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svn-bangtan · 8 months

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In The End 1

»Summary: Han Y/n, hailing from a prominent family in Seoul, returns to South Korea after years abroad. Amid her family's internal power struggle for their hotel empire, Y/n's disinterest in the chairman position disrupts the status quo. A mysterious phone call prompts her return, marking a turning point. As she confronts her arranged marriage to Min Yoongi, a once-fancied childhood crush, the stark reality sets in. The contrast between her youthful fantasies and the complex man he has become introduces unforeseen chaos.

»pairing: Husband! Yoongi x Wife! reader

»genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Angst,

»wc/date: 14.3k | September 2023

» warnings: Angst, Yoongi is cold, the reader is cold but eventually opens up and is very independent, arguing, sibling rivalry, Parental violence (not a lot, but did want to add that beforehand. If you do not want to read, all italicized part is where you can skip)

»note: I'm very excited for this fic as I'm about 80k words deep. But disclaimer beforehand. Once I have the next part fully edited, that is when it will be posted. AS WELL, I have soft launched some new stuff coming soon which you can read the description for each in my new Masterlist! I hope you all enjoy, 'In The End',

» m.list | Taglist | Thoughts? Comments? Concerns

»Teaser

Han Y/n gazed out of the window, her eyes tracing the intricate lines of Seoul's skyline as the plane began its descent. The familiar landscape filled her with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. It had been years since she had set foot in South Korea, and even longer since she had last been in Seoul, her hometown.

As the plane touched down and taxied towards the terminal, memories flooded her mind. The scent of her mother's cooking, the laughter of her siblings echoing through the corridors of their sprawling estate, and the warmth of her father's guidance – all of it seemed like distant echoes from a life she had left behind.

Han Y/n, the eldest in the Han family, stood at the pinnacle of the family hierarchy. Her father, Han Ji-Min, had built an empire that loomed large over South Korea's corporate landscape. The Marblegold Group was more than just a conglomerate; it was a behemoth, a sprawling empire with tentacles that extended into numerous industries.

At its heart was the Marblegold Hotel, a towering symbol of opulence and prestige in the heart of Busan. But the Marblegold Group's reach went far beyond hospitality. It was a multifaceted business entity, a franchise that encompassed an array of enterprises. Under the Marblegold Group umbrella were shopping centers that rivaled the world's finest, clothing stores that set fashion trends, and an assortment of retail outlets that catered to the desires of the elite.

It was a true economic powerhouse, a name that commanded respect and awe in the business world. And at the center of it all was the battle for control, the quest for the coveted chairman position, the throne of the Han empire.

Of Y/n's siblings and herself, each of them brought their unique talents and ambitions to the table, and their father's approval hung in the balance. The competition was fierce, a high-stakes game played on the grandest of stages, where the winner would wield unparalleled influence over the Han family's vast empire.

However, she had chosen a different path and her sole focus wasn't on gaining the chairman position of Marblegold. After leaving behind the opulent halls of her family's estate for the bustling streets of New York at such a young age, Y/n stayed to completing her undergraduate studies, and Master's in Business Administration. The allure of independence and the thrill of carving her own path had kept her away from home for far longer than she had initially planned.

But now, as the plane came to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign blinked off, Y/n knew that her journey had come full circle. She had received a phone call a few days ago – a call that had jolted her out of her American routine and thrust her back into the world she had left behind. It was her father's voice on the other end, grave and unyielding, informing her of a family emergency that required her immediate presence.

Han Y/n stepped onto the tarmac from the private family jet, her attire a seamless blend of luxury and American style with a touch of modest Korean elegance. The meticulously curated ensemble exuded a quiet confidence that spoke of her years abroad in the United States.

She wore a tailored ivory pantsuit crafted from the finest silk, the jacket expertly cut to accentuate her figure while maintaining a professional edge. The slim-fit trousers elongated her legs, and the subtle sheen of the fabric caught the sunlight, creating an ethereal glow around her. The crisp lines of the suit were juxtaposed by a pastel peach silk blouse with a high neckline, embracing her Korean roots while adopting a hint of Western refinement.

Her accessories were subtle yet unmistakably opulent. A delicate gold necklace adorned her neck, its pendant glinting as it caught the light. The matching gold bracelet on her wrist whispered of her family's affluence. A pair of understated pearl earrings lent a touch of classic elegance, while her fingers showcased an heirloom ring that spoke of generations of Han family heritage.

Y/n's choice of footwear combined comfort and style – a pair of sleek nude pumps that added height without sacrificing practicality. Her hair, long and glossy, was swept into a sophisticated updo that showcased her delicate features and the graceful curve of her neck.

Though she exuded an air of confidence, her outfit was a reflection of her individuality – a blend of cultures and experiences that had shaped her. As she made her way through the airport terminal, her steps were purposeful, her head held high. People turned their heads, drawn by her commanding presence and the seamless fusion of elegance from both sides of the world. The whispers of silk, the glint of gold, and the aura of poise all came together to paint a portrait of Han Y/n – a woman who carried herself with the regality of her heritage, the assurance of her education, and the strength of her determination.

Y/n retrieved her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment and joined the stream of passengers disembarking the plane. She could feel a mixture of emotions swirling within her – uncertainty, apprehension, but also a strange sense of curiosity. She had been away for so long, and her family dynamics had undoubtedly evolved during her absence.

Walking through the airport terminal, Y/n's steps were steady, her demeanor composed. She had learned to carry herself with a certain poise in the corporate world, a skill that served her well as she navigated the bustling crowd. As she approached the arrivals area, she could see a driver holding a sign with her name. She nodded in acknowledgment, her heart starting to race as she realized that this was it – the moment of her return.

"Wow, Mr. Gu, you look like you haven't aged a day," she remarked with a warm smile as she approached the driver. It was true; Mr. Gu had been the family driver for as long as she could remember, and he still had the same kind eyes and friendly smile.

Mr. Gu's face lit up with genuine delight as he bowed respectfully. "Welcome back, Miss Y/n. It's wonderful to have you home."

The drive to the family estate was a mix of familiarity and novelty. The streets of Seoul had changed in subtle ways, but the essence of the city remained unchanged. Y/n's gaze drifted over familiar landmarks, each one bringing back a rush of memories. She could hardly believe that so much time had passed since she last walked these streets.

The sprawling mansion came into view, surrounded by meticulously landscaped gardens and the imposing gates that had always separated the Hans from the outside world. As the car pulled up to the entrance, Y/n felt a surge of memories rush back to her.

She stepped out of the car, her eyes fixed on the grand entrance of her childhood home. The ornate doors opened before her, and she was met with the sight of her family gathered in the lavish foyer. Her three siblings stood before her – Han Ji-Woon, the determined and driven elder son; Han Soo-Min, the shrewd and calculating second daughter; and Han Tae-Jun, the charismatic and charming younger son. They were all dressed impeccably, exuding an air of authority and ambition.

"Noona, you're finally back!" Ji-Woon exclaimed, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and relief. He stepped forward and enveloped her in a tight hug.

Y/n smiled, returning his hug warmly. "It's good to see you, Ji-Woon. It's been too long."

Soo-Min's gaze was appraising as she looked Y/n up and down. "You've certainly adapted well to the Western style," she commented, a hint of skepticism in her voice.

Y/n chuckled, not missing the subtle challenge in her sister's words. "Well, living in New York does that to you. How have things been here?"

Tae-Jun grinned, his charm evident as always. "Oh, you know, the usual power struggles and corporate drama. You've missed quite a bit, Noona."

Y/n glanced between her siblings, sensing an undercurrent of tension beneath their greetings. It was as if her return had disrupted the delicate balance of power that had settled in her absence. She knew her siblings well, and she could read the guarded expressions in their eyes.

Soo-Min's smile, while polite, carried an edge of rivalry. Ji-Woon's grip on her arm tightened almost imperceptibly, a sign that he was not entirely thrilled by her return. Even Tae-Jun's easygoing demeanor seemed forced, his charm masking deeper emotions.

Y/n's smile remained poised, but she couldn't ignore the subtle tension. "I've heard bits and pieces about the family dynamics from afar. I can only imagine the drama," she said with a soft chuckle, attempting to diffuse the tension.

Soo-Min's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "You have no idea."

Ji-Woon's tone held a note of challenge. "It's a different world now. You've been away for a long time."

Tae-Jun chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. "But we're all here now, together again. Let's make the most of it."

The atmosphere remained charged as they exchanged pleasantries and caught up on each other's lives. The uneasy undertone persisted, each sibling subtly jockeying for position, their ambition for the chairman position palpable. Y/n navigated the conversation with grace, recognizing the underlying tensions that had simmered to the surface.

Soo-Min's words carried an edge as she inquired, "So, Unnie, have you finally come back to stake a claim in the family business?"

Y/n's smile remained serene. "I'm here for family, Soo-Min. That's always been my priority."

Ji-Woon's gaze turned piercing as he remarked, "Family is important, but so is commitment. Some of us have been carrying the weight of this business on our shoulders."

Tae-Jun interjected, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, let's not turn this into a confrontation right away. We've all missed Y/n, and I'm sure there's plenty of time for serious discussions later."

Y/n nodded, appreciating Tae-Jun's attempt to ease the tension. But deep down, she knew that her return had sent shockwaves through the carefully constructed power dynamics within the family. She was a wildcard, a variable they hadn't accounted for – a successful woman who had built her own life far from the corridors of power in Seoul.

Y/n navigated the subtle tension that clung to the air, her siblings' scrutinizing gazes like a weight upon her shoulders.

"Where's Father?" she inquired with a measured tone, her gaze shifting between Ji-Woon, Soo-Min, and Tae-Jun.

Ji-Woon's expression was guarded as he replied, "He's in his study. Probably reviewing some important documents."

Soo-Min's eyes held a spark of curiosity, her tone laced with skepticism. "Why do you want to see Father so urgently, Y/n? It's not like you've been in a hurry to return home all these years."

Y/n met her sister's gaze evenly, not betraying any hint of her true motives. "There are matters that I need to discuss with him. Family matters."

Tae-Jun, always one to ease tensions, interjected with a grin, "Well, we wouldn't want to keep you from those pressing family matters, would we? Go on, see Father. We'll catch up later."

As Y/n turned to leave her siblings, she heard them exchange hushed comments under their breath, their snarky remarks echoing in the hallway. She couldn't help but smile at the realization that despite the years that had passed, some things remained unchanged.

"Always the mysterious one, our Y/n," Soo-Min's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Ji-Woon let out a chuckle that seemed more mocking than genuine.

Y/n stopped in her tracks, turning to face her siblings with an arched eyebrow. "And you two? Still as competitive as ever, I see."

Tae-Jun grinned, attempting to defuse the tension. "Come on, don't be too hard on them. It's just been a while since our parents have seen the eldest daughter return from the distant lands of America."

Y/n's lips curved into a sly smile. "Ah, yes. The prodigal daughter returns, and the siblings gather like vultures sensing fresh prey."

Ji-Woon's tone grew serious. "You can't deny that your sudden return has raised questions, Y/n. We've all been through a lot since you left."

Y/n's gaze met Ji-Woon's, and she could see the underlying challenge in his eyes. "I never claimed to be ignorant of the past. But as for my return, you can believe whatever you wish."

Soo-Min's voice turned icy. "We know you too well, Y/n. You've always been the one who manages to escape the family drama while we deal with the consequences."

Tae-Jun, sensing the escalating tension, chimed in, "Let's not start a fight right now. We're all here together after so long. Can't we enjoy a moment of peace?"

Y/n's smile remained enigmatic, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and resolve. "You're right, Tae-Jun. We should cherish this moment. After all, who knows what the future holds?"

With that, she turned and continued down the hallway, leaving her siblings to exchange puzzled glances. As their voices faded behind her, she found herself reflecting on the web of emotions that had always characterized their relationships. The competitive spirit, the simmering rivalries, and the unspoken desires – they were all woven into the fabric of their family dynamics.

Just as Y/n was lost in her thoughts, she heard a warm voice call her name. "Miss Y/n."

Turning, she saw the head maid, Seo Mi-Young, approaching with a gentle smile. Y/n's face lit up, and she moved forward to embrace the older woman.

"Mi-Young, I've missed you," Y/n said, holding the embrace for a moment before pulling back. "How have you been?"

The head maid's eyes twinkled with affection. "I've been well, Miss Y/n. It's good to have you back."

Y/n nodded, feeling a surge of warmth. "Thank you. I'm glad to be back."

Mi-Young's gaze held a knowing depth as she looked at Y/n. "You've grown into a remarkable woman, Miss Y/n. I remember the young girl who used to follow me around, full of curiosity and spirit."

Y/n smiled, a fondness in her eyes. "Those were good times, Mi-Young. You were like a mother to me."

The head maid's smile deepened a hint of emotion in her eyes. "And you were like the daughter I never had."

As they spoke, Y/n could feel the years melting away, the familiarity of Mi-Young's presence wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. She had spent countless hours with the head maid, learning about life, family, and responsibility. Mi-Young had been the one to guide her through her early years, nurturing her with wisdom and love.

Mi-Young cleared her throat gently. "Your parents are in the study. They've been waiting for your return."

Y/n nodded, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation stirring within her. "Thank you, Mi-Young. It's time I spoke to them."

Mi-Young's eyes held a mixture of understanding and support. "Remember, Miss Y/n, your path may have taken you far, but your roots are still here. Your parents love you, no matter how many miles separate you."

With a final smile, Y/n bid her farewell and followed Mi-Young through the corridors. Small talk flowed between them as they walked, the familiar rhythm of their conversations evoking a sense of nostalgia and comfort. Mi-Young's presence was a balm to her soul, a reminder of the family she had left behind.

Y/n stood before the door to her father's study, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The weight of the past, the years of separation, and the unspoken expectations hung heavily in the air, creating a tension that seemed almost tangible. She took a deep breath, summoned her resolve, and pushed the door open.

As the door swung open, Y/n's gaze met the sight of her parents seated across from each other – a juxtaposition of warmth and sternness. Her mother, elegant and regal, was the embodiment of grace and welcome. Her eyes lit up as she saw her eldest daughter enter, and a smile spread across her face.

"Y/n, you're finally here," her mother exclaimed, her voice carrying a mixture of joy and relief. She stood up and opened her arms, welcoming Y/n into an embrace that felt like a long-overdue homecoming.

Tears threatened to well up in Y/n's eyes, but she held them at bay. She allowed her mother to wrap her arms around her, standing there stiffly as if a stranger was hugging her. The embrace felt foreign, a reminder of the emotional distance that had always existed between them.

"Mother," Y/n said, her tone polite but distant. "It's been a while."

Her mother's hands tightened for a moment before she released Y/n, her smile faltering slightly. Y/n could see the hurt in her mother's eyes, a flicker of emotion that was quickly concealed.

"Indeed, it has," her mother replied, her voice taking on a more formal tone. "We're glad to have you back."

Y/n's gaze then turned to her father, his stern expression unyielding as ever. She offered a nod in acknowledgment, not bothering with any formalities. Her father's gaze held hers for a moment before he inclined his head in a brief nod.

"Y/n," he said, his voice as measured as ever.

"Father," she replied, her tone equally detached.

The tension in the room was palpable, an unspoken undercurrent that seemed to swirl around them. Y/n could feel the weight of unspoken questions, the expectations that had brought her back, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Her mother's voice broke the silence, her tone light yet with an undercurrent of concern. "Y/n, you've been away for so long. We've missed you."

Y/n's gaze shifted to her mother, and she offered a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes, Mother. It's been an interesting time."

Her mother's eyes softened, her worry evident. "There's much to catch up on. We'll have time to discuss everything."

Y/n nodded, her heart heavy with the knowledge that some conversations would be harder than others. The past, the present, and the future converged in this room, a space that held the echoes of years gone by and the promises of what was yet to come.

As they settled into the conversation, Y/n could feel the weight of her father's gaze upon her, his expectations unspoken yet ever-present. The tension remained, a reminder of the complexities that defined their relationships and the challenges that lay ahead. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if bracing for the decisions that would shape the future of the Han family – decisions that rested in the hands of a woman who had returned, carrying with her the echoes of her past and the hopes of a new beginning.

But as the conversation continued, her father's gaze remained unyielding, his words measured and businesslike. It was as if they were discussing a transaction rather than matters of family and heart. Y/n's mother excused herself with a warm smile, leaving Y/n alone with her father.

Once they were alone, her father stood up and walked to the window, his gaze fixed on the sprawling estate beyond. The tension seemed to thicken, the air heavy with unspoken words.

"Y/n," he began, his voice taking on a more solemn tone, "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to return."

Y/n's heart raced as she nodded, her gaze fixed on her father's back. "Yes, Father. I must admit, I was surprised by the urgency of your call."

He remained silent for a moment, his eyes distant as if lost in thought. "You've been away for years, pursuing your education and your career. I've watched you from afar, proud of your accomplishments."

Y/n's confusion deepened. "Thank you, Father, but why call me back now?"

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Y/n, you are the eldest daughter of this family. With that comes certain responsibilities."

Y/n furrowed her brows, uncertainty clouding her features. "Responsibilities? I've always carried out my duties as a Han."

Her father's gaze held hers, unyielding. "There is a matter that requires your attention, a matter of great importance to the family."

Y/n's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of her father's words. "What matter, Father?"

He sighed, the weight of his decision evident in his voice. "Y/n, you need to marry and bring an heir to this family."

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloak, and Y/n's heart skipped a beat. The implications of his statement settled over her like a storm cloud, the realization of what he was asking sinking in.

"Marriage?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But... why now?"

Her father's gaze softened, a rare glimpse of emotion breaking through his stoic façade. "Y/n, as you well know, our family's legacy and our position in society are of utmost importance. We need a strong alliance to secure our future."

Y/n's mind raced, memories and emotions colliding in a whirlwind. The weight of tradition, the expectations of her family, and the choices she had made all seemed to converge in this moment.

Her father's gaze turned distant again as if he was recalling a distant memory. "You remember Min Yoongi, don't you?"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, her mind flashing back to her childhood – the fleeting moments, the shared laughter, and the unspoken connection she had once felt with the young boy who had grown up to be the CEO of Min Tech Solutions.

"Min Yoongi," she murmured, her voice tinged with surprise. "Yes, I remember him."

Her father's gaze bore into hers, his tone measured. "He is a family friend, and he has agreed to enter into a marriage alliance with us. You two have known each other since childhood. Your union would not only strengthen our ties but also secure the future of our family legacy."

Y/n's thoughts spun, the gravity of the situation settling over her like a heavy fog.

Marry Min Yoongi?

The memories of their shared moments flashed through her mind – the laughter, the camaraderie, and the unspoken affection that had once existed between them. But those memories were from a time when life was simpler when the weight of family expectations and societal pressures had not yet fully taken hold.

"Father, I..." Y/n's voice faltered her emotions a tangle of uncertainty and conflicted feelings.

Her father's gaze held hers, his voice softening with a rare touch of empathy. "Y/n, I understand that this is not an easy. But you are the eldest daughter, and your role in the family is significant."

Y/n's mind raced, torn between her duty to her family and the desires of her heart. She had spent years building her own life, pursuing her dreams, and shaping her identity far from the confines of tradition. Now, faced with the weight of her father's expectations and the memories of a past connection, she found herself at a crossroads.

As the silence stretched between them, the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her response. The decisions she would make in the coming days would shape not only her life but the lives of those around her. The legacy of the Han family, the echoes of tradition, and the complexities of her heart all converged in this moment, a moment that would define the course of her future.

Y/n sat alone in her newly decorated room, the gentle glow of the chandelier casting a soft light across the space. The room felt both familiar and foreign, a reflection of the changes she had undergone during her time abroad. The walls are now adorned with tasteful artwork and subdued colors, a departure from the vibrant hues of her youth. It was as though the room itself had grown up alongside her.

Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Y/n winced as she dabbed at the small cut on her cheek. The wound wasn't deep, but its sting seemed to reverberate throughout her being. She had spent hours crying, her tears a mixture of anger, frustration, and a profound sense of betrayal.

As she gently applied the antiseptic ointment, Y/n couldn't help but replay the argument with her father in her mind. The coldness in his eyes, the way his voice had cut through the air like a blade – it was an image that was etched into her memory. She had never seen him so consumed by rage, and it chilled her to the bone.

Tears welled up in her eyes again as she thought about the lack of remorse in his expression, the way he seemed more concerned with maintaining his authority than with the pain he had caused her. It was as though their relationship had been reduced to a mere transaction, a business deal to secure their family's legacy.

Her gaze shifted to the photograph on her nightstand – a snapshot from her time in New York, surrounded by friends who had become her chosen family. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the carefree days, the nights spent exploring the city, and the laughter that had been a constant companion.

Y/n sighed heavily, her reflection in the mirror mirroring her inner turmoil. She never thought her life would turn out like this. Yes, she understood the weight of her family's wealth and status, the expectations that came with it. But the reality of her situation – the callousness of her own father's request, the resentment from her siblings who saw her return as a threat – was a bitter pill to swallow.

She wished she could go back to the days when her dreams were simpler when her biggest concern was whether Min Yoongi would ever notice her, the boy with the captivating smile who had once occupied her prepubescent fantasies. But reality had a way of shattering such illusions, revealing the harsh truths that lay beneath.

Dressed in a silk robe, Y/n let out a shaky breath and turned away from the mirror. She walked to the window, gazing out at the night sky. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled within her heart.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the cool glass. She wished she had ignored that phone call from her father, wished she had stayed in New York where she had forged her own path, far away from the suffocating expectations of her family. But now, she was back in Korea, caught in a web of obligations and traditions that seemed to tighten around her with every passing moment.

Y/n knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy. The wounds on her cheek would heal, but the wounds within her heart – the fractures in her relationship with her family, the shattered dreams of a love that had turned into a cruel twist of fate – those wounds would take time to mend.

As she stood lost in her thoughts, a gentle knock on the door startled her. Y/n turned, her eyes meeting the concerned gaze of Mi-Young, the head maid who had been a steadfast presence in her life since childhood. The years hadn't changed Mi-Young much; her hair had turned a little grayer, but her eyes still held the same warmth and care that Y/n remembered.

But as Mi-Young's gaze fell on the cut on Y/n's cheek, her professional demeanor dropped entirely. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, her hands cupping Y/n's face in a loving manner. She inspected the wound carefully, her expression a mix of worry and tenderness.

"Oh, my dear child," Mi-Young murmured, her voice a mixture of concern and affection. "You shouldn't be handling this alone."

Y/n managed a small, reassuring smile as she reached up to touch Mi-Young's hand. "It's not too bad, Mi-Young. Just a scratch."

Mi-Young's eyes searched Y/n's face, concern still evident in her features. Before she could say anything, Y/n's fingers tightened gently on her wrist. She seemed torn between her role as a servant and her genuine care for the young woman she had watched grow up. Before she could say anything,

"I promise you, I'm okay," Y/n reassured her, her voice soft but determined. "But what's going on, Mi-Young? Why did you come?"

Mi-Young took a step back, her hands folding neatly in front of her. "Your future husband and his family will be attending later on this week as well as a dress fitting scheduled to prepare for the dinner," she said, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor.

A heaviness settled in Y/n's chest at the reminder of the looming arranged marriage. She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before she looked back at Mi-Young.

Y/n's heart sank even further. The reality of the situation was closing in on her, suffocating her with its weight. She managed a small nod, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to navigate the days ahead.

"Miss Y/n," Mi-Young's voice was gentle, "I know this is difficult. But remember, you are stronger than you think. You've faced challenges before, and you've come out of them even more resilient."

A tear finally escaped Y/n's eye, and she wiped it away with a frustrated sigh. "Within twelve hours of being back, I'm already thrust back into this toxic environment. I'm just supposed to be okay with it."

Mi-Young's arms encircled Y/n in a warm embrace, offering a silent understanding. "I know it's not easy, my dear. But you have the strength to face whatever comes your way. And remember, I'm here for you, just like I always have been."

Y/n's grip tightened on Mi-Young's embrace as she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She let her guard down, allowing the tears to flow as she clung to the one person who had always shown her unwavering kindness and love.

Mi-Young held her close, a motherly figure providing comfort in a world that felt so overwhelming. "It's okay to feel upset, Y/n. Your feelings are valid. But don't forget the resilient spirit you've carried with you since you were a child."

Y/n's voice trembled as she spoke, her emotions raw and unfiltered. "I just... I already want to go back to New York. I miss the life I had there, where I was free to be myself without all these expectations."

Mi-Young pulled back slightly to meet Y/n's gaze, her eyes filled with compassion. "I understand, my dear. But remember, you can still be yourself, even in the midst of these challenges. It may be a different path, but it's still yours to shape."

A tear rolled down Y/n's cheek as she looked into Mi-Young's eyes, a mix of gratitude and sadness. "Thank you, Mi-Young. Your words mean more to me than you'll ever know."

Mi-Young smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/n's face. "I want to see you happy."

Y/n's heart swelled at Mi-Young's words, a rush of warmth replacing the ache within her. She leaned into the embrace once more, finding solace in Mi-Young's unwavering presence. "Thank you."

"And, Miss Y/n," Mi-Young hesitated, her eyes softening once again. "I've been informed that arrangements have been made to move all your belongings into the Han mansion."

Y/n's eyebrows furrowed in surprise. "Move my things? But I never..."

She trailed off, realizing that her father was likely behind this decision. The idea of living under the same roof as her family was suffocating. She needed space, a place where she could breathe and be herself.

"Thank you, Mi-Young," Y/n said softly, her voice tinged with gratitude. "But I won't be moving into the Han mansion. I've already made arrangements to move into a penthouse. I need my own space."

Mi-Young's eyes widened slightly, but then a knowing smile tugged at her lips. "Of course, Miss Y/n. I'll make sure your wishes are conveyed."

As Mi-Young turned to leave, Y/n reached out and gently touched her arm. "Mi-Young, thank you. Thank you for always being here for me."

Mi-Young's smile grew warmer. "It's my honor, Miss Y/n. Remember, no matter where you are, you always have a family here."

With those words, Mi-Young left the room, leaving Y/n alone with her thoughts once again. As she stared out the window into the night, the weight of her decisions and the uncertainty of her future pressed heavily upon her.

The Han family mansion exuded opulence, every detail meticulously designed to exalt their stature. The grand chandeliers bathed the room in a soft, warm glow, illuminating the surroundings with an air of luxury that befitted the family's reputation. In the midst of this refined setting, Han Y/n stood poised, an embodiment of grace and elegance.

Y/n wore a floor-length gown made of a rich burgundy fabric that flowed elegantly, adorned with intricate embroidery that traced delicate patterns along the edges. The dress hugged her figure in all the right places, the off-shoulder neckline adding a touch of sophistication. The traditional elements of the gown were seamlessly blended with a modern silhouette, reflecting her unique blend of heritage and contemporary flair.

As she descended the grand staircase, the soft rustle of the fabric accompanied each step, a symphony of poise and confidence. Her dark hair was swept up in an elaborate bun, adorned with delicate pins that glimmered like stars against the night sky. A pair of elegant diamond earrings caught the light, framing her face with a subtle, radiant glow.

The dinner was set to take place in the family's opulent dining room, a space that had witnessed countless meetings and celebrations over the years. Y/n took her place at the table, next to her father who occupied the head of the table. Her mother and siblings were arranged on the other side – Han Ji-Woon, Han Soo-Min, and Han Tae-Jun.

As Y/n settled into her seat, the atmosphere was charged with an undercurrent of tension. Her father's presence at the head of the table was a stark reminder of his authority and the power dynamics within the family.

The staff moved with practiced grace, bringing out dish after dish in a perfectly choreographed dance. The staff moved around the table, pouring wine and attending to each family member's needs. Their presence was an unspoken reminder of the family's status and the rigid hierarchies that defined their lives.

As the first course was served, the silence was broken by the sound of Soo-Min's voice, laced with a tone that dripped with sarcasm. "My, my, Unnie. What a lovely fashion statement you're making with that cut on your cheek. It's positively daring."

Y/n met her sister's gaze, her annoyance barely concealed. "And what's that supposed to mean, Soo-Min?"

Soo-Min's smirk was evident, her words laced with provocation. "Oh, nothing much. Just wondering if it's the latest trend to showcase your independence."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "You know that's not why it's there."

Soo-Min's scoff was barely contained. "Oh, I'm well aware. I'm just curious how you acquired such a daring accessory."

Y/n's frustration bubbled to the surface. "Believe me, it's none of your business."

Soo-Min's smile turned into a sly grin. "Oh, come now, Y/n. Are you trying to hide something from us? Did someone give you that cut, or did you give it to yourself for a bit of attention?"

The accusation hung in the air like a challenge, and Y/n's resolve hardened. "You really have a knack for twisting things, don't you? Unlike you, Soo-Min, I don't have to resort to such tactics for attention."

Soo-Min's smile didn't waver, her eyes locking onto Y/n's. "Is that so? It's just interesting that you've returned after all these years with a sudden need for our family's spotlight."

She could feel her father's eyes on her, his attention heightened by the tense atmosphere. With a calm that belied the turmoil within, Y/n's retort was sharp. "Not that it's any of your concern, Soo-Min, but I accidentally nicked myself."

The retort held a subtle edge, a reminder that Y/n was no longer the compliant older sister who would silently endure the barbs of her family. The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the tension palpable as Y/n's words hung in the air.

Soo-Min's lips curved into a sardonic smile, her eyes narrowing as their gazes locked. The exchange carried an unspoken challenge, a clash of wills that simmered beneath the polished surface of their interactions.

Ji-Woon's voice, smooth as silk but laced with an undertone of rivalry, cut in. "Must we engage in this petty banter, especially tonight of all nights?"

Tae-Jun's infectious charm seemed to counter the growing tension, his voice lighthearted. "Come on, let's not dampen the mood. We're all here as a family, right?"

Their mother, elegant and composed, cleared her throat softly. Her gentle but firm voice carried a hint of caution. "Let's remember the purpose of this gathering. We are here to celebrate Y/n's return"

But the unspoken tensions lingered, threatening to boil over at any moment. Y/n could feel the weight of her father's gaze on her, a reminder that their actions were being scrutinized.

As Soo-Min opened her mouth, a tense argument looming on the horizon, their mother's hand on her arm silenced her. A subtle but stern gaze passed between them, and Soo-Min subsided, albeit begrudgingly.

Ji-Woon leaned forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Of course, Mother. How could we forget the importance?"

Soo-Min shot him a look of annoyance, her sharp retort quick on her tongue. "Oh, don't pretend like you're not eager for the chairman position yourself, Oppa."

Y/n watched the back-and-forth with a mixture of frustration and resignation. It was a familiar dance, one they had engaged in countless times before – a competition for their father's favor, a rivalry fueled by their shared ambition. As the siblings' bickering continued, the room seemed to crackle with tension, an electric charge that threatened to ignite at any moment.

Tae-Jun, ever the peacemaker, attempted to intervene. "Hey, can we please just enjoy this dinner and put our differences aside for once?"

But Soo-Min's retort was swift and biting. "It's easy for you to say, Tae-Jun. You don't have to prove yourself like the rest of us."

Soo-Min's lips curled into a half-smile, the tension between them simmering beneath the surface. The exchange didn't go unnoticed by their father, whose eyes bore into Y/n with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

"Enough," her father's voice cut through the air, his words curt and commanding. The table fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of his authority hanging over them.

Y/n shifted her gaze to her plate, her appetite diminished by the atmosphere that had settled over the room. She could feel her father's gaze lingering on her, a reminder of the expectations that loomed over her. Despite the elaborate surroundings and the lavish meal before her, she felt trapped in a web of obligations and familial pressures.

Ji-Woon, the elder son, cleared his throat, his voice carrying an air of self-assuredness. "Father, I've been considering ways to expand our hotel chain into international markets. I believe this move would significantly boost our revenue."

Y/n's father nodded approvingly, his attention shifting from Y/n to Ji-Woon. "Continue your research, Ji-Woon. We need to maintain our stronghold in the industry."

Soo-Min's voice cut in, her tone calculating. "And what about Y/n, Father? She's been away for years. Will she now be contributing her ideas for the company?"

The tension in the room escalated, the underlying rivalry between the siblings palpable. Y/n met Soo-Min's gaze, her eyes holding a mixture of defiance and weariness. "Soo-Min, if I recall correctly, your concern for my involvement seems rather sudden."

Soo-Min's smile was sharp, her words laced with a hint of condescension. "Well, we all know that you've been enjoying your freedom abroad while the rest of us have been working diligently to uphold the family's legacy."

The atmosphere grew increasingly strained, the unspoken animosities simmering just beneath the surface. Y/n's father interjected, his voice firm. "Enough of this. We are family, and we should be supporting each other's efforts, not tearing each other down."

Tae-Jun attempted to diffuse the tension with a charismatic grin. "Father's right. Let's focus on the future and the opportunities that lie ahead."

Their mother, who had remained silent, finally spoke up, her voice carrying a note of warmth. "This dinner is meant to celebrate Y/n's return to Korea. Let's not allow disagreements to overshadow this moment."

Tae-Jun seized the opportunity to contribute positively. "Thank you, mom, you're very right. We should be celebrating as a family. Noona, we've missed you."

Y/n offered a small, genuine smile in return, appreciating her brother's attempt to ease the tension. "Thank you, Tae-Jun. I've missed all of you too."

Soo-Min, though less overtly hostile, couldn't resist a snide comment. "Yes, it's been such a long time since we've seen you, Y/n. We're eager to hear about your adventures in America."

Ji-Woon interjected with his characteristic charm, trying to lighten the mood. "Tell us, Y/n, did you meet any interesting people during your time abroad?"

Their mother, sensing the need to maintain harmony, directed the conversation towards less contentious topics. "Y/n, have you seen the new renovations we've done to the mansion? We wanted everything to be perfect for your return."

Y/n nodded, genuinely impressed by the tasteful changes made to the family home. "Yes, Mother, it's beautiful. You've done a wonderful job."

The staff, who had been discreetly observing the family dynamics, continued their duties with a quiet efficiency. The tension, though temporarily diffused, still lingered beneath the surface, a constant presence that defined the relationships within the Han family.

As the evening continued, the conversation shifted towards more neutral subjects – the family's business ventures, upcoming social events, and Y/n's future plans. Despite the efforts to maintain civility, the underlying currents of competition and ambition continued to simmer, a reflection of the complex web of relationships that bound the Han family together.

Min Yoongi strode into Min Tech Solutions, his steps echoing through the sleek, modern lobby of the towering building. Dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, his presence demanded attention. He was the embodiment of power and control, his cold demeanor only accentuating his status. To the employees, he was the enigmatic CEO of the company, known for his brilliance in technology and his strategic mind.

Behind him trailed his two closest friends—Jung Hoseok, his dedicated and efficient assistant, and Kim Seokjin, the charismatic head manager of the company. Despite their different roles, the trio had been inseparable since their school days, their camaraderie unbreakable.

As they made their way through the lobby, the employees paused in their tracks, bowing respectfully as Yoong passed by. It was a well-established ritual; a silent acknowledgment of his position. The private elevator beckoned at the far end of the lobby, its sleek doors sliding open upon their approach. Stepping inside, the trio was enveloped in the elevator's plush interior, a cocoon of silence and anticipation. It began its ascent, carrying them toward the upper echelons of the building, where the executive offices lay like a sanctum of innovation.

Hoseok leaned forward slightly, his tablet in hand, and began to brief Yoongi on the day's schedule. "Sir, you have a busy day ahead. First, a meeting with Kim Namjoon regarding artwork, followed by a suit fitting, dinner with your parents and brother."

Yoongi nodded along, his gaze focused on the numbers ticking up on the digital display. However, his attention snapped back to Hoseok as the next item on the agenda was mentioned.

"Lastly, you're supposed to contact your soon-to-be wife, Han Y/n."

Yoongi's brows furrowed, and he exchanged a puzzled glance with Seokjin. It was a rare occurrence for anything to surprise him, but this unexpected piece of information managed to do just that. He turned to Hoseok, a mix of disbelief and irritation evident in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

Seokjin chimed in, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah, Hoseok, what's this about a wife?"

Hoseok furrowed his brows, glancing down at his tablet again, as if the answer might have slipped onto the screen without his notice. "I... I'm not sure, Yoongi-hyung. It's on the schedule, but I wasn't informed of the details."

Seokjin leaned against the mirrored wall, his brows furrowing in contemplation. "This is unexpected, Yoongi. Are your parents aware of this?"

Yoongi's lips formed a thin line as he shook his head. "I have no idea. This is the first time I'm hearing about it."

Hoseok fiddled with his tablet, his brows knitting together as he tapped on the screen. "Wait a minute, let me check something."

As the elevator continued its climb, Hoseok's expression shifted from confusion to realization. He sucked in a sharp breath. "I think I know what might be happening."

Yoongi and Seokjin turned their attention to Hoseok, waiting for an explanation.

Hoseok looked up, his eyes locking with Yoongi's. "It looks like someone added this to your schedule without proper communication. And based on the timing, I have a strong feeling that this lunch with your family is more than just a casual gathering. I think they might be planning to discuss your marriage, Yoongi-hyung."

Seokjin shot Hoseok a look of disbelief. "Are you saying Yoongi is getting married? Without even knowing about it?"

Hoseok's expression mirrored Seokjin's incredulity. "I don't have any more information than what's on the schedule, guys. But if it's there, it seems to be something your parents are orchestrating."

The air in the elevator seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. Yoongi's eyes widened, his mind struggling to grasp the enormity of the revelation. Marriage? The notion seemed utterly foreign, especially given that he was entirely unaware of any such arrangement. His heart pounded, and his fingers curled into tight fists at his sides.

Yoongi leaned against the elevator wall, his mind racing as he tried to process the information. "This doesn't make sense. I'm not even in a relationship, let alone engaged."

Seokjin let out a low whistle. "This is some next-level parental intervention."

The elevator chimed, indicating their arrival at the executive floor. The doors slid open, revealing the minimalist design of the top-level offices. Yoongi stepped out, his thoughts still in turmoil.

Seokjin's eyes widened in realization, his voice a mixture of awe and amusement. "Yoongi, you're the unsuspecting star of a real-life K-drama plot."

A rare quirk tugged at the corner of Yoongi's lips. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him, and the irony of being caught in his own storyline was almost amusing.

The sun had risen on a new day, casting its warm light across the bustling streets of Seoul. Amidst the city's vibrant energy, Y/n found herself seated in a familiar haven—a cozy Korean barbecue restaurant that held a wealth of memories. By her side were her steadfast companions, Jimin and Jungkook, the bonds of their friendship unyielding even across time zones and continents. The three of them had shared countless meals and memories over the years, and their bond remained as strong as ever despite the distance and time that had passed.

"Y/n, you're really trying to out-eat us today, huh?" Jungkook teased, his eyes dancing with amusement as he placed a piece of meat on the grill.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh, you know I have to keep up with you two somehow."

Jimin chimed in with a playful grin. "Yeah, Jungkook's metabolism is like a black hole. I don't know where all that food goes."

Jungkook shot Jimin a mock-offended look. "Hey, watch it. I take offense to that."

The trio's camaraderie was palpable as they shared stories from their recent adventures. Just two months ago, both Jimin and Jungkook had been in New York for work, and they'd managed to catch up with Y/n despite their busy schedules. It was moments like these that bridged the gap between continents and reaffirmed their unbreakable bond.

Amid the friendly banter, Jimin's tone turned more serious as he leaned back in his chair, fixing his gaze on Y/n. "So, Y/n, you're the talk of Korea these days."

Y/n's eyes widened in feigned innocence. "What? Who told you that?"

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, Y/n. You know everyone's buzzing about your return. People are practically writing novels about it."

Y/n chuckled. She had expected her arrival to go relatively unnoticed, considering her family's business dealings and her complex relationship with them. Yet, both of her friend's words made her realize that her mere presence seemed to stir up interest and conversations all around.

"We're serious, everyone's been talking about you coming back," Jimin remarked with an amused grin.

Y/n raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? I didn't think it would be that big of a deal."

Jungkook chimed in, his playful smirk matching Jimin's. "Well, you've always been somewhat of an idol to people here. Even in the States, you managed to stay kind and down-to-earth despite your background."

“Idol?” Y/n chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm just me, guys. I don't get what the fuss is about."

Jimin pulled out his phone and tapped a few times before showing Y/n a news article with her picture. "Well, this might give you an idea."

Y/n took a glance at the article, her eyes widening slightly at the headline. "Seriously? They're writing articles about me coming back?"

Jimin grinned mischievously. "Oh, you're a hot topic right now."

Y/n shook her head, still finding it hard to believe. "It's weird, isn't it? I mean, I've been away for years. Why would people care?"

"Well, you're the eldest of your family, last I checked unless you have an older sibling no one knows about. And considering your family's reputation, your return might be seen as something significant." Jungkook leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "The eldest of the Han family returns after mysterious disappearance years ago, is it to save the Marblegold group? That kind headline does have is rather captivating.”

“Cut it out Jungkook,” Jimin says hitting his shoulder, “You can’t even spell captivating.”

Bucking towards Jimin, Jungkook was about to attack his hyung before both of their attention turns to Y/n as she sighed softly, her expression tinged with resignation. "Yeah, I guess so. The Han family isn't exactly known for its pristine reputation."

Jimin and Jungkook exchanged a knowing look, their expressions showing sympathy for their friend's predicament. Y/n's family history was something they were familiar with, having known her since they were kids. Her complex relationship with her family was something they had witnessed firsthand.

Jimin, with his warm smile and easygoing demeanor, had carved a name for himself in the world of dance and choreography. His creativity and passion had led him to become a successful choreographer, working with renowned artists and creating captivating performances that resonated with audiences worldwide.

On the other hand, Jungkook's journey had taken him into the realm of gaming—a path that had led to immense success. Known as one of the biggest gamers in Korea, Jungkook had built a reputation for his skill, dedication, and charismatic presence. His online presence and gaming prowess had garnered him a dedicated fanbase and had solidified his status as a prominent figure in the gaming community.

As the conversation continued, the trio delved into deeper matters. Y/n found herself opening up about the whirlwind of events that had occurred within the first 24 hours of her return—her arranged marriage, the tension with her siblings, and the unfamiliar path that lay ahead.

Jimin's expression grew serious as he listened, and he leaned forward slightly. "Y/n, are you sure you’re okay withthis?"

Y/n offered a small smile, appreciating the concern in her friends' eyes. "Honestly, I don't know. It's a lot to take in, but I'll have to figure it out."

Jungkook chimed in, his tone gentle. "And this guy you're marrying, Yoongi. Is he someone you know? The name sounds familiar, like I can picture his face but I’m not sure from where."

Y/n's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as she thought about Yoongi. "Yeah, I actually knew him when we were kids."

Jimin raised an eyebrow playfully. "Is he the Yoongi you had a crush on?"

Y/n playfully swatted at Jimin's arm. "Cut it out, Jimin. But yes, it's the same Yoongi."

Jimin and Y/n shared a laugh at Jungkook's expense, who suddenly choked on a piece of meat from their barbecue feast. Y/n quickly passed him a glass of water, her concern evident as he coughed and sputtered.

"Jungkook, are you okay?" Y/n asked, patting his back gently.

Jungkook finally managed to catch his breath, his face red from the coughing fit. He took a sip of water and shot a playful glare at Jimin. "You two are something else."

Jimin grinned sheepishly. "Hey, you're the one who couldn't handle the truth bomb."

Y/n chuckled, relieved to see Jungkook recovering. "Don't worry, Jungkook. We won't drop any more shocking news on you."

Jungkook shook his head with a dramatic sigh. "I should've known better than to eat while you two are talking."

Once the laughter subsided, Jimin turned the conversation towards a more serious topic. "Y/n, is there going to be an official statement about your sudden return and this marriage situation?"

Y/n shrugged her shoulders, her expression uncertain. "I don't know, guys. Honestly, I don't have control over these things. It's all happening so fast."

Jimin and Jungkook exchanged a glance, their expressions reflecting concern and sympathy. They had known Y/n long enough to understand the complexities of her family dynamics and the challenges she faced. Without saying a word, their supportive presence spoke volumes.

Jimin leaned forward, his expression concerned. "But are you at least going to stay with your parents until the wedding?"

Y/n shook her head, her eyes distant for a moment. "No, I'm not staying with them. I stayed with them last night, but my new penthouse should be ready this afternoon. Even when I'm married, I intend to have it as a place of solitude A place I can go to when I just need to be alone "

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his voice. "A penthouse? That's quite the upgrade."

Y/n chuckled softly. "Well, I guess the Han family name has its perks. But honestly, it's just a place to stay. I don't want to be in the middle of all the family drama."

Jimin nodded in understanding. "Can't blame you for that. Family dynamics can be... complicated."

Y/n's smile turned wistful, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "You have no idea."

"So you're really going through with it? "Jungkook says, with a look of sympathy and his eyes. "The marriage?

Y/n sighs as she chews a piece of meat in her mouth before slowly nodding "I don't really have a choice in this."

Without uttering a word, their supportive presence spoke volumes, a testament to the deep bond they shared with Y/n. But just as they settled into a comfortable silence, Y/n noticed something out of the corner of her eye that drew her attention away from the heartfelt conversation.

Paparazzi.

The word alone held a weight that tugged at Y/n's composure. While she had always been adept at maintaining a cool demeanor, the unwelcome intrusion of cameras and attention had always unnerved her. Her return to Korea, marked by the chaos of her family's dynamics and the sudden arranged marriage, had plunged her right back into a spotlight she had never sought.

As if sensing the shift in Y/n's mood, Jungkook's gaze followed hers and found the source of her discomfort—the paparazzi gathered outside the restaurant. The awareness passed like a silent current between the three friends, momentarily casting a shadow over their carefree evening.

Jungkook leans in slightly, his tone gentle yet probing. As Y/n puts a hand up to cover her face, her hair moves behind her revealing the cut that she’s been hiding from them the whole time. "Hey, what happened to your cheek?"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, and she froze momentarily. Jimin's gaze sharpened, his concern growing. "Y/n, is everything okay? Was it your dad again?"

Her friends' perceptiveness sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. They had known her for so long that they could read her like an open book. She looked down, her fingers tracing the still-fresh cut on her cheek as if lost in thought.

After hearing her father's request, Y/n tried her best to hold back her emotions. The news hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her feeling as though she was being treated like a pawn in a game. She had always known that her family's priorities lay heavily with the business and their status, but this was a blow she hadn't expected. Her emotions simmered beneath the surface as she struggled to maintain her composed facade.

"I don't get a choice in all this, do I?" Y/n's voice was steady, but the undertone of frustration was unmistakable.

Her father's silence was deafening. The lack of response fueled the growing agitation within her. The chill demeanor she had cultivated over the years began to crack, revealing the storm of emotions that raged beneath the surface.

"Is this what you've been planning all along?" Y/n's words were sharp, her voice laced with anger. "To use me as a means to boost your business? Because I'm not the son you wanted? Is that it?"

Her father's expression remained stoic, a mask that hid his true thoughts. The silence, the absence of denial, was a confirmation in itself. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place in a way that sent a surge of resentment coursing through her veins.

"You never cared about me, did you?" Y/n's voice grew louder, her frustration breaking through her usual restraint. "All those years in the States, and the only time you ever reached out was about the business. You never once asked how I was. And now, you want to control my life, my future?"

The tension in the room escalated with every word, the air charged with the weight of years of neglect and unspoken resentment. Her father's silence seemed to amplify the roar of her anger.

"Answer me!" Y/n's voice cracked, her composure slipping. "Was this your plan all along?"

Finally, her father's voice cut through the air, a sharp retort that echoed with his authority. "Y/n, you will address me with respect."

The sudden raise in his voice hung in the air like a shockwave. The room fell silent, the tension almost palpable. Y/n's heart raced, her chest heaving as she met her father's gaze with a mixture of defiance and desperation.

"Respect?" Y/n's voice trembled with a mix of anger and hurt. "You demand respect after years of treating me like a commodity? This is why I've never considered you my father."

Her father's expression remained unchanged, his silence a wall that she could not break through. The argument had reached an impasse, the chasm between them widening with every passing moment.

"You can't force me into this marriage," Y/n's voice quivered with determination. "I won't be a pawn in your games."

Her father's voice finally broke the silence, but his tone was cold and measured. "Y/n, you have a duty to this family, to our legacy. It's not about being a pawn, it's about fulfilling your responsibilities."

A bitter laugh escaped Y/n's lips, tinged with irony. "Responsibilities? Is that what you call it? This isn't about family to you. It's about control and image."

Her father's gaze bore into hers, his eyes hardening. "You will marry Min Yoongi. That is not up for negotiation."

The defiance in Y/n's eyes blazed brighter. "Funny you decide this for me, but you don't do the same for your other daughter, Soo-Min."

A tense silence settled over them, a battlefield of wills and unspoken regrets. The air hung heavy with the weight of their opposing desires, the clash of tradition and individuality.

Her father's voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "Think carefully, Y/n. Your actions will have consequences."

Y/n's own voice was laced with a newfound resolve. "So will yours."

Her father's face tightened, his jaw clenched as his gaze bore into her. The tension between them was palpable, a heavy cloud of conflict that seemed to envelop the room.

"Y/n," he said, his voice a low rumble, "you will do as your duty demands."

The words were a command, a final declaration that brooked no argument. The room seemed to vibrate with the weight of their opposing wills, the clash of generations and aspirations.

But Y/n was done yielding to his authority. The fire within her burned bright, fueling her determination to forge her own path, even if it meant challenging the very foundation of her family's expectations.

"I won't marry Min Yoongi," Y/n's voice rang out, her tone resolute. "I won't sacrifice my happiness for your ambitions."

Her father's face reddened, his features contorting with anger. "You are being selfish, Y/n. You're tearing this family apart."

The accusation hung in the air, a bitter accusation that cut deep. The room seemed to vibrate with the tension between them, the years of unspoken grievances finally finding their voice.

"Selfish?" Y/n's voice wavered with a mix of frustration and sorrow. "You've spent years neglecting me, using me for your business, and now you want to dictate my future? This is not the family I want to be a part of."

Her father's fists clenched at his sides, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to contain his anger. The air was charged with their conflicting emotions, a battleground of wills that seemed impossible to resolve.

Lost in her tumultuous thoughts, Y/n barely registered the approaching footsteps until it was too late. Her father, his face a mask of anger and frustration, stood before her.

"Y/n," his voice was a low growl, a stark contrast to the authority he usually commanded. "You will not defy me."

The tension in the air was palpable, a charged silence that crackled between them. Y/n's heart raced, her breath catching in her throat as she met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and trepidation.

"Defy you?" Her voice was laced with bitterness. "What if I were to reveal your true motivations for this marriage?"

Her father's eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "What are you implying?"

A bitter smile twisted Y/n's lips. "Do you really think I haven't heard the rumors? About your dealings, your secrets? What if those secrets were to see the light of day?"

Her father's face darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The atmosphere was charged with a new kind of tension, one that carried the weight of hidden truths and unspoken threats.

"You wouldn't dare," his voice was a low warning, a thread of desperation creeping in.

Y/n's own voice grew colder, the realization that she held power at this moment giving her a surge of adrenaline. "Try me. I've spent years being your obedient daughter, your pawn. But I won't be silenced any longer."

A strained silence settled over them, the air heavy with the threat of revelation and retaliation. The seconds ticked by, each one echoing with the weight of their choices.

Finally, her father's mask of control shattered. With a guttural roar of frustration, he grabbed a vase off his desk and hurled it in her direction. The glass shattered against the wall, a shard flying dangerously close to Y/n's cheek, leaving a small cut in its wake.

Pain radiated from the cut, a sharp reminder of the turmoil that had erupted between them. Y/n's hand instinctively went to her cheek, her gaze locked onto her father's figure, his chest heaving with rage and regret.

In that moment, the truth hung in the air, a truth that could not be ignored or dismissed. Their relationship, once strained, was now broken beyond repair. The silence between them was heavy, the room feeling like a battleground of shattered expectations and shattered glass.

With a final, seething glare, Y/n turned away and walked out of the room. The door closed behind her, a barrier that seemed to symbolize the irreparable divide that had grown between father and daughter.

Her footsteps echoed through the hallways, her chest heaving as she walked away from the turmoil she had left behind. Her mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, anger, and sadness mixing in a potent cocktail of conflict.

Y/n's response carried a trace of hesitation, a fleeting chink in the armor of her usually collected façade. Attempting to deflect the situation, she offered a wistful smile, her attempt to downplay the significance of the cut on her cheek palpable.

"It's really not a big deal," she finally said, her voice almost dismissive. "Just a small cut. It'll fade in a couple of days or weeks."

Jimin and Jungkook exchanged a knowing look, their mutual understanding woven into their unspoken conversation. They knew well the intricacies of Y/n's family dynamics and the complexities she faced. Instead of delving deeper, Jimin discreetly gestured for the check, a subtle acknowledgment of the paparazzi's impact on their evening.

Their unity was unmistakable as they collected their belongings, readying themselves to leave. Jimin's gesture and Jungkook's nod conveyed a sense of unity, an agreement forged in their shared experience. "Let's wrap up here," Jimin suggested softly, the words a quiet signal to retreat.

Jungkook's agreement echoed with an underlying current of protectiveness as he looked at Y/n. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

The presence of the paparazzi had turned Y/n's demeanor from cool to agitated, the shift in her disposition revealing her vulnerability. The weight of the unwanted attention had stripped away the layers of her practiced nonchalance, exposing the unease that lay beneath.

With a sense of urgency, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin entered Yoongi's corner office and shut the door behind them. The plush surroundings contrasted with the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in their minds. As they gathered around his desk, their brows furrowed in contemplation, each trying to piece together the puzzle that was Han Y/n.

Seokjin furrowed his brow and leaned against the edge of the desk, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "Han Y/n... I swear, I've heard that name somewhere before. But where?"

Hoseok tapped his tablet absentmindedly, his gaze distant as he pondered the enigma. "Yeah, it's like there's a memory floating just out of reach. It's frustrating."

Yoongi, his jacket now neatly hung over the back of his chair, sat before his computer, his posture rigid and his expression as cool and intimidating as ever. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, ready to dig into the virtual realm for answers. He began typing her name into the search bar, the screen populating with a cascade of results. The name held a resonance that couldn't be denied, and he was determined to unearth the connection, even if it meant delving into his own past.

Seokjin's voice cut through the silence, his voice a mixture of frustration and determination. "There's a face tied to that name, I'm sure of it. A face from our past."

The rhythmic tapping of keys paused as Yoongi's fingers stilled above the keyboard. His eyes were fixed on the screen, the images of Han Y/n sparking fragments of recognition within him.

"I remember now. Han Y/n," Yoongi's voice was measured and composed, his cold exterior unwavering even as his mind raced to make sense of the connections.

Hoseok and Seokjin turned their full attention to him, their eyes a mix of curiosity and expectancy. Yoongi swiveled his computer screen to face them, revealing the articles and images that had captured his attention.

"She's the eldest daughter of the Han family," Yoongi's tone held a touch of steel, his gaze fixed on the images on the screen. His demeanor remained as icy and intimidating as ever, the enigma of Han Y/n doing little to thaw his exterior. "We were classmates back in middle school."

Seokjin's eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips as the puzzle pieces started to fall into place. "Wait, you mean the same Han Y/n who vanished without a trace?"

Yoongi's nod was subtle, his mind a whirlwind of memories and unanswered questions. "Yes, that's her. She was always the quiet, intelligent, but rather beautiful type. And then, one day, she just disappeared."

Hoseok leaned in, his gaze scrutinizing the images on the screen, while his tone held a mixture of curiosity and awe. "And now, she's back in Korea and making waves with her accomplishments."

Seokjin whistled softly, his words carrying a sense of awe and disbelief. "This is surreal. The heiress of the Han family, the same girl we knew, is now at the center of it all."

Yoongi's expression didn't waver, his cold demeanor acting as a shield against the surge of emotions that threatened to break through. "But what's the reason for this marriage? And why bring her back into the fold now?"

A palpable silence enveloped the room, the weight of their thoughts hanging heavy. Yoongi's fingers unconsciously tapped against the keyboard, a rhythmic accompaniment to the intensity of their discussion.

Seokjin leaned back, his expression pensive. "There's more to her story, something we're not seeing."

Hoseok leaned forward, determination evident in his voice. "We need to find out where she was all these years, what she's been up to, and why she's back now."

Yoongi's gaze remained fixed on the photo displayed on his screen, his thoughts racing like a well-oiled machine beneath his calm facade. The photo portrayed a woman who exuded confidence and grace, a far cry from the quiet girl they had known. Her enigmatic smile and poised stance held a thousand untold stories, and Yoongi couldn't shake the feeling that her sudden reappearance was just the beginning of a much larger narrative.

Seokjin's voice pierced the quiet once again, his words carrying a mix of determination and curiosity. "Whatever happened during her absence, and whatever led to this arranged marriage, we're going to find out. There’s no way there isn’t some bigger reasoning behind this."

Hoseok's brows furrowed in contemplation as he glanced between Yoongi and Seokjin. "But the question is, if this arranged marriage is true, why would your parents agree to such a thing?"

At that moment, Yoongi's intense gaze finally shifted away from the photo of Han Y/n on the screen. His eyes held a glint of realization, and his lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Hoseok, find out who added that dinner appointment to my schedule. And I want to know why."

Hoseok nodded, his fingers dancing across his tablet's screen as he began his investigation. He had been through countless tasks and challenges as Yoongi's assistant, but this one seemed to carry an air of significance that couldn't be ignored.

Hoseok looked up from his tablet, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "Yoongi-hyung, it seems the addition was made by your parents' personal assistant. It's highly unusual for her to act without your parents' approval."

Yoongi's lips pressed into a thin line. "Seems like they've got something up their sleeves."

Seokjin leaned forward, his brow furrowing with a blend of seriousness and concern. "Perhaps it's time to have an open conversation with your family about this, Yoongi. If they're making decisions about your future without your knowledge, it's only fair that you have a say in the matter."

Yoongi's gaze turned distant for a moment, his thoughts drifting to his family and the complicated dynamics that had shaped his life. He was known for his resilience and his ability to navigate challenges, but this particular situation hit close to home in a way that left him vulnerable.

"I do have dinner with my parents this evening," he stated calmly, his tone unchanged from its usual cool demeanor. "Perhaps it's time I got some answers."

Hoseok looked back down at his tablet, his fingers poised over the screen. "I'll dig into Han Y/n's background, see if I can find any information that might shed light on what happened while she was gone, why she disappeared, and why she's suddenly in the picture."

A sense of determination radiated from Yoongi as he leaned forward, his eyes locking with Hoseok's. "And let's find out what my family is really planning. If they're orchestrating something like this, it's time they understand that I won't be easily manipulated."

The resolve in Yoongi's voice sent a shiver down Hoseok's spine, a reminder of the man's unwavering strength beneath the layers of complexity.

Y/n stepped into the luxurious expanse of her penthouse, the grandeur that surrounded her contrasting starkly with the whirlwind of emotions raging within. The heels of her shoes clicked against the opulent marble floor, a rhythmic echo of the disarray that had marked her recent encounters. As she kicked off her high heels, an unspoken tension clung to her movements, a sign of the anxious turmoil that had settled within her.

The penthouse, with its extravagant decor and impeccable furnishings, should have been a sanctuary of calm. Yet, as her gaze swept over the pristine interior, she found it difficult to escape the cacophony of thoughts that raced through her mind. The echoes of her friends' words from the Korean barbecue reverberated within her, a symphony of anxiety that had taken residence in her thoughts.

Jungkook and Jimin's revelations about her newfound prominence within Korean society seemed to amplify the weight of her return. The collective attention of a nation had zeroed in on her, dissecting every move she made, every choice she contemplated. The sheer scope of it was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices that left her disoriented.

The situation with her family, marked by complexities and conflicts, seemed to have reached a crescendo. The arranged marriage to Yoongi, a pact that had implications beyond her understanding, hung over her like a shadow. The very foundation of her world had shifted, and uncertainty had taken root where once there had been surety.

She swept her gaze around the spacious foyer, where the light danced off crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling like delicate jewels. A coat she had been wearing moments ago was casually draped over a plush armchair, while her purse landed on the nearby couch with a soft thud, seemingly discarded without a second thought.

As she navigated the grandeur of her penthouse, a space that mirrored the luxury she had grown up with, she found herself grappling with a sense of unease.The penthouse was a breathtaking testament to opulence. Located in the heart of Seoul's elite district, it occupied the uppermost floors of a gleaming skyscraper, affording her a panoramic view of the bustling city below.

The space was divided into two stories, connected by a grand staircase adorned with a crystal chandelier that cascaded from the ceiling above.

The first floor, bathed in the warm glow of ambient lighting, boasted an open-plan living area and kitchen. Creamy marble floors met rich, dark wood furnishings, creating a harmonious contrast that was both inviting and sophisticated. The living room was graced with plush leather sofas and oversized floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking view of the cityscape.

What struck Y/n most was the artwork adorning the walls—exquisite Korean calligraphy and contemporary paintings from her collection in New York. It was a visual tapestry that bridged her past and her present.

The kitchen, a vision of modernity and functionality, featured state-of-the-art appliances and gleaming granite countertops. A long, sleek dining table sat at the center, where Y/n could host guests and family gatherings in style if she were even given the opprotunity.

Ascending the grand staircase to the second floor, she found herself in a cozy yet refined personal sanctuary. Her bedroom, a symphony of neutral colors, exuded tranquility. A massive four-poster bed with intricately carved wooden panels dominated the room, flanked by silk curtains that billowed gently in the breeze from the open terrace.

The terrace, a haven of greenery and serenity, was a juxtaposition to the bustling city below. Here, she could find solace amidst potted bonsai trees and meticulously maintained Korean gardens, a nod to her roots and a sanctuary for contemplation.

Y/n's penthouse was more than just a luxurious dwelling; it was a reflection of her identity—a blend of old and new, tradition and innovation.

Y/n, in her customary demeanor of composure, surveyed her surroundings with a detached appreciation. She was dressed impeccably, her attire carefully chosen to reflect both power and sophistication. A charcoal-gray pantsuit, tailored to perfection, molded to her form, while a pristine white blouse peeked from beneath the structured jacket. Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back in a controlled cascade, the dark waves a stark contrast to her porcelain skin.

In this realm of luxury, her usual chill facade remained intact. Yet, as she moved with precision through the penthouse, an observant eye might catch a flicker of internal turmoil, a hint of tension beneath the practiced exterior.

The penthouse exuded opulence, an extravagant tapestry woven with the finest materials. Y/n's sense of aesthetics allowed her to appreciate the harmonious fusion of design elements, even as her thoughts wandered.

The weight of the events that had unfolded in the short span of a day tugged at her composure, an undercurrent of vulnerability that threatened to breach her carefully crafted facade. Y/n was adept at masking her emotions, a skill honed through years of navigating a world that expected perfection. And yet, the battle raging within her was undeniable, a tempest that had eluded her control.

She moved with practiced grace, her demeanor a tapestry of poise. But behind the mask of composure lay a maelstrom of thoughts, a whirlwind of questions and doubts that cast shadows across her mind. Her pulse quickened, the rhythm of her heart in sync with the disarray of her thoughts.

The luxury that surrounded her felt alien, a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within. The decor, meticulous in its detail, seemed to pale in comparison to the complexity of her circumstances. Though she appeared unfazed, even internally about her situation at hand, she couldn't deny the appreciation she felt for the meticulously curated space. She noticed with a small, almost imperceptible smile, how her cherished furniture and decor from her New York apartment seamlessly melded with the opulence of her new abode.

As she walked further, her eyes fell upon a collection of photographs placed thoughtfully on a side table. Among them was a family photo from her youth, a captured moment of innocence and happiness. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the frame, a mixture of emotions stirring within her. With practiced ease, she gently turned the photo face down, a subtle gesture to shield the past from prying eyes.

Making her way to the kitchen, the spacious room adorned with top-of-the-line appliances and sleek marble surfaces. Her fingers glided across the wine bottles displayed in an elegant glass cabinet. She selected a bottle of Romanée-Conti , a rare and expensive vintage that spoke to her refined tastes.

Pouring the wine into a crystal glass, she observed the rich, deep hue of the liquid as it swirled within the vessel. Raising the glass to her lips, she took a measured sip, savoring the intricate flavors that danced on her palate. The stress and tension of the past day seemed to melt away with every sip, replaced by a momentary respite.

Y/n wandered into the living room, the plush carpet cushioning her steps. Her eyes alighted on the turned-over photograph frame, an unintentional reminder of the past she had left behind. The image evoked a whirlwind of emotions, emotions she had buried deep within herself. Her grip on the wine glass tightened, her knuckles whitening as she stared at the frame.

A rush of memories flooded her mind—the carefree laughter, the warmth of family, and the dreams she had once nurtured. But beneath the surface of nostalgia lay a tapestry of complexities, of expectations and responsibilities that had woven her destiny into something far different from what she had envisioned.

As tears welled in her eyes, Y/n blinked them back fiercely, refusing to let her emotions overcome her. She took a steadying breath, allowing herself to acknowledge the weight of the past and the path she had chosen to forge. With a determined gesture, she turned the photograph back upright, letting the memories resurface, if only momentarily.

As her thoughts drifted, the silence was suddenly shattered by the intrusion of her ringing phone. Y/n's hand, which had been idly tracing the rim of her wine glass, stilled abruptly. Sighing deeply to herself, she retrieved her phone from her purse, which had been haphazardly discarded on the couch.

Her eyes flickered over the screen, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze settled on a name she hadn't expected to see.

The name glowed on the screen, a stark contrast to the dimmed lights of the penthouse. It was a connection she hadn't anticipated, a thread linking her to a person whose path had unexpectedly intersected with her own.

A myriad of emotions churned within her—confusion, apprehension, and a trace of something she couldn't quite put into words. Her thumb hovered over the screen, torn between answering and maintaining her self-imposed distance.

Setting her wine glass down delicately, Y/n cleared her throat, a subtle action that accompanied the sweeping away of unshed tears. In that moment, her face transformed into a visage of unwavering resilience, a mask carefully worn once more.

Amidst the quietude of the room, the persistent ringing of the phone continued, its resonating sound akin to a persistent reminder of the beckoning connection. Eventually, yielding to the inevitability of the situation, Y/n released a resigned exhale and reached for the phone. Despite the tempest of thoughts raging within her, her voice emanated a composed and cool demeanor as she spoke, grappling with her inner turmoil.

"Hello?"

A palpable pause hung in the air, as if even he, on the other end of the line, was taken aback by her response. Gradually, his voice, enveloped in a warm yet slightly uncertain tone, permeated the airwaves.

"Y/n, I hope I'm not intruding."

Leaning slightly forward at the edge of the couch, her posture exuding a controlled ease, Y/n found herself in a state of both relaxation and vigilance, her defenses still standing firm.

"Not at all, Yoongi-ssi. How can I assist you?"

A soft chuckle, suffused with gentle amusement, resonated from the other end of the line. "Please, call me Yoongi. After all, I will be your husband."

Y/n's voice, like chilled silk, cut through the air. "Very well, Yoongi."

The atmosphere grew heavier, the tension palpable even through the phone lines. Y/n, her words measured, couldn't help but question, "May I ask how you obtained my phone number?"

There was a pause, a momentary hesitation that underscored the enigmatic nature of their conversation. "Let's just say I have my ways, Y/n."

It was Yoongi's turn to chuckle, his voice holding a frigid edge. "In our impending partnership, such details will become trivial."

Y/n, her resolve unyielding, replied in kind, her voice echoing with an icy calmness. "Very well, Yoongi. How can I assist you?"

Across the bustling city of Seoul, Yoongi sat in his spacious office, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the metropolis below. The glow of the setting sun bathed the room in a warm, golden light, creating a tranquil ambiance amidst the urban chaos. His gaze wandered to the photo on his desk, a snapshot of the moment when Y/n had disembarked from the airplane—an indelible memory etched in the recesses of his mind.

With practiced nonchalance, he maintained the conversation, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. “Y/n, I believe it's essential that we meet before the upcoming family dinner. There are matters we should discuss regarding our sudden marriage."

A subtle pause from Y/n on the other end piqued his curiosity. Her demeanor still frigid, hesitated for a brief moment before agreeing, "I will send over my availability."

A knowing smirk seemed to creep into Yoongi's voice as he responded, "I look forward to seeing you, Y/n."

With that, the connection ended, and Yoongi leaned back in his office chair, fingers tapping contemplatively on the mahogany desk. He had just set a new thread in motion, one that would draw Y/n further into the intricate web of their entwined fates, and he relished the challenge it posed.

#bangtan #bts x reader #suga fanfic #suga #bts suga #suga smut #suga x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #bts yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #min yoongi x reader #bts fic #bts #bts fanfic

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twogyuu · 1 year

Text

be here with me || ml

Pairing: Mark Lee x fem!reader

Synopsis:

And I keep saying okay (Okay) I never listen to my own heart I do whatever they say (They say) While looking like you're happy as hell (Oh, I) I really hope that you feel the same (Oh, I) Tonight

– 7PM, BooSeokSoon ft. Peder Elias

Alternatively: a series of events in one night that made Mark and you realize maybe you loved you each other more than a cherished childhood best friend.

Genre: Fluff with a good smattering of angst (DA NILE IS A RIVER IN EGYPT), crack, BFF-2-???, inspired by BBS's 7PM, clumsy heir!Mark, heir-to-normie!reader, struggling grad student!reader, secretary!Doyoung

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of food and alcohol, brief mentions of underage drinking, themes of social inequities, unhappy ending (kinda? up to reader interpretation), reader has long enough hair to be put in a bun

WC: ~8.9k

Taglist: @niinjo @dropsofletters @matchahyuck

A/N: A special thank you to @wooahaes for beta reading and keeping me company as I wrote my first Mark fic! 💙 In the words of Mark Lee, "This one's for you!" (and hopefully, he doesn't miss again 😭😂🏀🧺)

the playlist: anywhere but home (seulgi) >> 7pm (bss) >> sure thing (miguel) >> believe (paul blanco ft. crush) >> fallin' all in you (shawn mendes) >> with you (jimin and ha sungwoon) >> raise y_our glass (yunjin) >> abyss (woodz) >> cough (onew)

Winter was Mark’s least favorite season.

Winter meant shorter days. The sun barely peaked over the city skyline when he arrived at the office. Despite all the windows letting natural light into the building (his father’s insistence on creating an eco-friendly company), he hardly looked outside, busy tapping away on his desktop, eyes trained on screens with bland PowerPoints, or scrawling his signature on the umpteenth document with words that started to blend and blur together into streaks of black ink. When he left with his trusted secretary, Kim Doyoung, the glass building a seemingly lonely and empty ghost of the busy life it held during the day, the dark night sky with a heavy gray haze had swallowed the sun and he was greeted by with what he’d like to think were stars (they were just blinking airplanes and signal towers in the distance he’d come to learn as he got older). Seldom did he leave before his hundreds of employees and catch the last few rays of sun.

Winter meant the cold weather. His polyester suit sets already felt heavy on his thin frame. To have another layer and all the accessories that came with it was cumbersome. He had to watch how he turned his body so his wool coat wouldn’t accidentally take out a cup of coffee sitting on the table. He made a point to tuck his scarves into his chest, so the ends wouldn’t catch on the spinning doors of the entrance. He had an image to upkeep, which meant beanies that kept his head warm were not allowed for work attire. The tips of his ears would grow numb on the coldest days, just stepping out of his private car into the office. He felt bad for making Doyoung carry his leather shoes so he could change out of his snow boots while he was in the office.

There was one thing to look forward to in the winter though.

(Autumn, really.)

With winter, also came you: his childhood best friend.

Every year since the two of you were in high school, you’d spend your summers in Busan with your grandmother, helping her with her strawberry farm. In the fall, you’d return to the city for school, which also meant, Mark got to see you – when you weren’t busy with homework and your various part-time jobs, and him with his duties at his family’s company, that is.

Peering out his back tinted window of his black Genesis, his eyes skimmed across the other vehicles and their drivers sluggishly passing by. He wasn’t sure why, but traffic seemed to be stalling later than usual today. Most nights, Doyoung seemed to whiz down the highway without a problem.

A tired mother and her rambunctious daughter shouting and kicking in the carseat in the back. A taxi driver and a lonesome young boy sleeping on his seatbelt. An elderly woman with a fuzzy bucket hat pulled down over her eyes sitting in the front of the bus right behind the driver.

Despite the titles behind his name and the way his father’s business partners and employees praised and pampered him, Mark liked to think he wasn’t so different from all these people he was passing by on the drive. Life had its bright spots, but today was one of those seemingly dreary ones for everyone, glum and tired expressions painting their faces. It matched the dark, heavy gray clouds that loomed over the city.

Tugging at the knot of his tie loose, Mark shook his head and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to shake the fatigue off his eyes. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead into the cool glass, hoping the cold would jolt him awake like after a couple sips of an iced Americano and the caffeine started coursing through his veins. A patch of fog formed from his breath and Mark raised his hand to trace a childish smiley face in it. For no good reason other than it brought him the smallest amount of joy, his expression mirrored the doodle as he smiled lazily at it.

Sometimes, it felt satisfactory to just let things be and exist.

“We’ll arrive at the convenience store in about ten minutes, sir,” Doyoung announced from the front.

“We’re off duty,” Mark caught his secretary’s watchful eye in the rearview mirror, “I told you could just call me by my name when we’re not in office.”

Mark peered outside again, quietly counting the cars he passed like the seconds until he reached you.

“Right . . . Mark,” Doyoung huffed. “Sorry, force of habit." He cleared his throat, eyes flickering from the road back to his boss again. "Uh, but um . . .” his voice trailing off, blending with the car horns going off in the distance.

Mark knew he had more to say than announcing the ETA. He always did on nights like this – it was like clockwork at this point.

The older man glanced in the mirror again. He cleared his throat and asked, “Does your father know yet?”

Mark didn’t bother to look back up at him.

“No,” Mark replied curtly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing well that a mini-lecture was coming. As great as Doyoung has been as a secretary, older brother figure, and a companion these past few years, he was a stickler for rules, structure, and tradition – something the two didn’t always see eye-to-eye on.

Doyoung sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You do know you know this . . . arrangement between you and Miss Y/L/N is only going to hurt you in the long-run, right? Your father –”

“‘Would be very upset with you associating yourself with anyone with ties to the fallen CEO of Choi Electronics, especially the former heiress, herself,’” Mark cut him off, quoting his secretary. It was not anything new – Mark knew this lecture like the Queen Mab monologue from Romeo and Juliet he was forced to memorize in high school: boring and long, but dramatic when it came from other people.

He continued, “‘It’s not good for your reputation if this gets out you’re still seeing her’ – I know,” he looked up at the rearview mirror again, a bored look in his eyes. “I know, but I can’t just . . . let her go like that. Not yet, at least; she’s . . . been my best friend since forever.”

“Mark,” Doyoung warned, though there was a hint of sympathy in his tone. Doyoung has been around long enough to know how fond the young heir was of you. Being one of the few children in the elite corporate world, the two of you were quick to befriend one another, becoming attached at the hip before anyone could blink. Despite the way your friendship waxed and waned as the two of you grew older, at the end of the day, you’d always find one another, some way, somehow.

The fall of your family name a few years ago didn’t seem to break that habit.

Doyoung knew, none of it was your fault. You didn’t deserve any of the misfortune that you had faced and were coming your way when you finished graduate school. You were merely a collateral piece of a larger, cruel game.

“It’s not my intention to guilt trip you, but do keep in mind, this is . . . much bigger than just you,” Doyoung sucked in a shaky breath. “If this goes downhill, she might get hurt – a lot more than you.”

Though Mark didn’t reply, the way his eyes dropped to his limp hands in his lap was enough to give Doyoung the slightest ember of hope that deep down, Mark knew. On the surface innocent meet up between friends, but the weight of the situation felt like a firework lit aflame, the wick starting to burnout towards the blunt and explode.

The facts were plain ans simple: the two of you were childhood best friend.

However, the media had a way of twisting facts into truths for the public.

If he was being honest, it was guilt, and perhaps justice, that gave Doyoung the will to bring Mark to meet you at least once per week. As much as his father pushed it and as much as he tried to hide it, Mark had never quite settled into his role as the future CEO of NCity, Inc. If Doyoung could characterize Mark, he was like a mural on the side of buildings in Hongdae: hidden, yet loud, colorful, and bright. He was clumsy and bluntly outspoken, speaking his mind and curiosities at the wrong times though with good intentions. This predestined career path forced him into a plain and gray box that veiled the majority of his personality. He grew hesitant of his words and thought twice before acting. Every now and then, you’d see flecks of his quirkiness that charmed the company staff and board of executives, but that was all that was allowed.

As fond as Mark was of you, Doyoung was just as fond of Mark, but in the sense of a younger sibling. Though he rooted for Mark’s success as the future CEO, there was a piece of him who also wanted the young man to be happy. From Doyoung’s perspective, happiness always seemed to stem from you. If he could give Mark just that much, Doyoung would risk breaking the rules.

The neon green, red, and white sign of the convenience store you worked at spilled into the interior as the vehicle neared. To a bystander, the black Genesis felt out of place in this neighborhood. The buildings were short and small, but cramped against one another. Small alleys offered uneven stone paths to travel between them. The concrete was cracked, the decade old coat of paint was chipped nearly bare. Dogs howled in the distance and a few construction workers, their cheeks stained with dust and soot, were seated outside the convenience store on the picnic tables enjoying ramen from white plastic cups and cheap soju, slurping at the noodles and moaning in satisfaction like it was a five-course dinner.

Doyoung parked the car at his usual spot: on the side of the hill leading up to the store, where Mark could see you, but you could just barely see the head of the car. Mark’s face visibly lit up as craned his neck to catch you smiling and handing change over to a middle-aged woman. He wondered if the woman was a regular customer who you were friendly with, based on the way you laughed at something she said and excitedly waved ‘good-bye.’ Loose strands of hair fell out of your bun as you bowed, your expression gradually falling to a calm when the women left and you returned to organizing chocolate bars at the side counter.

[Mark]: Dark or milk chocolate?

[Mark]: Grab one for me if it’s milk chocolate – employee discount pls :P

He peered out the window, watching your reaction.

Your phone buzzed, halting you in your task to fish it out of your back pocket to swipe at the screen and read the message. There was a moment of surprise that flashed across your face, quickly followed by a soft smile. You spun around, shielding your eyes and squinting out into the dark to try and make out his car.

You must’ve seen the black Genesis – your smile only grew as you turned back to your phone, tapping away at your screen.

“She’s coming,” Mark confirmed aloud.

Mark unbuckled his seat belt and fumbled with the loose knot around his neck. He hastily pulled off his tie and haphazardly threw it onto another seat and pulled on his trench coat. Folding the collar down and patting away any wrinkles, he quickly turned to Doyoung. The young man excitedly slapped the driver’s seat twice as if the older man already didn’t have his attention.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, bro! You can go home – I’ll get back on my own,” Mark explained.

“Mark–”

“Don’t wait up!” he waved Doyoung off, clambering out of the car.

You were already walking down the steps. Your faded yellow vest was traded in for your black puffer jacket. A white plastic ‘THANK YOU’ bag hung on your forearm, presumably containing the chocolate bar Mark asked for, amidst other snacks you got for free from time to time. You were trying your best to keep cool, but Doyoung could tell you were beaming. There was an extra pep in your stride and your lips were pressed into a tight line, but it looked funny because you were trying to suppress a grin.

“You’re here,” you greeted him. You stopped a landing above Mark, clasping your hands together in front of you. You rocked on your heels, your composure slipping, letting the corner of your lip quirk up at the way he looked at you. His dark orbs were wide, reflecting the LED lights of the convenience store behind you. Unlike you, he didn’t try to hide his excitement, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’m here!” Mark sang. Immediately, his arms flew open, welcoming you for a hug.

You rolled your eyes, but continued to descend towards him, settling to his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. The plastic of the convenience store bag crinkled and crackled between the two of you. Your cheeks already hurt from smiling so much. Though you saw each other frequently enough (though at strange hours), Mark was always a breath of fresh air in your routine; the warmth of the fire on a cold winter day.

“God, I missed you,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“It’s only been a week,” you retorted.

“Still too long.”

Just as you scoffed, the honk of the car behind Mark tore your attention from one another. You turned to see that Doyoung had rolled down the window giving you both stern, knowing looks.

Doyoung was more than happy to arrange for the two of you to see each other at these hours, but he had two rules: (1) Don’t draw attention to yourselves and (2) stay safe.

“Be careful,” Doyoung warned. He turned to Mark, “Let me know when you get back, okay?”

Mark nodded and shooed him off.

“Why are you sending him away?” you exclaimed, peering over his shoulder as Doyoung drove away. “No Doyoung today?”

Sometimes the older man joined the both of you – as a good friend rather than a secretary. You all grew up together after all.

“Just you and me,” Mark sighed, letting you go. “We have a flight and long day tomorrow – he wants to prep.”

“Flight?” you frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Milan,” he replied, “New business partners – dad wants to establish a holding in Europe.”

“Mark, you should’ve told me.”

“I want to be here,” he remarked. “I’ll be fine! Let’s just . . . enjoy the night. “You and me – quality alone time. It’ll be fun. I need it.”

“Ew,” you wrinkled your nose jokingly, “Don’t say it like that – you sound greasy.”

“But I do!” he scoffed. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets, he bumped your shoulder playfully. “I need it, it’s been a long week.”

“Company drama?”

He kicked at the invisible pebbles along the pavement and nodded. “It feels like a whole k-drama sometimes. He said this, she said that, you should go on this blind date."

You ignored the way your heart ached for him. As glamorous as it seemed on the surface, what lied underneath was complicated and overwhelming – it was like a knot unwilling to untie itself. With a heavy sigh, you nodded and turned to link arms with him. You led him down the street. Mark’s footing faltered at first, but was quick to fall in sync with your own.

“You know what tea is best served with?” you asked, staring up at the sky.

“Um,” Mark furrowed his brows together in confusion. “Honey biscuits?”

You jokingly shot him a disapproving look at his answer.

“Mrs. Jung’s spicy noodles.”

. . . .

The walls were thin – quite literally.

Only a faded blue tarp with an opening that flapped in the winter breeze defended the customers from the cold. Round metal tables were scattered inside, customers were scattered, seated on multi-colored plastic stools, sniffling and slurping on steaming bowls of noodles. There were no barriers between the kitchen and the seating area. A grill sizzling with meat and pots boiling on a fire stove greeted visitors. Spice and the smell of smoke wafted freely over the stainless steel edges, settling in the crevices of people’s coats and sweaters. The scrape of metal tools against one another clanged loudly and thwarted conversations, forcing people to shout to hear each other. Every now and then, Mark would bend over the table and ask loudly, “What was that again?!”

Mrs. Jung’s noodle shop was a street restaurant Mark and you stumbled upon in high school. You both were coming home from your first day of cram school – the “elite” one your mothers had tittered about just weeks before. It was in a part of the city neither of you were particularly familiar with and putting full faith in your navigation skills, Mark willingly followed you off three stops too early from home. Eventually, Mark ended up reaching out for his mother’s driver to rescue the two of you, but while waiting, you both grew hungry waiting and wandering around. Unfortunately, you only had 1248 won worth of money pooled together from the depths of your pockets – couldn’t even afford triangle kimbap at the 7/11 nearby.

Taking pity on the two of you, Mrs. Jung offered the both of you dinner on-the-house – apparently, you reminded her of her daughter who had left for university a few months ago. Since then, Mark and you made a point to visit at least once a month (with adequate funds, of course). You were especially regular customers during the depths of finals season, when you clung onto your last brain cells and hardly had the time or energy to cook.

Despite the less than luxurious conditions he was accustomed to, Mark liked dining here most. He felt at ease, like no one was watching. It was just him and his best friend, enjoying a simple meal under the stars (or so he’d like to imagine there were in this hazy city). It didn’t matter if he had sauce on his face. He could slouch, snort at a stupid joke, and slap his knee when someone said something funny.

“So,” you started as you leaned over, placing the last slice of beef in his bowl, “How was the blind date?”

Mark stopped mid-chew and peered up at you, harshly swallowing down the wad of rice in his mouth.

You sat back and waited attentively.

“Blind date?” he asked slowly as if he didn’t know what you were asking.

You nodded. “The one with the heiress of Jung Cosmetics – He . . . Hera? I think was her name? Her parents named her after the Greek goddess.”

“Ah, right,” Mark sniffled, returning to his food. He wondered why you were suddenly interested about it. “Hera – it was fine.”

“Did you like her?”

Mark paused mid-bite and glanced at you again. “She was fine.”

“Fine as in ‘she’s so fine’ or like fine as in she’s ‘meh’?”

“She was alright,” Mark explained, shoving the soft noodles in his mouth. “Didn’t like her, but didn’t hate her.”

“So . . . you wouldn’t marry her?” you asked.

He looked at you strangely, but answered you nonetheless. “No – I don’t think so.”

He faked a cough, hoping to change the subject, but he wasn’t sure what.

"So . . . uuuhhh," he wiggled his shoulders back and forth, eyes trained on a Sharpie stain on the table, refusing to look at you. "How about you? Meet any boys yet?”

Immediately, you scoffed and scowled at him.

Mark peered up at you playfully, dipping his spoon in his broth. “What?”

“Mark Lee.”

He raised a hand in surrender. “Hey, innocent question – you asked me, so I ask you. Plus, you’re cute, people are looking,” he shrugged, “And it’s university – according to Jeno, that’s like . . . the hot soup recipe for dating and all, ya know?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his stupid analogy, pretending as if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his unintentional compliment. This wasn’t the first time and if anything, it was a term of endearment.

“Hot like this soup!” Mark exclaimed. “Well, was – it’s kind of lukewarm now.”

"You know I don't have time for dating, Mark," you grumbled.

Despite what he just told you, he blew at the broth on his spoon as if it was scalding hot and inhaled the liquid.

Within seconds, his eyes widened in horror as something caught in the wrong pipe. His lips pursed momentarily as he tried to keep his mouth shut to swallow whatever was left and prevent himself from spraying you. Mark finally started coughing up a fit, pounding at his chest. He turned away from you, covering his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh my god, you idiot – are you okay?” you asked.

“Hot!” he repeated in between coughs.

“About to be on your deathbed and you’re still on about that stupid joke,” you grumbled. Though you sounded upset, the way you adjusted yourself to hover over him suggested different.

“No!” Mark waved. “The broth was hot!”

“You said it was lukewarm?”

“Hot! Spicy! I choked on a pepper flake or something!” he stuck out his tongue and fanned it.

“Oh,” you settled back down in your seat.

You paused momentarily before the pieces clicked. You reached into your plastic bag, pulling out a short bottle of banana milk and handing it over to him.

“Here,” you pressed the drink into his hand.

He peered down at it curiously then back to you. “You sure?”

“Of course,” you chirped.

“It’s yours though.”

“I have more,” you fibbed. You split a pack of three with your coworkers earlier, each person getting one. You made a point to pull off the straw wrapped in clear plastic and puncture the top. “Drink,” you pushed it towards him. “It’ll help with the spice.”

Mark finally complied, taking a long sip. He let out a small sigh of satisfaction when he pulled his lips off with a pop. His eyes flickered from the drink to you.

“What?” you asked bluntly.

He giggled to himself like a drunk, shaking his head. “It’s been forever since I’ve had banana milk, you know?”

“When was the last time you had some?” you asked.

“High school,” he reminisced, “When Chenle bought all that alcohol and snuck it into our hotel rooms on the school trip? I woke up hungover and you gave me one saying it’d cure it.”

Your eyes widened in horror at the memory, causing Mark to laugh even harder.

"I . . . lied about that," you told him, monotonously.

"No shit," he took another sip, "But I believed you and still drank a full eight pack."

"It's all I could afford from the 7/11!" you defended yourself.

"Lying about this helping with spice now too?" he ignored your comment.

"I'm a little more skilled in the art of drinking and hangovers now that I'm older, thank you," you turned your face back down to your noodles to ignore him.

Mark snickered, relishing in the memory. Even though he felt like shit and probably a whole lot of work for you taking care of him, it was a pleasurable moment for Mark – a time when things were simpler and not much mattered.

Simple.

Like now.

These were small bits of his life he liked to keep close to his heart.

First hangovers, banana milk overdoses, and all.

. . . .

“I got this for you, by the way.”

Mark waved a small black gift box tied with a pink bow in front of your face as the two of you were exiting Mrs. Jung’s noodle shop. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, rapidly blinking at the item in your line of vision.

You wondered why you hadn’t noticed it before. It was simple, but the pink bow was hard to miss. Was he holding it all along? It was no bigger than his hand – you figured he might have put it in the pockets inside his coat, which is why you didn’t see it.

Your eyes flickered to him, though not with the excited expression he was hoping for. Contrary to his own bashful yet teasing and excited smile, your brows were furrowed together, a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

Eyes beaming, Mark shook the box gently – just enough to hear a quiet rattle inside the box.

“Mark, what did I say about gifts?” you sighed, pushing his hand down.

“Y/N,” he dragged on the last syllable of your name, “C’mon – please!”

“I thought we agreed ‘no gifts’ – unless it was the holiday or our birthdays?” you reminded him.

Mark was quick to press the box into your hands, wrapping his own around yours as to secure it and not let it fall to the ground. Your breath hitched a little at sudden touch and the warmth that encased your hands. You hadn’t expected him to be so . . . “aggressive” about this.

“I wanted to – for you,” Mark insisted.

You frowned, unconvinced.

Mark knew you didn’t like gifts – especially from him after your father lost his position at the company. He couldn’t completely understand it, but he knew enough that it lied within a feeling of guilt and discomfort. You didn’t want to feel like some charity project. On that same note, you didn’t want to be a burden to your childhood friend. After all, it was partially his father’s doing for what happened to your family.

The milieu surrounding your friendship of over twenty years was not the most ideal – not that it was either of your faults. A part of you always wondered if he still only hung around because he pitied you. You felt bad for even having such a thought – Mark had been so kind and understanding of you all these years. However, you couldn’t help, but question it when most have abandoned you. You didn’t dare push him away for you held onto the small sliver of hope that maybe he wasn’t like that.

To lose him was a reality you didn’t want to know. .

“Take it,” Mark pushed the gift closer to your chest. He took a step back. “If not for you,” he pointed to himself, “For me.”

Though you only answered with a heavy sigh, the reluctance evident in the way your shoulders slumped and your arms fell to your side, you took it nonetheless. You flipped it over in your hand, studying it with your eyes and examining it with your finger pads, grazing across the smooth velvet material of the box.

“Open it,” Mark urged.

You looked up at him again, feeling nervous.

He only nodded at you, gesturing with his hand for you to do so. He wanted to see your reaction.

You caved – never had you seen someone so excited to see another person open a gift before. Gently, you started pulling at the pink ribbon, the satin cool and smooth under the pads of your fingers. With ease, it slipped off – its once pretty and neat form now collapsed into a lifeless thread. Pulling off the lid and pushing aside the white tissue paper, a small beige wallet with cushion-style stitches and gold painted metal clasp sat inside.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your mind immediately flashed to last week’s outing when the two of you had gone window shopping after hours when all the storefronts had grown dim and the doors were locked.

“ That’s so ugly,” Mark giggled, his mouth half-full with red bean bungeoppang.

“I like it,” you insisted, reluctantly turning away from the glass display, the wallet sitting on a sterile white stand surrounded by purses and backpacks of similar styles. You joined him, continuing down the sidewalk.

The streets were quiet at this time of night. Nearly silent enough that you could hear each other’s breath and the click of your shoes against the pavement. Only a few lonely souls walked the streets, phones pressed to their ear as they chatted with their loved ones, hurrying to the comfort of their own home. The street lamps lit your pathway, casting a soft orange glow across everything, your shadows were long and slanted, accompanied by that of trees.

“It looks like something my grandma would use,” Mark tried to explain. He handed the bungeoppang over to you for a bite. The wax paper crinkled under his hold.

“Your grandmother is a woman of good taste!” you retorted.

“Is she?” Mark asked, thinking back to her last outfit choice at the art gala downtown. It was a bright pink business suit – she almost looked like she was a piece of artwork instead of the paintings and sculptures instead.

He threw one last look over his shoulder. Indulging in your treat, you failed to notice the way his eyes lingered a while longer, making a mental note of the store name.

“It’s classy,” you huffed. “Simple with sophisticated detailing.”

“Whatever you say,” he muttered.

Roughly, you handed the treat over to him, nearly wacking him in his chest. Unfortunately, Mark wasn’t fast enough to catch it; the bungeoppang slipped out of the wax paper and splattered onto the sidewalk.

“Dude!” you both groaned at the same time.

“Mark–”

“Ah!” he raised a finger at you, already anticipating your protest. “I don’t wanna hear anything except ‘thank you, Mark.’”

You closed your mouth, pressing your lips together. Your hands tightened around the small wallet, suddenly feeling heavy in your hands.

Once upon a time, goods like this were a ‘given’ to you – if you wanted it, you could have it. Not to say that you were a spoiled brat and received everything at a snap of your finger, but you didn’t have to think twice about the cost of it. It’s funny how things you once took for granted were now a privilege to even hold like this.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Mark finally said, breaking the silence. Hands stuffed in his pants pocket, he took another step closer to you, knowing your mind was reeling with thousands of questions, your heart twisted in every which way. He wrapped his hand around yours again, giving you a firm squeeze. “It’s alright to want it . . . to have it, to be given it.”

Sometimes, you hated the way he was so generous.

Sometimes, you hated how he knew you so well – even more than yourself.

. . . .

“Doyoung’s getting married at the end of summer.”

You stopped pumping your legs and let them drag against the pile of wood chips underneath you as you drifted backwards on your swing, skidding to a halt. The two of you stumbled upon an empty playground nearby, opting to loiter around and found yourselves on the swingset. Your bones creaked a little too much for the jungle gym and the seats of the seesaw were much too small for either of you.

Your jaw fell slack at the sudden news – it wasn’t bad news. It was actually really good news given what you’ve heard about Doyoung’s special romantic situation throughout the last couple years in passing. Though you wished your reaction could have been happier, it was the reality of the circumstances that made your heart feel heavy.

This was the first time you were hearing about Doyoung’s wedding. You had figured that if they already had a date set, that meant the plans were in process: invitations were made, venues were picked, wedding dresses and tuxes were tried, cakes were tasted, and seating charts had been laid out.

Yet you heard none of it.

You wondered why Doyoung and Mark had kept this from you on purpose on the few occasions you’ve met over the past few months or so. The last you heard about him and his partner was simply that Doyoung thought she was “the one” and thinking about getting engaged.

Perhaps they forgot to tell you about it with the new business deals and product launches Mark had talked about over dinner?

But was the answer really that simple? It was a wedding after all – one of the biggest events in a person’s lifetime.

You hoped they had good intentions, but the fact was you were no longer a part of their world despite your years of friendship and history together. It was as if the pluck of your dad’s name plaque at his office desk and you were suddenly a distant commoner among the crowds watching kings from aways on their pedestal. Of course, these kinds of affairs are never done without family politics. As lovely as she was, Doyoung’s mother was superficial – her only son’s wedding had to be pristine and fairytale perfect. You could only imagine the number of renowned names on the guest list, including Mark’s family.

If that was the case, you were on the blacklist.

There was a time where your parents were on the list of VIP guests – and you were dragged along. Not only weddings, but birthday parties, graduations, retirements – rich people always found a reason to celebrate. Then, Mark and you were twelve you were pesky wedding guests, trying your best to sit still for once while brides and grooms walked down the aisles, eyes wandering to the cake, your minds wondering about the dinner and the music selection for tonight.

You always knew, but with Doyoung being the first one to go, you realized you were getting to that age of business “proposals” and marriage. Now you wondered what twelve-year-olds would be watching Mark walk down the aisle.

When?

And with who?

You couldn’t put a finger on why, but your heart ached a little at the thought.

“T-that’s great,” you said softly, you looked away from Mark. “Congrats to them – really,” you choked out a half-hearted chuckle, “it was a very long time coming.”

Only the wind answered you. It nipped at the tip of your nose as if to tease you and seeped through the openings of your outerwear, sending chills down your spine. Your mind spiraling with questions that you didn’t have the answer to (or rather didn’t want to know the answer to), you failed to notice the longing and wistful expression on your companion’s face as he stared off into dimly lit streets.

“Do you ever think about us?” Mark finally blurted.

You whipped your head towards him. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, still refusing to look at you. “Like . . . when we’re going to get married.”

When we’re going to get married.

His last few words echoed in the chambers of your mind. Of course, the practical part of you knew that he meant when you were going to get married – separately. Him with someone else and you with someone else.

Yet for some reason, the way he said it, his tone laced with sincerity, made you want to believe he meant otherwise.

“Y-you and me?” you asked to confirm.

“Yeah,” he replied, drawing out the word.

You didn’t think he was understanding your question.

“No, no, no – as in . . . like,” you sucked in a shaky breath, “You with me?”

Finally, he tilted his head to look at you. You could hardly make out his eyes in the dim lighting, only remnants of the streetlamp slipping though the bare trees and past the jungle gym, reflecting off his face. However, perhaps it was for the better as the way his eyelids hung heavy made you nervous. It did not appear “heavy” in a sense that he was tired, but that mix of giddiness and bittersweet look of nostalgia that some people got when they were drunk.

Mark didn’t have any alcohol tonight though.

Could it be . . .?

He smiled cheekily, resting the side of his head on his thumb wrapped around the chain holding up the swing.

“You? Wanna marry me?” he asked.

“Mark,” you huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“If Doyoung and Emmy are enemies to lovers, we could be childhood friends to lovers,” Mark teased. He let out a heinous cackle, sounding like one of those hyenas in Lion King.

“Mark,” you gritted your teeth.

“I’m kidding!” he chuckled. “Geez, calm down – would it be that bad to get married to me?”

You didn’t answer him, pretending you didn’t hear his question and started pumping your legs again.

“What kind of story trope do you think your love life is gonna be like?” he continued to muse. “I think I’m an enemies to lovers kind of guy too.”

“If that was the case, you would’ve loved Hera already,” you remarked.

“Nah,” he shook his head, shoving his hands into his trench coat. “Didn’t hate her enough the first time.”

“Mark,” you whined, accompanied by an annoyed chortle. You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics sometimes. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Ey,” he got up from his swing and stood a safe distance from you. You weren’t moving that fast, granting him the chance to punch you softly in the shoulder when you swung by. “I’m just pondering and trying to make conversation.”

“Let’s talk about something else?”

“Okay,” he paused. “I’m curious – who was your first love?”

“Mark Lee,” you groaned.

“I think you’re a first love kind-of-girl,” he rambled on. “I know your first kiss was Haechan – gross, by the way, but your first love. I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “There’s a reason why I never told you.”

His interest piqued, Mark grabbed onto the chains holding up your swing, bringing you to a halt, nearly knocking foreheads with him. For the second time that night, your breath hitched, your faces so close to one another. He was too close for comfort – too close for best friends. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes – one that you don’t think you could handle for too long, tearing your gaze to the side. Unfortunately, he was quick to adjust his position and tilt his head to maintain eye contact with you. You couldn’t help but notice the way your lips were a finger-width away apart, and if you just tilted your chin up – god, you shouldn’t even be thinking about kissing him right now.

You let your hands slide down away from his own, tightening your grip around the rusted metal, somehow, finding solace in the way the rough and uneven surface of the metal dug into your palms. You let out a shaky breath and broke eye contact with him once more.

"H-Haechan," you replied softly.

Silence.

“My first love,” you cleared your throat and continued a little more confidently, “Was Haechan.”

Your answer came a beat late – enough to tell Mark that it was a lie. His lips quirked up, eyes still trained on you.

“I knew it,” he whispered, equally quiet, a hint of melancholy in his tone.

The delicate moment was suddenly interrupted by his Super Mario ringtone, his device vibrating violently in his pocket.

You let out a small, shaky breath and turned away – Mark noted the way your feet stuttered, pushing your swing to the left, further away from him in an attempt at courtesy of letting him take his call.

Cursing under his breath, he fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped at the screen.

Kim Doyoung.

However, rather than answering it right away, he stared at the name flashing across the screen. The green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘ignore’ button pulsed with each vibration, urging him to make a choice before Doyoung hung up or was sent to voicemail. It reminded him of the Matrix when Neo had to make a choice between the red pill and the blue pill.

Did Mark want to continue living in the reality he was born into?

Or to feign ignorance and live in the bliss you gave to him?

He knew if the older man called this late at night, nothing good would come out of it. He could come up with multiple scenarios right now: An emergency at work. Perhaps his father had found out and was furious, urging him to come home.

Or worse, the reporters and paparazzi.

Mark chose the latter.

He swiped at the ‘ignore’ button and readjusted the volume to mute all notifications.

Was it such a crime to crave happiness? Even if it was just for a minute? An hour? An evening?

“Let’s get out of here,” Mark said, breathlessly. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up to face you, a strained smile stretching across his face.

His footsteps stopped when he was just a few inches from you, the toes of your shoes nudging against one another.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” you asked.

He shook his head, extending a hand out to you.

“But it could be important,” you protested, your grip slipping off the chains.

“I promised,” Mark replied, “Just you and me tonight.”

You seemed unconvinced, however.

Mark let out a heavy breath, taking your hand in his own and gently tugged you off the swing. It didn’t take much – it’s not like you were trying to resist.

There was that sense of guilt surging in your chest again, but you tried your best to ignore it as Mark took off in a jog.

Though it was never said, you both knew, neither of you wanted this night to end just yet.

. . . .

It’s funny, isn't it?

When the two of you were no more than five, reaching for his hand, and him yours, was second nature – no questions, no hesitations about it. Whether it was him seeking your comfort after being chased by Renjun on the playground or you merely trying to catch up with him after seeing him down the red carpet at yet another lavish event, your chubby fingers would interlock like two adjacent puzzle pieces snapping in place.

It was comfortable. It was easy. It was fun. It was friendship. It was love – not romantic, but something innocent and untainted.

Yet as the two of you grew older and you were introduced to the concept of "cooties" at the end of first grade, unknowingly he and you slowly began to unlearn the habit of linking hands when you were with each other. It started when Jaemin teased you for holding Mark’s hand during a game of hide-and-seek. This was the first moment you were quick to let go of him under the watchful eyes and mocking snickers of your classmates. As second grade started, you grew bashful and more hesitant to keep doing so. With the two of you being in separate classrooms, however, it made the process easier and neither of you questioned it. Rather than at school, you’d find yourself falling back into old habits at company dinners where the two of you were bored and ran off to play, or when his father brought him over during a meeting with your parents.

However, these moments became less and less frequent until it was nothing.

The rule was simple and it had finally solidified when the two of you were ten.

Boys and girls didn’t hold hands.

Therefore, neither did you and Mark.

It was an unspoken agreement and has remained so until this day.

It didn’t faze you when he offered a hand earlier – the adrenaline and euphoria overtaking your consciousness and your senses to think properly, you willingly took his hand and ran wherever he wanted to lead you. However, when the fleeting and short-lived emotions had passed and you had fallen from cloud nine like a rain drop from a heavy gray cloud, your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Even if it was something so normal when you were children, it’s why now, even the ghostly brush of his fingers against the back of your hand brought heat to your ears and made your throat constrict as you stood next to Mark, shoulder-to-shoulder on a train to Cheomdangdong.

Bellies full and conversations fell quiet, but unwilling to part ways, the you both decided along the way for one last walk along the Han River. Having sent his driver home, there was no way to get to the other side of the city, except by train. Mark scanned his neon orange metro pass for the first time in months for a ride in comparison to your worn and scratched green one that you used daily.

The evening rush hour had long passed. Your cart was fairly empty sans the elderly businessman dozing off in the corner and the few bleary-eyed high school students in crumpled navy and white uniforms with Airpods jammed in their ears, returning home from cram school. There were an abundance of seats for either of you to sit, yet Mark and you opted to stand, holding onto the worn velvet straps tied around the stainless steel poles.

Only the rhythmic chugging of the train wheels rolling across the rusted tracks, rushed through your ears. The silence that settled between the two of you was comfortable, but the growing tension was deafening – at least to you.

You wondered if he felt the same.

When the train halted at the second to last stop on the line, the sterile white doors hissing open, he and you trickled out with the last few passengers into the dreary tunnel. Perhaps your steps were too wary and slow, hoping to fall in sync with Mark’s, because the elderly businessman was suddenly wide awake and hastily squeezed his way between you and the door, pushing you into your best friend. Reflexively, his arm came up to wrap around your shoulder, turning and pressing closer into his body, while the man grunted something under his breath before taking off in a speed walk down the strip.

It didn’t quite hit you, the position the two of you were in until Mark muttered, “Geez . . . asshole. Where does he have to go this late at night anyways?”

You turned in his hold and leaned away to look at him. Your best friend scowled at the stranger’s figure fading in the distance.

As if on cue, he peered down at you. He shifted his hands onto your shoulders, eyes scanning up and down your figure.

“You okay?” he asked, finally catching your gaze. Though it wasn’t his fault, he offered you what looked like an apologetic smile.

It wasn’t a rough shove, but Mark figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

You nodded, muttering, “It’s fine.”

Letting out a small breath, you readied yourself to take off towards the stairs that led to the streets and took a step or two backwards. Mark’s hands slipped off your shoulders, one of them falling a little faster than the other, just in time to graze against one of your own, sending heat to your ears again – though you tried your best to ignore the steam that were probably coming out of your ears out of embarrassment.

He was your childhood best friend for heaven’s sake.

Yet this time, instead of just letting it be like on the train, Mark didn’t let the opportunity pass this time. He was quick to lurch for your swinging hand, encasing it in his own. He feigned ignorance and courage, not paying mind to the look of shock and terror that flashed across your features. He gave your hand a small squeeze, marching forward into the night, not daring to let go.

Rather than looking forward, you continued to look at him, searching his face for any hint of anger or regret – any reason that would explain why he would suddenly hold your hand like this.

No, it was far from scandalous. It wasn’t like he kissed you unprompted or planned on taking you home to warm his bed.

Nonetheless, this seemingly familiar act from your childhood felt taboo and wrong. Something that once felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together, now felt like putting a spherical block through a square hole.

He was Mark Lee of NCity, Inc and you were Y/N Y/L/N of rented, tattered textbooks and the less than quarter full tip jar at the alley convenience store.

As hard as you looked, however, Mark’s nonchalant expression didn’t budge. Eventually, to avoid tripping on the stairs, you forced yourself to divert your eyes.

Only then, did his lips quirk into a small, gentle smile for a split second.

For tonight, he wanted it to be simple.

Just Mark Lee and Y/N Y/L/N. No titles, no obligations. Just childhood friends enjoying the little time that remained of the fleeting night, slipping through your fingers.

. . . .

Water lapped gently against the shore as Mark and you walked along the Han River in blissful silence. The half-moon casted a pearl-like glow across the waters, turning it blue. You’d like to imagine the two of you looked like you were silhouettes in the distance stuck in the Starry Night Monet painting. Black shadows blending into the night – seemingly unimportant to the critical eye.

Mark’s fingers still woven with your own, the weight and the warmth of his hold grew familiar and comfortable with each step. It was as if he were imprinting himself in your own hand, and yours, his. You’d both catch each other’s eye every now and then, only exchanging soft smiles before continuing your way to no end. No words were exchanged, but the both of you knew, the feelings, whatever they were, were there, wrapping around the both of you and settling on your shoulders like a fleece blanket on a cold evening. Friendship, love – you weren’t sure if you could even label whatever it was between the two of you, whether it be in the past, right now . . . what would be.

Tonight, however, selfishly, you just wanted to indulge in this moment: where it was just you, him, and the Han River. There were no expectations, no roles that neither of you needed to fill.

Though it seemed like the two of you were walking for hours, when the ring of your phone interrupted the peace, it felt like minutes cut short.

“Don’t,” Mark warned as you halted in your steps, already reaching into your coat pocket to grab for your phone.

The device, untouched for the past hour or so, felt cool against your fingers as you looked up at him.

“It could be important,” you muttered. “It could be my parents or my younger brother.”

“Or Doyoung,” Mark said, his lips crumpling.

“And if it is?” you gave his hand a firm squeeze.

“I don’t want to go back – not yet.”

You sighed, pulling out your phone nonetheless to look at the time, but inevitably also revealing the caller ID.

1:34AM.

Kim Doyoung.

The call ended, but started up again within the next few seconds, Doyoung calling again.

You glanced back up at him, a conflicted look flashing across your eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, breathlessly though he hadn’t run. Mark knew though, at the end of the day, you were a practical person and knew your place in the world too well. The urge to rip the device out of your hand and throw it into the river itself was strong.

“It could be . . . important,” you muttered reluctantly, finger hovering over the green ‘answer’ button. “Doyoung would never bother if it wasn’t.”

“I don’t want this night to end,” Mark blurted. “I don’t want this to end.”

But the both of you knew – with every night, came a dawn.

You smiled sadly, breaking away from him and answered the call.

“Y/N? Is Mark still with you?” Doyoung asked hastily. He was clearly worried.

“He is,” you replied, trying to stay calm.

“Send me your guys’ location right now – I’m sending a driver,” he urged.

“What’s going on?” you asked, peering at Mark.

Doyoung paused, letting out a huff into the receiver. “Y-You’re trending on Twitter – there are pictures and his father is furious.”

Your jaw grew slack – something both you and Doyoung feared finally manifesting itself into reality. After listening to his instructions on how to proceed, you handed the phone over to Mark as the older man needed to talk to him as well. The two argued, Mark not letting down his guard until Doyoung said something that brought about a look of devastation into the peaks and valleys of Mark’s sharp features. After a few nods and words of ‘yes,’ the younger hung up, handing you over your phone.

Silence engulfed the two of you again, but this time out of discomfort.

Nonetheless, Mark couldn’t quite let this night go just yet. Not caring if there were reporters around to catch this on camera, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed his lips against your forehead, letting his lips linger for a few seconds more before pulling away.

“This isn’t over,” Mark reassured you, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’ll talk about this, hm? I’ll find my way back to you.”

But just because it felt right, doesn’t mean it was right.

You belonged to two different worlds now; two worlds that were never intended to mesh.

Perhaps in another life, simple nights like this could last a lifetime instead of the seemingly few hours of dark.