kkuraswrld

[kkuraswrld]

Soobin txt on weverse

[kkuraswrld]

SOOBIN: love language | music bank

[kkuraswrld]

i think i may pass away if i ever see choi soobin irl

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ chapter six

"haebom florals"

saebyeol explores the town and stumbles upon a quaint flower shop called haebom florals, where she meets huening kai, the gentle and artistic son of the shop owner. their connection is immediate and soft, with kai offering her a bouquet as a kind gesture when he can't hire her for part-time work. he shares a snippet of a piano composition he's working on, and saebyeol is struck by his ability to weave music and flowers together, sensing a peaceful, quiet energy that she’s been longing for.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

the morning air carried the scent of salt and blooming things. saebyeol stood at the edge of the town square, eyes scanning a weathered bulletin board that had probably been around since the 80s. a dozen hand-written flyers fluttered in the breeze—lost cats, used bicycles, tarot readings, and exactly one vague ad that read:

HELP WANTED must not be afraid of fish.

she sighed.

she wasn’t ready for fish guts before sunrise. or the heavy lifting. or the yelling. especially not the yelling.

her sandals crunched softly against the cobblestones as she turned away from the board and wandered without thinking, feet tracing a path along the narrow alleys that bloomed out of the square like ivy. she passed the post office, a repair shop, a tiny thrift store that looked like it hadn’t been open since last summer.

and then—there it was.

“haebom florals” was written in soft cursive across the glass window, painted in faded blush pink. the front display was a tangle of vases and wildflowers, sunflowers tilting toward the light, daisies clustered like laughter, roses half-open like secrets. it smelled like green stems and rain.

the bell over the door jingled as she stepped inside.

the shop was a quiet kind of magic. cool air brushed her face. there were petals on the floor. a cat curled on the windowsill, too regal to move.

and then—

“hi,” said a soft voice from behind the counter. “you new?”

she looked up to see a boy—tall, loose brown hair tucked behind one ear, a dimple teasing the edge of his cheek. he was arranging a bundle of baby’s breath and lavender, hands moving with gentle precision.

“i am,” she said. “i mean—i moved here last week. i’m just… wandering today.”

he smiled, and it was so open, so genuinely kind, that her shoulders dropped without her realizing.

“i’m huening kai,” he said. “my mom owns this place. i kind of help run it when she’s at deliveries or making tea with the aunties.”

“min saebyeol,” she replied. “unemployed wanderer of the week.”

he laughed, soft and airy. “it’s a good week for wandering. not so good for jobs, though.”

she hesitated. “actually… do you happen to be hiring? part-time? i don’t mind helping with deliveries or cleanup or—”

he winced, apologetic. “i wish. we’re not really making enough to pay anyone else right now.”

“oh.” she smiled anyway, brushing hair behind her ear. “no worries. worth a try.”

kai tilted his head, studying her for a moment. then, without a word, he set down the bouquet he was working on and turned toward a small workbench tucked behind the register.

“wait here,” he said.

she blinked. “okay…?”

he moved like a breeze, light on his feet, pulling stems from a row of mason jars, adding one, swapping another, humming under his breath. a soft piano melody spilled from a speaker in the corner, delicate and unfinished.

in less than a minute, he returned with a small bouquet wrapped in kraft paper—blue delphinium, pale pink peonies, sprigs of rosemary, and one deep purple cornflower in the center.

she stared. “that’s… for me?”

he nodded. “you looked like you needed one.”

“i—thank you,” she said, genuinely surprised. “but i didn’t even buy anything—”

“doesn’t matter.” he smiled again, that same dreamy softness in his eyes. “consider it a welcome gift. or a ‘sorry we’re not hiring’ bouquet.”

she cradled the flowers in her hands, unsure what to say.

“and,” he added, pointing to the speaker, “this is a song I’ve been working on. for piano. it’s not done yet. but I thought you might like it.”

her heart did something strange in her chest.

“you write music too?” she asked, quietly.

he shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “just sometimes. mostly for myself. some flowers are too quiet to speak—so i give them a melody instead.”

that… felt like poetry.

for a moment, the shop felt like another world. no rush, no pressure. just the soft scent of florals and the hush of music curling through the air.

she looked at him again—really looked—and saw someone who didn’t just live in this town, but bloomed with it. gentle, patient, open-hearted.

the warmth in her chest lingered long after she left the shop, bouquet in hand and a new song still echoing faintly in her ears.

that evening, she pressed one of the cornflower petals between the pages of her journal and wrote:

day five i didn’t get the job. but i got something else—a bouquet that felt like sunlight, and a melody that might stay with me longer than anything money could’ve bought. huening kai speaks like music. and maybe that’s the kind of peace i’ve been missing.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ chapter five

"reset and reroute"

saebyeol attempts a fresh start by going for a morning jog in an effort to find energy and purpose in her new life in haebom. however, she quickly realizes that she's not cut out for it, fainting in dramatic fashion before being helped by taehyun. despite her embarrassment, taehyun offers her a grounded perspective, advising her to slow down and embrace the relaxed pace of haebom. later, her grandfather shares wise advice, suggesting she find something fulfilling to do, rather than simply trying to stay busy. saebyeol reflects on the idea of slowing down and considering new paths for herself, feeling the pull to find something meaningful in her quieter life.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

the alarm buzzed at 5:45 a.m.

saebyeol cracked one eye open, immediately regretted it, and considered rolling over. but something in her mind whispered—new start.

she’d scribbled those two words in her journal the night before, circling them twice. a jog at sunrise had felt like a good idea at the time. something about movement. momentum. becoming the version of herself who had energy, purpose, a playlist full of uplifting indie pop.

now, standing in her grandparents’ tiny entryway in leggings and a hoodie that hadn’t seen daylight in months, she was reconsidering all of that.

still—she pressed her earbuds in, laced up her shoes, and stepped out into the pre-dawn hush of haebom.

the sky was a soft watercolor of pinks and silvers, clouds blurring gently across the horizon like half-finished brushstrokes. it was quiet enough that she could hear her own breathing, the rhythm of bori’s paws against pavement (yes, he insisted on coming), and the distant cry of seagulls somewhere over the cliffs.

for the first five minutes, it felt… good. sort of freeing. her lungs burned in a familiar way, her arms swinging in time with the beat of the music.

"i can do this," she told herself. "i’m taking control."

at minute eleven, she started to see spots.

at minute thirteen, she sat down abruptly on a bench overlooking the coast.

at minute fourteen, she passed out.

she woke up to a splash of cold water against her cheek and the blunt sound of someone sighing.

“seriously?”

she blinked, dazed. the sun was brighter now, and a shadow hovered over her—tall, lean, arms crossed and expression unimpressed.

a bottle of water was thrust toward her.

“you good?” he asked, tone clipped but not entirely unkind. “or are you planning to keep scaring the locals?”

she blinked again, trying to focus. “i… fainted?”

“yeah. in the most dramatic slow-motion fall i’ve ever seen, by the way. you missed the bench by like an inch.”

bori whined nearby, tail thumping the ground anxiously.

“water,” the guy repeated. “drink.”

she took it, still catching up. cold plastic. rough voice. sharp eyes. who the hell—?

“i’m taehyun,” he said, watching her struggle with the cap. “i work as a surf instructor and a library assistant, and occasionally play emt when tourists—or city people—try to force their entire self-healing arc into one morning jog.”

she flushed. “i’m not—”

he held up a hand. “don’t explain. you look like someone who downloaded a ‘new me’ playlist last night and decided fresh air would fix everything.”

saebyeol stared.

“…okay, that’s freakishly specific.”

taehyun shrugged, then sat down beside her. “you’re not the first. and definitely not the last.”

she sipped the water, grateful and mortified all at once.

he gave her a side-glance. “you just move here?”

“yeah. a few days ago.”

“figured.” he paused. “people here don’t jog. we walk. we wander. occasionally we climb rocks. slowly.”

she huffed a laugh. “thanks for the tip.”

taehyun stood, stretching his arms overhead in a fluid motion. “don’t take this the wrong way, but—maybe try chilling out. you’re not in seoul anymore. nothing’s chasing you.”

he started walking away, then turned back briefly. “you coming, or are you gonna pass out again?”

she blinked. “you're just gonna leave me here?”

“i gave you water,” he said dryly. “what else do you want, a motivational speech?”

she groaned, but stood—legs a little wobbly, pride bruised, ego absolutely obliterated.

.

.

.

later that morning, after a very necessary nap and two bowls of juk from her grandmother, she sat on the back steps of the house watching bori roll in the grass like the world had no sharp edges.

her grandfather joined her with a mug of barley tea and sat down with a soft grunt.

“jogging now?” he asked, amused.

she groaned. “don’t. i nearly died.”

he chuckled. “that bad, huh?”

“i fainted,” she admitted. “this guy named taehyun found me. told me I need to chill.”

“smart boy.”

she squinted at him. “do you know everyone in this town?”

“probably. or at least their grandmothers,” he said with a smile. “you trying to tire yourself out?”

she looked down at her knees. “i just… don’t know what to do with myself. i’m not used to having nothing to do.”

her grandfather hummed, thoughtful.

“well, maybe it’s not about doing nothing,” he said, sipping his tea. “maybe you just need something different to do. something that doesn’t eat you alive.”

she turned to him, surprised. “like what?”

he shrugged. “there’s always something. helping at the dock, a little part-time at the market, painting benches for the festival board, picking herbs for halmeoni’s teas. this town runs on people pitching in.”

she thought about that. about how the quiet here wasn’t a void—it was an invitation. a chance to choose.

her grandfather nudged her gently with his elbow. “you’ve got time now, saebyeol-ah. use it for something that makes you feel alive, not just busy.”

that night, she wrote in her journal:

day four i tried to run away from stillness today. literally. taehyun gave me water and attitude. grandpa gave me something better: a reminder that slowing down doesn’t mean stopping completely. maybe i'll try something new. something mine.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ chapter four

"dogs and detours"

saebyeol continues to settle into her new life in haebom, finding comfort in her daily routine of walking bori, helping her grandmother, and journaling under the ginkgo tree. on a breezy, clear day, she stops by café haneul for coffee, where she shares a playful exchange with yeonjun behind the counter. however, her peaceful day takes a turn when bori escapes his leash and bolts toward the beach. in her frantic pursuit, she encounters beomgyu, a local photographer, who captures the chaos with a casual, amused attitude. they share a brief, bantering exchange, and despite saebyeol’s annoyance, she’s intrigued by his laid-back charm.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

it had become a sort of rhythm already—wake up to bori's cold nose nudging her side, help halmeoni with the morning stew, journal a little beneath the ginkgo tree, and then take a walk through town.

today, the sky was a clear stretch of pale blue, cloudless and wide. the breeze held that just-right balance between cool and warm, brushing softly through the streets like it had all the time in the world.

saebyeol strolled down the path with bori trotting beside her, his tail wagging like a metronome to the beat of her thoughts. she hadn’t planned on going anywhere in particular, just needed to get out, stretch her legs, feel real.

but the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon drifted down the street, tugging her gaze toward café haneul.

“alright,” she murmured to bori, who was already veering toward the shop. “coffee it is.”

she tied bori to the post just outside the café, next to a pot of blooming lavender. he gave a soft whine but settled down quickly, tail still thumping on the pavement.

inside, the warmth of the café wrapped around her like a sweater. familiar already. and, of course, there he was—yeonjun—behind the counter, spinning a spoon dramatically between his fingers like he was auditioning for a cooking show.

“well, well,” he said with a grin as she stepped up. “the runaway returns. how’s small-town anonymity treating you?”

she smirked. “not very anonymous when you insist on announcing me like a regular.”

“hey, i only flirt with people who look like they might never come back,” he teased, then leaned on the counter, chin resting on his hand. “you’re making it dangerously easy to want you as a regular.”

she rolled her eyes. “i’m getting takeaway, calm down.”

he laughed, pushing off the counter. “one hot americano to go, no heart-shaped foam this time—i get it, you’re immune to charm.”

“no, i’m just more interested in caffeine than compliments.”

“ouch,” he said, dramatically clutching his chest. “but also, valid.”

she waited near the window while he worked, fingers tapping the wooden counter in time with the low jazz humming from the speakers. the café smelled like fresh bread today. she made a mental note to ask if they sold the pastries too.

yeonjun returned a minute later, coffee in hand, slightly less smug but still smiling.

“here you go,” he said, handing it over. “don’t spill it this time. or do, if it means you’ll come back again.”

she took it, amused. “you’re persistent.”

“i have to be. this town’s too small to let good people escape.”

before she could come up with a reply, a commotion outside cut through the air—a sudden bark, the sound of scraping claws against stone, and the unmistakable sound of the leash slipping off the post.

saebyeol’s heart dropped.

“bori!”

she rushed outside, barely managing not to spill the coffee. the leash hung empty beside the post, and in the distance, she caught a glimpse of golden fur bolting down the path toward the beach.

“are you kidding me?!”

she took off after him, coffee in one hand, the other gripping her tote bag as her sandals slapped against the road.

the path narrowed as she got closer to the shoreline. the sea shimmered just ahead, endless and unbothered, and somewhere between her breathless muttering and the sting of sand in her shoes, she heard a shutter click.

what?

she slowed—just a little—and looked to her left.

a guy sat perched on a low wall near the dunes, camera raised to his eye. casual, grinning, and completely unbothered by the chaos that had just stormed past him.

“you know, you don’t see a coffee-wielding girl chasing a golden retriever every day,” he said, lowering the camera with a lazy smile. “that was kind of cinematic.”

she blinked. “did you just take a picture of me?”

“technically? several.”

bori, meanwhile, had decided to circle back, tongue lolling and tail wagging like this was all a fun game. he trotted right up to the guy and flopped dramatically at his feet.

traitor.

she caught up, panting slightly, hair a mess from the wind. “you could’ve helped!”

“i was helping,” he said brightly. “i was documenting the moment. very national geographic meets small-town chaos.”

she stared. “delete it.”

“nah,” he said, patting bori’s head. “you’re new here, right? i’m beomgyu. resident photographer, part-time troublemaker, full-time bori enthusiast, apparently.”

she narrowed her eyes. “min saebyeol. part-time coffee drinker, full-time very annoyed person.”

he grinned wider. “we’re gonna get along great.”

“i sincerely doubt that.”

bori barked once, as if agreeing with absolutely no one in particular.

she bent down to re-clip his leash, brushing sand off her knees and muttering under her breath. when she stood up again, beomgyu was still watching her with a faint smirk.

“i’m serious,” she said. “delete the photos.”

he tilted his head. “come by my studio sometime. if you hate them, i’ll delete them. if not… maybe you’ll owe me a coffee.”

she gave him a look. “i don’t owe you anything.”

“no, but letting someone buy you a coffee isn’t the worst fate.”

saebyeol sighed, tugging bori gently back toward the main path. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are—still talking to me.”

as she walked away, she heard the faint click of another photo being taken. she didn’t turn back.

but the coffee in her hand was still warm, and something in her chest flickered—annoyance, amusement, maybe both.

what a town, she thought. even the weirdos have charm.

.

.

.

that night, in her journal, she wrote:

day three tried to have a peaceful walk. bori had other plans. i met a photographer with too much confidence and a camera aimed at chaos. he called it art. i call it annoying. still… i didn’t hate the way he smiled.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ chapter three

"a book for the soul"

saebyeol finishes reading her book and decides to find something new for herself. she discovers starlit pages, the local bookstore, and meets soobin, the quiet and reserved owner. their interaction is brief and slightly awkward — he recommends a book without much small talk, but there’s a quiet understanding between them. saebyeol feels drawn to the peaceful atmosphere and the gentle presence of soobin, leaving with a new book and the feeling that she'll return.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

the sky was beginning to bruise with the soft purples of dusk when saebyeol closed the back cover of her book and exhaled.

it was one she’d brought from seoul—an old favorite. she'd read it a dozen times before, but this time it hit differently. maybe it was the silence of haebom. maybe it was the way time seemed to expand and fold in on itself here. or maybe she just had the space to feel things again.

her eyes lingered on the last line.

“and when the waves swallowed the footprints, it was not an ending, but the beginning of something unnamed.”

she let the book rest on her chest and closed her eyes.

no emails. no screen fatigue. no noise demanding her attention. just the sea breeze from the open window, the soft snores of bori asleep beside her, and the vague ache of something loosening in her chest.

she found the bookstore by accident.

she’d gone out with the intention of finding more barley tea for her grandparents and ended up taking the long way home—letting her feet carry her past the pier, up a sloping road lined with pine trees and wind chimes. the air smelled like salt and wildflowers.

starlit pages sat near the end of the street, nestled between an antique shop and a stationery store. it was a small, crooked building with pale blue paint peeling slightly at the corners and a painted sign that hung slightly askew. she might have missed it if not for the chalkboard out front that read: “books are cheaper than therapy.”

that alone was enough to pull her in.

inside, the shop smelled of old paper and ocean wind—like someone had opened the windows every morning for years without fail. wooden shelves curved gently around the space, uneven but well-loved. books were stacked everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, even in baskets near the window.

she wandered slowly, running her fingers across spines with titles that felt like whispers. poetry, travelogues, local histories, novels with sun-worn covers. it was a kind of peace she didn’t realize she’d been craving.

“need help finding something?”

the voice came from behind a tall shelf. soft. deep. slightly hesitant.

she turned—and nearly dropped her phone.

the boy (man?) who stepped into view was tall. ridiculously tall. dressed in a navy cardigan and white tee, a book balanced carefully in one hand. his dark hair flopped into his eyes, and he blinked at her like he hadn’t expected her to be real.

"i, um… no,” she said. “just browsing.”

he nodded slowly. “okay.”

and then… silence. not awkward, exactly. just—still.

he didn’t offer more. didn’t press or hover. just nodded once, placed a book on the display beside her, and turned back toward the counter.

her eyes flicked to the book he’d set down. the sea at the edge of the sky.

she picked it up. the blurb was vague, poetic. lonely.

“is this good?” she asked.

he turned slightly. shrugged. “it’s quiet. sad. but hopeful.”

that was all he said. but somehow… it was enough.

she nodded. “i’ll take it.”

he rang her up with the same quiet energy, typing gently into the register. no small talk. no overly cheerful pitch. just soft background music and the click of paper being folded into a paper bag.

he handed it to her, eyes flicking up to meet hers only briefly.

“thanks for stopping by.”

there was no flirtation in it. no expectation. just sincerity.

saebyeol hesitated, then offered a small smile. “i’ll come back when i finish this one.”

something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. or something close to hope.

“i’ll… i’ll be here.”

she stepped back out into the evening air with the new book tucked against her chest and her heart a little fuller than before. there was something about that shop. about him. the gentle stillness of it all.

no pretense. no noise.

just presence.

that night, she sat on the porch with her tea and bori curled at her feet.

the stars were beginning to bloom above the hills, and the sea whispered in the distance like it was telling her secrets meant only for her.

she opened her journal and wrote:

day two i finished something today. and i found something new. or maybe someone. the boy at the bookstore doesn’t talk much. but his silence felt safe. it’s been a long time since i’ve felt that.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ chapter two

"small things, slowly"

unpacking boxes and old memories, saebyeol begins to settle into a quiet rhythm—gardening with her grandmother, cooking simple meals, and journaling her thoughts. a chance coffee run to café haneul ends in a clumsy spill and a flirtatious encounter with the charming barista, yeonjun. she dodges his teasing with a tired smile, unaware that her slow healing has already begun.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

saebyeol awoke to the sound of birdsong. not the shrill caws of city pigeons or the honks of impatient drivers—but real birds, chirping from trees that actually grew in soil instead of concrete pots.

for a few seconds, she didn’t know where she was. the ceiling above her was made of warm wooden beams, and sunlight filtered through paper-paneled windows. then she heard bori’s nails clicking on the floor, followed by a soft woof.

right, she thought. haebom.

she sat up slowly, blinking against the light. the futon beneath her creaked as she stretched, sore in a way that felt... earned. like her body was finally realizing it didn’t need to brace for impact anymore.

unpacking took longer than it should have, mostly because she kept pausing. every shirt folded into the small chest of drawers felt like an act of letting go. every book on the low shelf whispered a memory from her past life.

she stopped at her journal—a navy blue hardcover worn soft at the corners. she hadn’t written in weeks. maybe months. but the pages were still there, waiting.

she tucked it onto the nightstand. later.

the kitchen smelled like steamed rice and sesame oil. her grandmother was already bustling around, humming an old trot song under her breath.

“you woke up late, city girl,” she said with a wink.

“i missed your voice more than my alarm clock,” saebyeol replied, half-yawning, earning a loud laugh from halmeoni and a fond grunt from halabeoji, who was sipping barley tea in the corner.

by mid-morning, she was barefoot in the garden, knees dusted with dirt. halmeoni handed her a small pair of shears and a straw hat.

“we need chives, scallions, and a little bit of perilla if you want lunch.”

saebyeol obeyed, awkward at first, unsure how to grip the stems without crushing them. but there was something meditative in the rhythm of it—clip, gather, bundle. the sun was warm on her shoulders, the breeze soft on her cheeks.

bori sprawled beside the rows of peppers like he owned the place. occasionally, he barked at nothing in particular.

and saebyeol… she found her breath again. slow and steady. no deadlines. no panic.

just plants. just now.

by noon, she’d chopped scallions, stirred stew, and nearly sliced her own thumb in half, but lunch was delicious—and mostly edible. halabeoji declared it “passable,” which, in grandfather-speak, meant excellent.

after lunch, she slipped outside with her journal and sat under the shade of the ginkgo tree. her pen hovered above the page.

day one the sky is bigger here. the air tastes different. i don’t know what i’m doing. but i think that’s okay.

she paused. then, almost without thinking, she added:

there’s a quiet here that doesn’t feel empty.

.

.

.

later that afternoon, she wandered into the village center—a handful of shops, a post office, a corner mart. a row of tulips grew along the sidewalk, bending slightly in the breeze.

she followed the scent of something sweet to a cozy café tucked beside a florist and a repair shop. the hand-painted sign read café haneul.

inside, it was warm wood and soft music. a few regulars lingered at tables with books or sketchpads. the air smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and something nostalgic.

the man behind the counter looked up as she approached. Tall, broad-shouldered, with swept-back black hair and a smile that bordered on dangerous.

“new face,” he said, voice smooth like honey. “tourist? or small-town runaway?”

saebyeol blinked. “excuse me?”

“i can usually tell,” he said, already reaching for a menu. “you’ve got that look in your eyes. like you’re trying not to be seen, but also hoping someone sees you anyway.”

she raised a brow. “that’s a weird thing to say to someone you just met.”

he grinned. “i get that a lot. I’m yeonjun. barista-slash-owner-slash-welcome committee.”

she accepted the menu with a dry look. “min saebyeol. just coffee, please. i’ll flirt back after i’m caffeinated.”

his laughter was a pleasant sound. “fair. take a seat anywhere. i’ll bring it to you.”

she chose the table by the window, near a tiny bookshelf filled with battered paperbacks and mismatched poetry zines. bori would’ve liked it here, she thought absently.

a few minutes later, yeonjun slid the coffee in front of her with a wink. “one hot americano, extra charm, on the house.”

she took a sip, ignoring him. “charm’s a bit bitter.”

he chuckled again and leaned against the table. “you from Seoul?”

she hesitated, then nodded. “yeah. moved here yesterday.”

“welcome to haebom, then. everyone’s gonna know your name by tomorrow, just so you know.”

“fantastic,” she muttered. “that’s definitely what i wanted.”

yeonjun tilted his head. “you'll get used to it. this place grows on you. like moss. or freckles.”

“i’m not sure if that’s comforting or mildly threatening.”

“i aim for both.”

she stayed longer than she planned, letting the hours drift by as she sipped coffee and watched the light change across the wooden floor. a few more customers came and went—each greeted by name, each met with warmth.

by the time she stood to leave, she felt… lighter. Just a little.

yeonjun walked her to the door, brushing his hand through his hair in a way that she knew was entirely intentional.

“see you around, runaway.”

she arched a brow. “only if your coffee keeps being this good.”

he smirked. “i’m irresistible, but my beans are better.”

back at home, she sat beneath the ginkgo tree again, journal open in her lap.

day one, continued the barista at café haneul is a flirt and kind of annoying. the coffee’s good. the air smells like home.

she paused again. then added:

i think i’m going to be okay.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ chapter one

"leaving seoul"

after a burnout-fueled spiral and a breakup that left her raw, min saebyeol trades city chaos for the sea breeze of haebom—a sleepy coastal town where time moves slower and the sky feels wider. with only packed boxes, a bruised heart, and her grandparents’ dog bori for company, she begins her quiet retreat into healing. but even as she settles into the creaking familiarity of her childhood summers, saebyeol isn’t sure what she’s looking for—only that it isn’t what she left behind.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

min saebyeol sat in the middle of her apartment floor, surrounded by half-filled boxes and unopened memories. the faint hum of the city filtered through the window she had cracked open—despite the heat, despite the smog, despite the noise that never truly stopped. below her, the traffic grumbled like a living beast. seoul was never quiet, not even in the middle of the night.

not even when your life was falling apart.

her fingers curled around the edge of a dusty photo frame. she wiped it with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie and turned it over. a picture of her and jihoon from a trip to jeju—smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong. back then, she still believed that hard work would pay off, that love would be enough, that sacrificing herself for a future was just what you did when you were young and ambitious.

but some futures never arrive. and some people leave before you do.

she gently placed the photo face-down on the floor and let out a long, quiet breath.

three years ago, saebyeol had everything a twenty-something in the city was supposed to want: a stable editing job at a big firm, a boyfriend who looked good on paper, a fast-paced life full of brunches and deadlines and screens. she was praised for her work ethic. always the first to reply to late-night emails, the last to leave the office.

she used to be proud of that. now, it just made her tired.

the burnout didn’t hit all at once—it seeped in. the endless meetings that could’ve been emails. the subtle comments from her boss about “attitude” when she asked for a break. the day she came home to find jihoon had packed half his things while she was still at work.

"i don’t know who you are anymore," he had said. neither did she.

it had been four months since the breakup. two since she quit her job with nothing lined up. one since her panic attacks started happening in broad daylight instead of just in the dark.

and three days since her grandmother called.

“why don’t you come here, byeol-ah?” her voice was soft over the phone, warm like steamed rice on cold hands. “just for a little while. it’s quiet. you’ll rest here.”

at first, saebyeol said no. her pride wouldn’t let her accept the offer. but pride is a heavy thing to carry when your heart is already breaking.

so now she was here, knees digging into the wooden floor, folding clothes into boxes with no labels.

her fingers paused over a cardigan—a soft, worn one that smelled faintly of lavender and city smog. she folded it with a gentleness she hadn’t shown herself in a long time.

later that night, she sat by the window, sipping lukewarm barley tea. her eyes drifted over the skyline—the towers that glowed like stars but felt cold as metal. there had been a time she loved this city. the lights, the motion, the feeling of being anonymous. she once found comfort in being lost among millions.

now it just made her feel invisible.

a breeze filtered through the screen, carrying the scent of something faintly green. the promise of spring—or maybe just the beginning of something else.

her phone buzzed. a message from her grandmother.

halabeoji wants to make grilled mackerel for your first night. and bori misses you already, even though you’re not here yet. 🐶

a laugh escaped her lips, quiet and cracked at the edges.

maybe it’s time to stop holding everything together. maybe it’s okay to let go.

.

.

.

the next morning, she stood in front of her apartment door with one suitcase, one duffel, and a tote bag full of books she couldn’t leave behind. she left the furniture. the job. the idea of who she thought she had to be.

the hallway was quiet as she locked the door. no one around to witness the moment. no audience, no fanfare. just her, the faint click of finality, and the soft sound of footsteps echoing behind her as she walked away.

at seoul station, she bought a ticket for haebom—an unassuming coastal town she hadn’t visited since childhood. a place where the air smelled like salt, where the sea could be heard before it was seen. where her grandparents still kept a little garden and brewed their own tea from scratch.

the train ride was long, winding its way through mountains and towns she didn’t know the names of. she leaned her head against the window, letting the rhythm of the train rock her into a half-sleep. no deadlines. no phone calls. no apartment echoing with someone else’s absence.

just sky, sea, and something unfamiliar blooming quietly in her chest.

hope, maybe. or just the absence of fear.

when the train finally pulled into haebom station, the sun had begun to sink low, casting everything in golden light. the platform was small. quiet. a single dog barked in the distance.

and there, standing with a faded sunhat and a hand raised high, was her grandmother. her grandfather stood beside her, holding a hand-painted welcome sign that read: “byeol-iya, welcome home!”

next to them was a dog wagging its tail furiously—bori, with the same golden fur and the same excited bounce in his step.

something in saebyeol’s chest cracked open.

for the first time in what felt like years, she smiled without forcing it.

she had no job. no plan. no clear idea of what tomorrow would look like.

but for now, she was here.

and maybe—just maybe—here was enough.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️ character profiles

min saebyeol ⭐

a quietly resilient woman with a tender heart and a tired soul. once a driven editor in seoul, saebyeol burned out from the grind of city life and a messy breakup that left her questioning everything. she's introspective, observant, and deeply affected by beauty in the small things—sunlight through leaves, a handwritten note, the scent of the ocean.

choi soobin 📖

soobin is the soft-spoken owner of haebom’s beloved bookstore, starlit pages, nestled near the lighthouse. a lover of literature and solitude, he’s known for his thoughtful nature and calm presence. though reserved and awkward with small talk, he has a warm depth that reveals itself over time—through carefully recommended books, handwritten notes in margins, and quiet acts of kindness.

choi yeonjun☕

yeonjun is the social spark of haebom—always at the heart of laughter, conversations, and town gossip. as the barista at café haneul, he’s a master of latte art, cheeky banter, and remembering everyone’s usual order. his confidence and charisma are undeniable, but beneath the playful charm is someone fiercely loyal and perceptive.

choi beomgyu 📷

beomgyu is haebom’s unofficial documentarian—rarely seen without his camera, always ready to capture a fleeting moment. he’s known for his quick wit, shameless teasing, and the way he seems to know everyone’s business without trying. he often drops by his parents’ repair shop more to bother them than to help, but he’s quietly reliable when it counts.

kang taehyun 📚

taehyun is haebom’s balance point—grounded, observant, and the kind of person who never says more than he needs to. during the colder months, he works at willow library, quietly sorting returns and recommending books with sharp insight. when summer hits, he trades sweaters for wetsuits, teaching surf lessons with calm precision and the occasional sarcastic quip.

huening kai 💐

kai is the soft bloom of haebom—bright, gentle, and endlessly imaginative. he helps run haebom florals with his mother, often seen arranging whimsical bouquets while humming to whatever song he’s currently writing. with a natural warmth and genuine smile, he has a way of making people feel like they belong, even in silence.

[kkuraswrld]

해봄 (haebom) ☁️c.sb fanfiction

after a toxic breakup and burning out from city life, min saebyeol moves to the small seaside town of haebom to stay with her grandparents. she hopes to find peace in the slow rhythm of coastal life. as she slowly integrates into the tight-knit community, she meets a group of childhood friends who each play a role in her healing. over time, she bonds deeply with soobin, a reserved bookstore owner with dreams of writing, and the two find solace in each other’s quiet presence. their relationship builds in gentle, unspoken moments—until the small town, and saebyeol herself, begin to feel like home.

contents:

character profiles

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

more chapters coming soon...

[kkuraswrld]

listening rn ♫

[kkuraswrld]

my man

SOOBIN The Killa — ACT : Promise in Japan (240711)