door just a crack.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.

“Jin?”

He stood there, sheepish and charmingly out of breath, a hoodie thrown over his dress shirt like he’d run here without thinking. His hair was a little messy. His eyes sparkled.

You pulled the door wider. “You’re not supposed to be here! It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Kim Seokjin.”

He took a step closer, his expression softening. “I just needed to see you. Just once. To make sure… that you’re really marrying me tomorrow.”

Your heart melted.

You tried to scold him again, but his arms wrapped around your waist before you could get the words out. His hug was warm, steady, full of something that felt like forever. He pulled back just enough to kiss your forehead, then your lips — a slow, lingering kiss that whispered I love you without saying it aloud.

Then, without letting you linger in the silence, he smiled.

“Okay. I’m ready now.”

And with that, he turned and walked back down the hallway.

You stood in the doorway, breathless.

The Next Morning

The light crept in gently, casting soft golden rays across the room. It was the kind of morning the universe seemed to prepare specially — quiet, bright, and holy.

It was your wedding day.

You sat at the vanity while your makeup artist finished the final touches, but your thoughts were somewhere between the soft sheets you left behind and the vows you’d speak later.

Your mom entered quietly, holding two mugs of tea. She handed you one and sat beside you, her reflection next to yours in the mirror.

You didn’t say anything at first.

She did.

“I saw it, you know… back in Jeju.”

Your throat tightened. “Saw what?”

“The way you looked at each other,” she said gently. “The way you were trying to hide how broken you were. I wanted to ask… but I prayed instead.”

You turned to face her, your eyes already stinging.

“And He heard me,” she whispered, brushing a hand through your hair like she did when you were little. “I asked God to fix what was meant to be kept. And He brought you back to each other.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. You leaned into her arms, letting the years of her love hold you together.

“I almost let him go,” you whispered.

“But you didn’t,” she replied, voice breaking. “You held on.”

You cried in her arms, grateful, overwhelmed, and so deeply sure.

“Hyung, stop fidgeting. I’m trying to fix your tie.”

Jin stood stiffly in front of the mirror while Jungkook tugged the knot of his tie into place. All the members were there — Namjoon sipping coffee, Yoongi pretending not to tear up already, Taehyung pacing with his camera ready, Jimin and Hoseok fussing over cufflinks.

Jin exhaled shakily. “Is this normal? I feel like my lungs are in my throat.”

Jungkook laughed. “It’s not. But I think it means you’re in love.”

Jin looked at his reflection. Then at the ring box he had tucked in his jacket pocket, as if to make sure it was still real.

“I can’t wait to see her,” he said softly.

Jungkook’s hands paused on his collar.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” Jin continued, voice cracking. “I thought I knew love before, but this… it’s more. It’s everything.”

Jungkook stepped back, eyes a little glassy himself.

“You might cry before she even walks down the aisle,” he teased, nudging him.

“I already am,” Jin said, wiping quickly under his eyes and trying to laugh it off.

The room went quiet for a moment.

Because they all knew. This wasn’t just a wedding.

It was two souls who had lost and found each other again.

And in just a few hours — it would all begin.

The car slowed to a stop.

Your hands were trembling as you clutched the bouquet against your chest. The scent of fresh white peonies floated around you, soft and sweet, and yet it did nothing to settle your heartbeat, which was thudding like a drum against your ribs.

The church loomed in front of you, beautiful and grand, dressed in soft drapings of ivory and gold. Through the car window, you could see flickers of movement—guests already seated, music floating like a whisper through the open doors.

You exhaled shakily.

This was it.

The door opened.

Your dad stood there in a crisp black suit, eyes gentle and hands steady as he reached for yours. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low, knowing, thick with emotion he didn’t want to show.

You gave him a small nod, even though your heart felt like it was about to burst.

Your heels clicked softly against the stone as you stepped out, sunlight kissing your skin. The world paused for a breath the moment you reached the edge of the aisle.

Then the music changed.

The doors opened wider.

And you stepped into forever.

Rows of loved ones turned their heads. You saw Mina wipe her tears. Jimin was grinning ear to ear, Taehyung with his hand over his heart, and Jungkook visibly mouthing a stunned “Wow.”

And at the end of it all—

Jin.

Standing beneath a soft arch of white blooms. His eyes locked with yours the instant you stepped in. His lips parted slightly, like he’d just seen the sunrise for the first time. His smile wobbled, eyes glassy and shining, his hand clenched tightly around the ring box he hadn’t let go of since morning.

Everything blurred around you as you walked forward.

With every step, memories rushed back.

The laughter in your kitchen when he danced with you barefoot.

The heartbreak.

The silence.

The night he held you when you were breaking.

The moment he kneeled at the beach with the ring in his hand.

The way he kissed you like he was breathing for the first time.

The promise in his eyes when he asked to try again.

Now, every piece had led you here.

To him.

Your mother’s quiet sob drew your gaze—her hand clutched her chest, tears running freely. Your father’s grip on your arm tightened just slightly, as if he were both letting go and holding on at the same time. He didn’t speak, but you felt it in the way he walked beside you—he was proud. He was happy.

When you reached the front, Jin stepped down.

He reached for your hand.

And when your fingers touched, the world felt right again.

He leaned closer and whispered just for you, “You’re real… this is real.”

You smiled, eyes brimming. “We’re here.”

As your dad gently handed you over, Jin looked at him and bowed—deeply, sincerely—then looked at you again like he still couldn’t believe you chose him.

The ceremony was about to begin.

But in that moment, standing hand in hand beneath the arches, you weren’t just a bride and groom.

You were two people who had loved, lost, and found their way back.

And this aisle?

This wasn’t just a path to the altar.

It was the bridge between heartbreak and healing. Between yesterday’s pain and tomorrow’s forever.

And as you stood together, about to vow your love in front of everyone who mattered—you knew without a doubt.

You made it.

You held Jin’s hands in yours, the weight of a thousand memories behind your trembling fingers. You looked into his eyes, already glassy, already glowing with so much love.

You took a deep breath and spoke, voice soft but steady.

“I thought I knew what love meant when I said yes to you the first time.

I thought love was about laughter, and comfort, and the way you made me smile in the middle of the chaos.

But then we broke.

And I learned something deeper.

That love isn’t always perfect.

That sometimes love is messy, painful, terrifying.

That sometimes, two people can love each other… and still hurt.

But I also learned…

That real love fights.

It comes back.

It chooses again, and again, and again.

When I left, I thought that was the end of our story.

But the universe had other plans.

It kept pulling me back to you—in quiet ways, in loud moments, in Jeju sunsets and awkward silences and the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching.

And I realized:

My heart never stopped waiting for you.

It never stopped loving you.

Today, I choose you.

Not because we’re perfect.

But because we’re real.

Because we’ve seen the worst and still found our way back to the best.

Because you’re the home I always want to come back to.

I vow to love you, even when things get hard again.

To listen. To fight fair. To never walk away without looking back.

To hold your hand through every sunrise and every storm.

I love you, Kim Seokjin.

Not just for who you are—but for who we are together.

For every chapter we’ve survived… and every one we’ve yet to write.

This is not a restart.

This is our forever.”

Tears traced your cheeks as you finished, and Jin gently squeezed your hands, as if holding not just your fingers, but every broken piece you’d ever handed him—and now, every whole one you were giving back.

He took a breath.

A long one.

And then a soft laugh escaped him as he brushed away a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry… but here I am.

Standing in front of the most beautiful woman in the world, the one who taught me what love really means, and yeah—I’m definitely crying.

I’ve loved you in so many ways.

Loudly, with jokes and songs and stupid dances in the kitchen.

Quietly, with the way I memorized your coffee order and how you bite your lip when you’re nervous.

And then I lost you.

And in that silence, I realized what I should’ve never taken for granted.

You. Us. The future we talked about at 2 a.m. when the world felt soft and ours alone.

But fate…

Somehow, fate gave me another chance.

And this time, I’m holding on like my life depends on it—because it does.

You’re not just the love of my life.

You’re my peace. My best friend. My second heartbeat.

I promise you, from this day on—

No more walls.

No more distance.

Only honesty. Only choosing you again and again, even on the hard days.

I’ll dance with you when you’re tired.

I’ll sit in silence when you need space.

I’ll love you in the loudest way possible when you forget how lovable you are.

I vow to never let you question your worth.

I vow to never stop learning how to love you better.

I vow to protect your heart like it’s more precious than my own.

And if we ever stumble again,

I’ll be the one reaching first.

Because you’re it for me.

Now. Tomorrow. Always.

So here’s my forever, Y/N.

Take it. It’s always been yours.”

His voice cracked on the last word. And as the crowd softly wept, you couldn’t hold back anymore—you pulled him into your arms, and he kissed you with everything that vow couldn’t say.

The End.

Author’s Note

And that’s a wrap.

To everyone who joined me on this emotional, chaotic, romantic, and healing journey—thank you. Writing this story has been such a special experience for me. I poured so much love into these characters, and honestly… I’m a little (a lot) in love with them myself.

Their pain, their growth, their second chances—everything came from a place of imagining what it means to love deeply and choose each other over and over again. I hope you felt every tear, every kiss, every unspoken word, and every silent hug that healed what was once broken.

Thank you for reading. For feeling. For believing.

Even when things fall apart, love always finds a way back.

With all my heart,

🩶 InkedWithCharm