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tacoguacamole · 1 month ago

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ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 7

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn, Hospital Mentions, Childbirth De@th, Alcoholism]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Chapter Word Count: 10.9k+]

[HEAVY REMINDER: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, or actual events is purely coincidental. It is not intended to harm, defame, or offend any individual or group.]

[Chapter Summary: What began as an escape became a slow unraveling—a quiet erosion of the man he thought he was. Between missed glances, lost words, and too many unspoken things, he drifted further from the life he once built, until even his reflection stopped looking back. And now, with everything laid bare, he begins to understand: some distances aren’t measured in steps, but in the weight of everything left unsaid.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

Maybe it wasn’t love—not at first. That’s what Jeongguk told himself, back then. A quiet lie tucked inside a quieter life.

But it felt like peace. And peace was easy to mistake for love. Peace didn’t ask questions. Peace didn’t cry when he came home late. Peace didn’t carry the weight of Ha-yun’s name in every corner of the house.

Peace came in soft silences, in someone else’s apartment, in someone else’s office, in a version of himself he didn’t have to explain.

But peace was never supposed to be permanent. Especially for someone who had caused so much pain and disappointments.

And maybe that’s why the sound of your voice that night still stayed with him.

The kind of voice you remember long after the argument ends. Not because it was loud, but because it was careful. The kind of careful that came after too many cracks had already formed.

“Tomorrow’s the contract signing for the Tuan partnership. Hope you can be there. Eomma’s expecting you too.”

Your voice was soft, almost routine, from across the room—but Jeongguk noticed the tremble in your hands as you wiped off your makeup. Like mentioning the partnership had become something risky. Like you’d practiced the words, bracing for the answer you didn’t want.

When once upon a time, you never had to ask.

Jeongguk used to say yes before you even finished the sentence. No second-guessing. Just pride in the fire you carried, in the way you dreamed bigger than both of you. Now, you spoke like you were afraid to be a burden.

And that—more than anything—dug under his skin.

Jeongguk turned to the bathroom light, as if it could chase away the darkness inside him.

He meant to say, “I haven’t forgotten.” Because he hadn’t. He remembered everything—the late nights you spent drafting proposals, consulting your mother to make sure nothing was missed, the way your eyes lit up the first time Tuan Elegante called you back.

But what came out instead was clipped, distant, “It’s just a contract signing.”

He heard your breath hitch. Your home had been quiet for so long now that you could hear everything—even the things that went unsaid.

Jeongguk wanted to take it back. Tell you he planned to come. That you didn’t even have to ask. He’d even bought a tie. Deep purple to match your dress.

But the words had already landed, and the guilt settled too heavily to shake. Jeongguk knew he didn’t deserve to stand beside you tomorrow—not after where he’d been just two hours earlier, not after what he’d done.

Not after the kiss that started it all.

Jiwoo’s apartment—the quiet place where work blurred into something else after hours. It was supposed to be just a late-night wrap-up for a project due tomorrow. But then came the drinks, and after that, the confessions.

Jeongguk told her how broken he felt. How tired. How he couldn’t breathe in his own house anymore.

And then – he kissed her. In that moment, he convinced himself maybe – just maybe – this was okay.

She kissed him back.

And for a fleeting second, it felt like warmth. Like the kind of intimacy that didn’t ask anything of him. It felt like a version of love he could survive. Jiwoo didn’t expect. She didn’t look at him like he was falling apart. She just let him exist – quietly.

And it felt good to exist like that. To not be needed. To not be loved in a way that held weight.

But then she moaned his name. Another woman – who wasn’t you – had moaned his name.

And that’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t peace. This was an escape. An excuse that can never be justified.

Jeongguk had pulled away. Too slow. Too late. Muttered something about needing air. About you.

He hadn’t told you. Not about the kiss. Not about the matching tie he hid in his office drawer. Not about how he hated himself for both.

“It’s not just another event, Gguk.” Your voice cracked in that small, breaking way he hated. And when you begged, “I want you there.” It felt like a knife twisting in his chest repeatedly.

Still, he didn’t turn to you.

“And do what exactly?” he said, pulling the towel from the hook, holding it like a lifeline. “Play the perfect husband? Show off a perfect a marriage? Smile for the cameras so they have more to gossip about?”

The words came out harsher than he meant. Meaner. Jeongguk couldn’t claw them back anymore.

He’d read the online comments. He always did. Headlines with your name. Accusations that you were exploiting tragedy to climb the ladder faster. Voices calling you cold, ambitious beyond reason – someone who put career before family. Harsh whispers claiming you were indifferent to grief, that your drive was hollow, a façade to hide pain.

No one ever mentioned the baby by name. Not Ha-yun. If they did, Jeongguk knew he’d lose control—too angry to hold back, furious that anyone would use her name like that.

Jeongguk had tried to fight for you – calls made behind closed doors to people who owed him favors, people who could nudge stories off the headlines or tone down the harshness before they went live. More calls late into the night, asking for deletions, retractions – anything to keep those cruel words away from you.

But the media was relentless. No matter how hard he pushed, the stories kept multiplying, each one sharper and heavier than the last.

He wanted to protect you from it all. To be the shield you deserved.

But every headline he failed to erase echoed a deeper failure – how much he had already let you down long before the stories started.

Jeongguk’s throat burned, the words lodged somewhere between apology and anger, guilt and frustration. He wasn’t proud of how sharp he’d become, but the pressure had been building too long — the helplessness, the failures, the mounting distance between you both.

"Could've just said no," you whispered, but it was enough to break through the room. "I would've understood. No need to be such a dick about it."

“I did say no. More than once,” he threw the towel onto the floor harder than necessary, feeling the weight of everything he wished he could say but never dared. “You just never fucking listen.”

He saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes. But the damage’s already been done.

“Maybe I was hoping.” Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and pain. “Hoping that you’d still care enough to show up. That you’d still want to stand by me.”

Jeongguk let out a bitter laugh. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so cruel—but his tone always seemed to betray him first. “You really think standing next to you in a room full of strangers will fix this?”

He knew he didn’t deserve to stand beside you. Not after he’d spent the past months abandoning you when you needed him, especially not after he had looked at another woman just to feel like less of a failure.

“This isn’t about fixing anything!” Your voice cracked, raw and desperate. “This is about you showing up! Being there for once, instead of finding another excuse to stay away!”

He clenched his jaw, the anger barely masking the deeper pain twisting inside him.

“You’re not even supposed to be working yet,” his voice sharp and uneven. “Yoongi Hyung told you to rest. Told you not to push yourself. But no, you’re back at it again, throwing yourself into work like it’ll patch up everything you lost.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them—echoes of the cruel headlines he’d fought to erase. Guilt knotted in his chest. He’d failed to protect you, and now he was adding to the pain.

Your chest rose and fell with a harsh breath. “Don’t,” you whispered, voice fragile but fierce. “Don’t you dare put that on me.”

“You never knew when to stop. Even when it meant risking everything.”

Your next words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Losing Ha-yun wasn’t on me,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You had a choice that night. Be a father, or stay my husband. You chose.”

Jeongguk went still, the silence rushing in like a tide. It felt like blame, like truth, like a wound pressed open—and he reached for the only thing sharp enough to throw back.

“If you had just—” he started, voice rising despite himself, then broke off, choking on the air. “If you had just looked after yourself better—”

“Say it,” you snapped, fists trembling at your sides. “Say it. Say you blame me.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing—because some cruel, broken part of him did, and that was the part he hated.

Your trembling words barely cut through the thick quiet. “If you regret it that much, then maybe you should have let me go that night.”

Jeongguk’s eyes darkened, and for a long, terrible moment, he stared at you, searching for something—redemption, forgiveness, a way back.

“Never said I regretted it,” he finally muttered. He wished those words could erase everything he’d shattered – all the mistakes he’d made. Jeongguk wanted to reach out, to say the words you needed to hear, the ones he truly meant – but he knew they wouldn’t change a thing.

“Yet you can’t even look at me like you love me anymore.”

Jeongguk couldn’t bear to hold your gaze after that. Because if he looked at you any longer, he was afraid you’d see it – that he did still love you.

He just didn’t know how to be the man you needed anymore.

So instead, he turned. His voice came low and flat, like gravel scraping pavement. “I’m going out.”

No warmth. No glance back. Just movement—a grab for his wallet and keys, a quiet exit.

Jeongguk drove aimlessly, the city blurring into a stream of tail lights and neon signs. The windows were up, yet he still felt cold. When he finally stopped by the river, the engine ticking softly in the quiet, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

What was he even doing anymore?

The fight replayed in his head in ugly, fractured pieces. Your voice — tired, trembling, angry — still rang in his ears.

He messaged Jiwoo. She replied right away. Told her to meet him at some late-night spot near Itaewon. When they met, she didn’t ask how he was. Didn’t even bring up the kiss. She simply let it dissolve into silence as if it had never happened.

She poured him a drink. Let him talk. About anything. Everything. She kept quiet, looked at him with soft, understanding eyes and brushed his hand when he paused too long.

It felt good. No expectations, no reminders of the hospital or the way you used to hold your stomach like you were already in love with someone you never got to meet.

Jiwoo didn’t ask him to explain. She let him forget.

When Jeongguk came home, you pretended nothing had happened. Didn’t even ask where he’d been the whole night, though he’d seen the hurt in your eyes, the questions you wanted to ask because for the first time, he didn’t return to you.

Still, you let him be.

And maybe that was the real fracture. Not the fight, not the words exchanged.

But the fact that he hadn’t waited for you to make it better.

The distance between him and you only grew—until even the silence felt like punishment. In that space, Jiwoo stayed steady. Always close. Always easy. Never demanding. Never asking.

Maybe that’s why Jeongguk started to linger a little longer in her office. Started texting her things that had nothing to do with work.

Small things like a link to a song he heard on the radio that reminded him of simpler days. A photo of the sunrise from the parking lot, captioned ‘didn’t expect the sky to look like this’. An offhand complaint about the vending machine. Sometimes, dumb memes she’d probably seen already.

Nothing serious. Nothing wrong. But it was more than Jeongguk had offered you.

One morning, he sat by the counter, laptop open, emails flooding in faster than he could delete them. Deadlines stacked, client revisions overdue, a campaign pitch moved up last-minute. His team needing direction. Jeongguk sat there, motionless – cursor blinking on a half-finished reply, mind nowhere near the screen.

Then, without a word, you’d placed a cup of coffee beside him – black, just the way he liked it. In that same mug he’d always use, the one chipped near the handle. It reminded him when you’d steal sips from his cup even though you preferred yours with almond milk. Mornings when you’d always make sure he had his cup of coffee first even though you were already running late.

You didn’t say anything else. Just turned away and moved to the sink, rinsing something quietly.

The coffee was good. Jeongguk hated that it was good. That it still tasted the same. That you still made it the same as if nothing had changed between you.

By night, Jeongguk decided to go to Jiwoo’s office. Told himself it was about work even though she had nothing to do with the projects he was currently buried with.

She looked up when he knocked. “Didn’t expect you.”

“Just needed a breather,” he said, stepping inside like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jiwoo leaned back in her chair, studying him. “Rough day?”

He gave a tight nod, eyes flicking to her window. “Deadlines. Meetings. Nothing new.”

She didn’t offer comfort. Just silence. It made him want to stay.

“Do you prefer the day or the night?”

Jiwoo wasn’t sure where that question had come from but she answered him anyway. “Night.”

“It’s full of darkness.” Jeongguk squinted at her, trying to understand.

“That’s why I like it,” She smiled faintly, eyes drifting toward the window as if she could already see the stars blooming behind the glass. “It’s honest. The day hides everything in light – noise, movement, expectations. But the night… the night strips things down. You see what’s really there.”

Jeongguk tilted his head, listening.

She went on, softer now. “And the moon doesn’t ask to shine. It just reflects whatever light it can find. Even when it's a sliver, even when it's fading… it still tries.”

There was a quiet moment. Then, “The stars too. They’re so far away, but they still show up. Quiet and constant. I think there's something comforting in that.”

Jiwoo glanced at him, noticing the serious look settling on his face. She smirked slightly. “Let’s cut this philosophy shit. You come here to hear preachings or –?”

Jeongguk raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I literally just asked about the day and night. You’re the one who went sappy.”

“Fuck off, dude.” Jiwoo laughed, stood up, then went to the coffee machine. “Want one?”

“I’m fine,” he said, even though he was far from it.

Still, she brewed him a cup. Set it down anyway. This time, Jeongguk took it without hesitation. And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel like the air was getting sucked out of him.

It became a pattern after that.

Jeongguk would find his way to Jiwoo’s office pretending it was for a break or a file that needed a second look—anything but the truth.

She never asked. Never begged for an explanation. She just gave him her notes, brought him food when he skipped meals, and made space for him beside her desk.

All with the quiet he needed, the quiet that was enough to be an escape and the quiet that didn’t remind him of anything.

Days bled into weeks. Then more months. And before he knew it, the date crept up on him – the one circled in silence, not calendars.

Ha-yun’s first death anniversary.

The memorial hadn’t changed.

It was still the same quiet resting place, tucked away in a corner of the columbarium – a small glass-front niche lit softly by candlelight.

Inside were a few precious things you had chosen together; a tiny stuffed bunny, a folded blanket with your family name stitched in one corner, and a slender silver bracelet Jeongguk had made, engraved with your daughter’s name. Silent reminders of a life that never got to grow.

The granite plaque below bore only her name—Jeon Ha-yun—and a single date, her birth and death sharing the same line, separated by nothing but a hyphen.

You had knelt first, gently brushing away the dust and some stray flowers that had fallen from nearby. Placed the purple tulips in the empty slot on the plaque.

Jeongguk stood beside you, hands clenched deep in his coat pockets, the weight of the day pressing down heavier than he could carry. His eyes flicked to his watch again.

“I’ve got a meeting soon,” he said, not quite looking at you. “How much longer are we going to stay?”

You didn’t answer him right away. Just adjusted the flowers you had bought, your voice soft when it came. “It’s okay. You can go if you want. I can take a cab.”

He hesitated. Wanted to say I can stay—but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“Let me know when you’re done,” he said instead, already backing away.

The meeting didn’t exist. Jeongguk didn’t go to the office. Didn’t go anywhere in particular. Just kept driving past familiar streets that didn’t feel like home anymore. Past cafés where laughter spilled out, past parks full of strangers who didn’t look like they’d ever lost anything.

That night, long after the sun had set and the city was quiet, he went back to the memorial. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. Standing before the niche, he whispered into the silence—a confession made to no one but the shadows.

“I miss you. I’m sorry.”

Time passed, the way it always did. Seasons changed and, in the space, where grief once screamed, silence took root. The kind that stayed in walls, in half-finished conversations, in the empty side of the bed left untouched.

Your birthday had arrived in the heart of summer, all sun-drenched mornings and slow, golden afternoons. The wedding anniversary, too – tied to the same day, once so full of meaning. Once a date marked by surprise breakfasts and handwritten notes, by plans you both made just to spend time, even if it was just watching old movies on the living room floor.

Jeongguk had spotted the calendar earlier in that week, on the night stand while you were asleep, turned away from him, the bedside lamp casting a pale light on you. The date wasn’t labeled with words, just enclosed in a purple heart and that was more than enough to deepen the pain he’d been carrying.

He had stared at that heart for a long time. Knew you were looking forward to that day. And he did too.

The suit you made for him – one of the many – stayed where it always did, on the left side of the closet, next to the shirts you used to button for him in the mornings. Jeongguk took it out more than once that week. Hung it out. Smoothed out the lapels. Put it back in. Repeat. Like if he had practiced enough, he’d be able to face you.

But he didn’t face you.

Instead, somewhere in his car in the middle of nowhere, he deleted the address to the place you had texted him – where he was supposed to meet you, then followed it with a text of his own, cold, empty. ‘Happy Anniversary. Happy Birthday’.

Jeongguk felt like he couldn’t celebrate the way you both used to – not when so much of him was unrecognizable. He was far too gone, weighed down by everything he’d done and everything he hadn’t said.

Showing up would only mean more lies. And with lies came pretending. Pretending he was still the man you were in love with. He just couldn’t do it.

By early evening of the day that used to mean everything, Jeongguk found himself at the bottom of a bottle he didn’t remember opening, bitter on the tongue and heavier in the chest. He welcomed the burn – let it blur the parts of himself he didn’t know what to do with.

At some point, between his second bottle of whiskey and some expired chips he’d found in his glove compartment, Jeongguk picked up his phone. Almost messaged you with a pathetic crying and pleading emoji, hundreds of them along with an apology drafted in his Notes app.

But he couldn’t send it. Couldn’t turn grief into a sentence, or guilt into a message that might sound like it was only about tonight when it was really about everything.

So he backed out of the message thread. Closed the app. Hovered over Jiwoo’s name on his contact list instead.

She answered barely five seconds in when he called her. Jeongguk sat there with the phone pressed to his temple, breathing too loud and spitting out anything that came to his mind.

“She booked a restaurant,” he slurred, barely holding the phone steady. “Sent me the address and everything. Texted me twice.”

A sharp breath came out. Then a laugh that’s more of a sob. “She must’ve picked it a month ago. Bet she made sure they had the wine we loved. Probably asked them to put a candle on the table too. Not for her birthday. Just…for the mood, you know?”

He presses the bottle to his forehead, eyes shut tight. “She always thought of everything.”

There’s a pause, thick with whatever pain’s stuck in his chest.

“I deleted the address.” The confession slips out quieter than the rest, like it hurt him to say it out loud. “Fucking erased it, like that made it easier. Thought I could pretend tonight didn’t exist.”

Jeongguk’s voice started to crack. “She probably has this pretty dress on right now,” he mumbled, voice thick with alcohol and emotion. “Knowing her, she tried on like twenty. Maybe thirty. Even asked her mom. Or Hobi Hyung. Or—hell, maybe even that saleslady at that boutique she loves. She must’ve picked a really pretty one.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face, knocking over something in the car. The clatter echoes. “Oh fuck, her hair. She must’ve done her hair all soft and down just how I like it. Wore that necklace I gave her on our first anniversary when we were just dating. Fuck, I spent my whole first paycheck on that necklace.”

A dry chuckle escapes. Jeongguk was spiraling. “She’s probably still waiting, Jiwoo-yah. At that stupid table. Maybe already ordered for the both of us. Must be looking at the door every time it opened, thinking it’d be me. That’s so like her.”

He leans back in the seat, the headrest catching the full weight of his shame. “I used to be someone she was proud to sit across from. Now I’m the guy who texts greetings like I’m her fucking dentist.”

A sound rustled; the unmistakable creek of a bottle being lifted again. “I’m such a piece of shit,” he mumbles, barely audible now. “She deserves champagne and kisses and a man who shows up, not a failure like me.”

Another shaky breath, and then, quieter than ever, “She always gets cheesecake. On her birthday. It’s her favorite. Says it tastes like being loved.”

Jeongguk’s voice faded into a quiet whimper, then stillness. When he speaks again, it’s softer. Younger. “I hope she still got it. I hope she still let herself feel loved… she deserves that.”

Time kept moving. Jeongguk kept missing things.

Chuseok came and went. He’d sent another text – Sorry, can’t make it. A sick ritual by now. Then turned his phone off. Spent the evening in his car, parked two blocks from home, engine running but going nowhere. Watched the house where both your families had been helping you with dinner trays and folding chairs, the laughter spilling through the windows like it used to.

Jeongguk never got out of the car. Not once. Didn’t want to face your families with how horrible of a person he’d become.

Then Christmas. He left a note in the kitchen. Will be back late. Don’t wait up.

That day, he bought a gift. Picked out something small, a scarf you once mentioned in passing months ago. But he never wrapped it. Never gave it. Just left it in the backseat of Taehyung’s car. Still there. Still untouched. As if a pathetic gift could reverse everything.

New Year’s Eve came quietly.

That morning, over burnt toast and barely sipped coffee – the first breakfast you two shared in months, silence pressed like a third person in the room – when you asked.

“Just us this year,” you said softly. “Namsan Tower… if you’re up for it.”

Jeongguk didn’t plan to say yes. But the words left him anyway. Maybe it was the coffee or your awful attempt at cooking again, cutting the toasts in funny shapes like you’ve always done or how your smile was soft, hopeful.

It made him hope too. Made him wanted to try.

He got a haircut. Dyed his hair black again – washed out the silver like it would rinse the past with it.

He even had a simple bracelet made for you. Nothing flashy. Just something that matched his. A quiet gesture that maybe he could still find his way back. That maybe he could still find his way to you. Meet you.

And he went. All the way to Namsan.

Cab dropped him near the entrance. He stepped out, hands tucked in his pockets, breath curling in the cold. Watched couples link arms, hands laced, eyes lit up with warmth and beginnings.

He stood there for ten minutes.

Then twenty.

Then told himself just a little longer.

But the longer he stood, the more people he saw wrapped in happiness, the more it sank in – that whatever version of him you had been waiting for was gone.

Jeongguk never made it past the gate. Never sent a message. The weight of everything he’d lost, every unspoken apology, all his mistakes, the missed chances – kept him frozen. So, he turned around and left, the bracelet still tucked away in his coat pocket.

He should’ve gone home. Should’ve pretended that sleep would dull the pain, even if only for a few hours.

But instead, he ended up in Jiwoo’s office. He didn’t know what he was looking for – only that he needed to escape the silence, the weight, the hurt. He wanted to bury the sorry excuse of a man he’d become – the disappointment as a husband, a father he couldn’t be.

In that quiet room, something finally broke.

The door had barely clicked shut before he leaned into her, breath ragged like he’d run there. He hadn’t. But it felt that way – like he’d been racing all night, all month, all year, just to feel something that wasn’t guilt.

Jiwoo didn’t question him. She never did. Maybe she knew better. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

Fingers tangled in fabric, lips grazed skin. His suit jacket hit the floor. Hers followed. It wasn’t rushed, not entirely. Just desperate. Heavy.

When she whispered his name, he didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when every part of him was pretending this wasn’t what it was.

When it ended, Jeongguk sat on the edge of the couch, shirt half-buttoned, staring at the floor like it might open up and take him.

Jiwoo offered a glass of water. He didn’t take it. Just sat there, breathing through the fog.

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even connection.

But it was escape. And escape, these days, felt easier than facing the mess he'd made.

The next morning, Jeongguk didn’t return home.

Instead, he sat in the company parking lot, not caring about the dirt on his slacks. The sky was a dull gray, and the building behind him was quiet now. He hadn’t gone far after everything. Hadn’t slept. Just sat there, trying to make sense of what he’d done.

But there was no excuse waiting in the silence—only the sickening weight of it. The guilt didn’t hit all at once. It came slowly. Empty. Hollow.

By the time he did go home, you were asleep on the couch. The T.V. had gone quiet. One of the baby books you'd never packed away was still lying open beside you, your fingers curled softly around the edge of the page.

You looked peaceful. As if you'd been waiting for something gentle to return to you, even after being left alone on a night meant to start a new year.

Jeongguk almost broke, right there. Almost dropped to his knees and confessed everything.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he knelt beside you and quietly adjusted the blanket over your shoulders. Then disappeared into the bathroom and showered twice, as if that could erase anything.

Jiwoo didn’t text him. Not the next day. Not the day after. She wasn’t like that.

She’d drawn no lines, made no promises. She was quiet, steady, professional when he passed her in the hallway. Not cruel. Not warm. Just there.

And maybe that was what made it worse—how easy she made it to pretend it never happened. How nothing about her life had shifted while his had gone completely off-axis.

But he couldn’t stay away.

He told himself it was a mistake. One night. A moment.

But the following week, he showed up at her office again. No words. No apologies. No resistance.

And she let him in.

Jeongguk doesn’t remember how it became routine. It wasn’t every night—not even often. It only happened a few times, enough to count on one hand. Still, he knew that wasn’t an excuse. It still fucking happened.

Sometimes when the weight of home pressed against his chest, Jeongguk found himself moving without thinking – texting Jiwoo nothing more than a time, a place. No hearts. No names.

And she never asked for either.

One time it was the stairwell behind their office building. The lights were dim, flickering like they knew they shouldn’t be watching.

He kissed her like he needed to forget something.

She let him. No questions, no noise. Just the rustle of coats and the sound of his breath stuttering into her neck like it was the only place left he didn’t feel like a failure.

Another time it was the back seat of his car. Rain on the windows. Jiwoo’s makeup smudged from his grip on her jaw.

He didn’t ask her if she was okay. Didn’t ask himself, either.

Because here, in this hollow space of skin and distraction, he could pretend for a moment he wasn’t a man unraveling by the hour.

At home, Jeongguk had lost count of how many times he showered. Not to wash off sins he could no longer keep track of. No.

But because the scent left on his skin wasn’t familiar. It didn’t remind him of anything. Not her shampoo. Not the house. Not you.

And somehow, that made everything easier.

Jeongguk told himself it was never about love. It was survival. Escape. A quiet place where the noise inside could dim for a while.

But sometimes, late at night, when Jiwoo’s hand found his, or her breath brushed his skin, the line between need and something more fragile began to blur.

They rarely spoke about what this was. Words felt heavy, too honest, too dangerous.

Instead, their connection lived in small gestures – the way Jiwoo’s fingers lingered just a moment longer on his hand, or how her gaze held steady when his cracked.

He found himself craving those moments – not because he loved her, but because with her, the weight seemed just a little lighter.

Between, few kisses and whispered promises that meant nothing, Jeongguk caught himself wanting more – a fleeting thought of normalcy, or maybe just a break from the storm.

There were quieter moments too.

They’d go to Jiwoo’s favorite café near the office — small, sunlit, always playing old indie songs she claimed made her feel seventeen again. She liked the lemon cake there, tangy and too sweet.

Jeongguk hated lemon anything.

She pushed the plate toward him, fork already loaded. “Come on, one bite. It tastes like chaos and cavities.”

Jeongguk raised a brow. “Sounds deadly.”

She laughed. “You’re so dramatic. Open.”

He did, reluctantly. The lemon hit fast—sharp, sweet, wrong. He winced.

Jiwoo grinned, smug. “You hate it.”

“Told you I hate lemon,” he muttered, reaching for his coffee like it might save him.

“And yet, you let me feed it to you,” she teased, chin in hand.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk stared down at the plate, voice dropped. “I did.”

The next time they went, he ordered a slice without thinking. Maybe it was the routine. Maybe it was easier to pretend he was someone else in places she had always loved. Or maybe he was just tired of being someone he doesn’t recognize anymore.

Two mornings later, while Jeongguk slipped on his coat by the door, you held something out to him.

“Found this in your pocket,” you said, voice light. Just a folded receipt. “Didn’t know you liked lemon cake.”

He hesitated for half a breath, then took it from your hand. “Thought I’d try something new,” he said, stuffing the paper into his pocket. “Didn’t finish it though.”

You smiled faintly. “Okay.” Nothing more was said. Jeongguk walked to his car, you walked to yours and the day went on just like any other.

Jeongguk started wearing a new cologne Jiwoo had mentioned offhand in passing.

They’d been sitting in his car, her legs pulled up, a coffee cup balanced on her knee, when she reached into the glove compartment to grab tissues and found the travel-sized bottle tucked in with a pile of old receipts.

“Oh,” she’d said, amused. “This one’s nice. Remember it from a client’s shoot a while back.” She sprayed it lightly on her wrist, then offered it to him without looking too hard. “Try it. Might suit you.”

He didn’t think much of it then. Just leaned forward so she could mist it across his neck. Her fingers had brushed the edge of his jaw—cold and brief. She’d gone quiet after that. Rolled the window down. Changed the subject.

But later, when he made a dumb joke and leaned in to repeat it, she’d smiled like it meant something. Like he meant something. Something other than mistakes and disappointments.

It wasn’t the kind of scent he normally liked—too warm, too heavy. Amber and cedarwood. It clung to him like someone else's second skin.

But it made him forget the lavender that carried too much expectations and pain. And it was enough.

Jeongguk started wearing it after that.

The first time he wore it home, you paused in the hallway, one hand bracing the wall like you’d lost your balance for a second.

“That’s strong,” you said, half-laughing. “What is that? Smells like someone lit a forest on fire.”

Jeongguk smiled faintly, tugged at his collar. “Trainees thought it smelt good. Was messing around with some samples in the shoot. Kind of stuck.”

You nodded slowly. “Looks like it did.”

“I’ll probably switch back next week,” he said, voice soft. “It’s not really me.”

You didn’t answer. Just passed by him, close enough to breathe it in again, leaving him in the silence of your home like always.

It was raining when they slipped into the planetarium.

Jiwoo said she’d always wanted to come but never had the time. Jeongguk didn’t ask why she chose a place like this or why she wanted him there. He just asked Taehyung to book the tickets under his name and followed her plans when the day came.

Inside, the seats reclined. The dome above them flickered dark before filling with stars.

She glanced sideways at him when the simulated constellations came alive — her shoulder barely grazing his. “Penny for your thoughts?”

It was the first time she ever asked him for anything. Jeongguk didn’t know why. Only that she did – after he’d been staring too long at the Sun in the simulation.

“I don’t know what this is anymore…what I am anymore,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t know how to stop it. Don’t know how to come back.” His eyes were still fixed on the Sun — pixelated and sterile, orbiting nothing real.

Jiwoo didn’t speak right away. A comet traced across the dome in silence.

“You don’t have to name it,” she said finally. “No one’s asking you to.”

The stars faded, but the ache stayed — quieter now, like a shadow settling deeper into the edges of his days.

And somewhere beneath it all, the clock kept ticking, pulling him forward whether Jeongguk was ready or not.

The morning began quietly.

You moved softly through the kitchen, hands working without rush as you wrapped small sandwiches, cut fruit into soft wedges, and arranged snacks into a neatly packed basket. Nothing elaborate. Just enough for two. You checked the time on the oven clock once, then again, a little slower.

The house was still quiet upstairs.

Jeongguk stood halfway down the stairs, already dressed for work – pressed slacks, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his watch catching the low light. He stayed still, one hand resting gently on the banister.

Your voice drifted up from the kitchen, gentle but clear. The phone lay on speaker on the counter.

“I’ll be okay, Eomma. Just a quick visit.” You murmured.

“Jeongguk’s not going with you?” your mother had asked.

He waited for you to tell her the truth. Rat him out – call him selfish, careless, tell her how he let you down again.

Instead, you said, “Think he’s got an early shoot in Gangnam.” You reached for a napkin, folding it once, then again, before tucking it into the picnic basket.

Jeongguk didn’t move. His eyes lingered on the basket, then the slow curve of your shoulders as you stood over it.

Then, without saying a word, he turned and walked away. His shoes made no sound on the floor as he quietly slipped out the door.

Jeongguk didn’t go to the memorial.

Instead, he ended up parked outside the baby clothes store on the far side of the city. The same one you both had visited long ago, when you were full of dreams and plans. The sign’s color had changed, the windows were new – but inside, it still smelled faintly of baby powder and fresh cotton.

He drifted in slowly, like muscle memory.

Near the back, he spotted a small rack lined with tiny onesies. One in particular caught his eye — cream-colored with purple tulips and sun prints stitched into the fabric. Something about it felt soft and whole.

Jeongguk bought it without thinking.

For a brief moment, the idea flickered in his chest. Maybe he could still make it to the memorial. Maybe if he left now, brought this little onesie, maybe...

Then he saw them – a couple around his age. The woman laughed softly, holding a squirming baby girl in her arms. The man kissed her cheek, one arm slung around her shoulder. Their child was maybe two. Maybe close to what Ha-yun would’ve been. Alive. Growing.

“Say ‘Appa,’ sweetie,” the woman coaxed gently.

The baby’s tiny lips parted, forming a soft, uncertain sound— “Appa...”

The man’s eyes softened, his smile widening. “That’s right, little one. Appa.”

Jeongguk froze. Something cold gripped him from the inside. And in that moment, the weight of it all came crashing back.

He left without a word.

The day blurred after that. He threw himself into work, showed up at an offsite shoot, reviewed shots he wasn’t even scheduled to cover. His phone buzzed a few times — he didn’t check. Not even once.

Evening fell without mercy.

Down the office building, they waited for a cab. A crazy drunk stumbled past, spilling a drink right onto Jiwoo’s sleeve. “Shit, sorry!” the drunk slurred, swaying away.

She stared down at the wet fabric, annoyed. Jeongguk stepped closer, pulling off his jacket. “Here, take this.”

She hesitated but accepted it, slipping it on.

Jeongguk muttered under his breath, “Fucking assholes.”

“Don’t get worked up. Bet they smell like cheap whiskey and regret.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckled, said nothing after. Just watched the city lights coming on, slow and soft.

“I thought you’d run away for good today,” Jiwoo breaks the quiet.

He scoffed. “I tried.”

She bumped his arm lightly. “You suck at it.”

A breath of a laugh escaped him, short and tight. He looked at her — really looked — and that was all it took.

Jiwoo leaned in first, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was quiet and careful.

Jeongguk didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He kissed her back, like a reflex, like he didn’t want to think about what it meant.

Then it ended, just as quickly. No promises. No questions. Not asking for more, not promising anything either.

Jiwoo blinked. Looked for a second longer than usual, then smiled softly. “Come on,” she said, gently tugging at his sleeve. “I want to show you something.”

The cab ride was short. They pulled into a quiet alley where an older shop stood, its weather sign still intact, “Daehan Camera & Film.”

Jeongguk recognized it the moment they stepped out. The air around it hadn’t changed. The soft chime of the door still rang the same way it did years ago, when you dragged him here one snowy evening after you both had successfully passed your final requirements for graduation.

You were both delirious – running on caffeine, instant ramen and the kind of snacks that should’ve fucked with your brains. But you both made it.

You had bought him a camera that night, just a little something to mark the end of the chaos and the beginning of whatever came next. A secondhand Canon AE-1, barely functional flash, light meter permanently stuck on the wrong setting. Knowing how much he was a sucker for anything old and worn, always choosing charm over convenience, history over precision.

“You’re going places, Gguk. I just know it.”

Jeongguk didn’t even know what to say back then. Just stood there while you grinned, cheeks red from the cold, and told the old man behind the counter, “He’s going to be brilliant.”

You had believed in him long before he knew how to.

Jeongguk stood there again now, the memory coiling around his chest, slow and thick.

Jiwoo stepped inside first, glancing around, then nodded to the older man behind the counter who’d given her a look like she didn’t belong in his store.

She ignored it. Focused on Jeongguk. Didn’t say much. Let him take his time.

“How did you even know this place?” he asked, voice low.

She shrugged. “I asked Taehyung. He said something about how much you loved coming here.” That was all. No added explanation. No weight in her tone.

Jeongguk turned toward the glass display, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. The cameras hadn’t changed. Dust along the edges. Faint scratches in the wood counter from years of elbows and fingerprints.

The weight in his chest didn’t lift.

It sank.

When it all ended, Jiwoo gave him a small wave from across the street before slipping into a cab. Jeongguk watched her go, then crossed to the station, not to board a train, but to sit. The bench was cold. The air sharper now. He stared into the nothing ahead, not moving, not thinking.

But his hands itched. Restless. As if the silence pressed too hard against his skin.

He didn’t know how long he sat before standing again, feeling pulled tight like a stretched thread.

The tattoo shop was just around the corner �� small, almost hidden, with a faded sign and a door cracked open like an invitation.

Inside, the needle buzzed before words could form.

The artist glanced at his arm. “Covering up the old one?”

Jeongguk nodded. “Something like that.”

He barely looked at the design in the mirror, a crescent moon cradling a handful of stars.

Simple. Quiet. No noise. No movement. No expectations.

He winced as the needle bit into his skin, the pain sharp but steady, grounding him.

A punishment. A mark for running away. For choosing silence over love, again and again. A mark for guilt that made a home in him and never left. For turning his back when your hands were still reaching for him. A mark for all the mistakes he’s ever done. For everything he couldn’t face – then and now.

When the buzzing stopped, he touched the fresh ink with trembling fingers.

The moon and stars were there to stay.

The sun—yours—was gone, and he’d covered it himself.

The artist stepped away to clean up, leaving Jeongguk alone under the harsh glow of the overhead light.

He sat there a moment longer, sleeve rolled up, skin raw. His phone felt heavier than it should’ve in his palm.

No thinking. No pacing. Just a quiet inhale—then he pressed the number he’d taken from Taehyung earlier.

The line rang once. Then again. “Namjoon-ssi, can you please meet me?”

Namjoon didn’t ask why. He didn’t have to. When Taehyung had passed along the quiet request for help, and the moment Jeongguk stepped into the office – slumped shoulders, bloodshot eyes, a hollowness where pride used to sit – Namjoon already knew.

He began explaining — carefully, briefly — how things worked. What needed to be filed. What Jeongguk should expect.

But Jeongguk barely listened.

“Just want it fair,” he muttered after a long silence. “Everything we built… she deserves her half. Or more. I don’t care. Just get it done.”

Namjoon set his pen down. “You don’t have to do this angry. You should know at least what you’re walking away from.”

“I know exactly what I’m walking away from,” Jeongguk snapped. His voice cracked, then dropped. “A house that used to be a home. A bed that used to be filled with love. And a woman who still looks at me like I haven’t fucked up everything. I don’t fucking deserve that. She doesn’t deserve this version of me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “And you think divorce is going to solve that?”

Jeongguk’s hands curled into fists, then loosened. The anger gave way to exhaustion. “She deserves better. I’ve already broken her. I don’t want to stay just to keep breaking her in smaller pieces.”

Namjoon tried again, voice quieter this time. “Walking away will just her hurt her more.”

“It’s a clean slate,” Jeongguk said. “Maybe for both of us. It won’t be waking up beside her and still feeling like I’m drowning. It won’t be watching her look at me like I’m someone else. And I won’t have to keep dragging her down this shithole I’ve dug for myself.”

Namjoon nodded slightly. He didn’t push more after that. Just took down the details Jeongguk gave him. The terms. The assets. The accounts. He worked in quiet rhythm, the pen moving steadily across paper.

“She’ll need to sign it too,” he said eventually.

“I know,” Jeongguk stared at the ceiling. “Just… not yet.” Silence passed. “I need to… break it to her gently. Figure out how.”

Days passed like slow echoes. Some nights, Jeongguk stayed late in the office, finishing edits no one asked for. Other evenings, he met Jiwoo for coffee or dinner, sometimes letting her distract him with things that made him laugh for a moment too long. But the weight stayed.

Then one morning, the envelope came. Sealed and clean, the final draft tucked inside.

It was waiting on his desk when he arrived—no fanfare, no message, just his name typed on the front in sterile black ink.

Jiwoo was already in the room, seated across from his desk, reviewing campaign drafts. She looked up when she heard him stop short. “That it?”

He nodded, already pulling a pen from the drawer. No pause. No ceremony.

She watched him sign. “You’re really doing it.”

Jeongguk didn’t look up. “Already did.” He capped the pen, slipped the papers into the bottom drawer of his desk and closed it quietly.

And he didn’t look at them again.

The papers stayed buried in his desk drawer, untouched and unsigned by anyone but him. Days turned over like pages—quiet, deliberate, unread. And in the hush between what was and what they couldn’t name anymore, time moved forward anyway.

The house remained the same – clean, lived-in, routine. The silence wasn’t new anymore. It had settled in long ago, worn down by time, no longer sharp or painful – just there, like faded wallpaper touched by the sun.

Conversations, when they happened, were brief and practical.

One morning, you placed the empty detergent bottle on the counter. “We’re out of detergent,” you’d said without looking at him.

“I’ll grab some tomorrow,” Jeongguk replied, barely glancing up from his phone.

Another time, while folding towels that still smelled faintly of rain, you spoke up again. “Water bill’s due Friday.”

“Okay.” He didn’t ask how much. You didn’t offer. The moment passed without ripples.

Sometimes, you left the house first. Sometimes, he did.

That morning, Jeongguk paused by the trash bin as you headed out. “Trash day’s tomorrow. Did you sort the bags?”

You stopped, rubbing your forehead. “It’s your turn to sort the trash.”

He gave a quiet, almost automatic nod.

You didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t ask for one.

You were slipping on your coat when he noticed – no keys in your hand. Just your phone, already pulled up to book a ride.

“You’re not driving?” Jeongguk asked, glancing up from the sink.

You shrugged lightly. “Car won’t start. Battery’s dead, I think.”

He wiped his hands on a dish towel. “I’ll take it to the shop after work. You can take mine.”

You mumbled a ‘thanks’. Left before he could say anything else.

There were no fights. No pointed silences. Just a kind of practiced cohabitation that neither strained nor healed. Like two people who had memorized the layout of the same house but stopped meeting in the same rooms.

It was the kind of evening that used to mean something.

The kind where candles would’ve flickered on the table, laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, your arms looping around his neck as if the world outside your home didn’t exist. Where the scent of dinner wasn’t just food – it was love folded into small efforts.

But those days had long gone quiet. Faded slowly. Softly. Without a fight.

Jeongguk didn’t knock. Didn’t slide his key into the lock. Just stayed by the front steps, close enough to see through window, far enough that you wouldn’t notice him there.

The dining table was set for two. Silverware neatly placed; bowls of warm food left untouched on both sides. He knew the dishes right away – meals you used to make to remind him of home. Or maybe, to hold on to the hope that it still was home.

You were still dressed in something soft but presentable, like you hadn’t quite given up the idea of company. Your hair was pinned back the way you used to wear it for dinners, neat and plain, but still cared for.

Between rearranging the plates, he watched you pick up your phone, glance at it now and then, quietly waiting – not quite hopeful, but not yet giving up either.

You poured water into both glasses. Straightened the tablecloth’s edge. Sat down for a moment, then stood up again.

It was the waiting, Jeongguk realized, that undid him. Not the food or the setting or even the way you’d tried to make everything familiar – but the way you kept looking toward the door. Like maybe this would be the year he remembered. Like maybe you hadn’t stopped leaving room for him yet.

Jeongguk didn’t move. Didn’t give himself away.

And after some time, something in your posture shifted—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but not him.

You blew out the candle. Pushed in your chair. Started packing things up with the quiet, careful way you did now—like a shield around you.

No dramatic pause. No lingering. You just...let it go.

Jeongguk stayed in that moment a little longer. Let the silence draw a line between the man he was then and the one sitting here now.

He remembers the morning after the anniversary and your birthday, leaning against the headboard, the food tray with Makguksu and Samgyeopsal. He felt he didn’t deserve the small kindness and tried to ignore it, while the feeling of regret kept growing inside him.

Then there was Taehyung, the office, and the papers he’d kept hidden. Jeongguk remembers signing them without hesitation. How instead of being honest and ending things, he kept the agreement a secret. In that moment, fear and denial held him back – he had signed away his marriage, but didn’t have the courage to deal with what came next.

Jeongguk remembers the look on your face when you found them. No words, just a quiet, heavy stare—as if you finally saw everything you’d been avoiding. That look hurt him more than any fight, revealing the vulnerable man beneath his tough mask.

And when you asked him if he loved her, he was too scared to tell you the truth. That he didn’t. That it was just means of his escape. The mess he made was only a way to hide from the man he’d become.

Then Namjoon showed up with a new agreement and a list that felt more like a punishment back then. It felt like a burden. But over time, those things stopped feeling like chains and became a strange kind of guide.

Those times and the person he had turned to, used to haunt him. Sometimes it still pressed against his chest, sharp and shame-shaped. But the pain no longer ruled him. Instead, it had become a quiet reminder of how far he’d come—how much he’d survived and was now trying to find a way back to a place that once felt like home.

Jeongguk took a slow breath, trying to hold on to that fragile hope—of something better, something steadier.

Outside the car, Jiwoo waited quietly. Not rushing. Not pressing. Just waiting.

And in that moment, Jeongguk held onto the calm as best he could.

He stepped out, followed her down the street to a small café nearby. It was new, clean, quiet. Nothing fancy. Orders were placed – black coffee for him, green tea for her and some food he barely registered while she chatted with the server.

When it came, that’s when his attention dropped to the food she had ordered, a slice of lemon cake.

“Still?” Jeongguk asked with his brow raised.

Jiwoo gave a small, almost playful smile. “Moving to a new city doesn’t change my food choices.”

He doesn’t go along with the playful remark. Just jumps right in. “Do you remember when we started drifting apart?”

Jiwoo nodded. “After you got that tattoo.”

He chuckled dryly. “Funny how I got it because you said the moon and stars didn’t have expectations.”

She gave a small smile, not proud, not sad. Just knowing. “That was supposed to comfort you. Didn’t think you’d go ink it on your skin.”

“Thought it’d fix something,” Jeongguk admits. “Make it easier to carry. You know…the guilt. Everything else.”

Jiwoo fiddled with the cake. “It didn’t.”

“It didn’t,” he agreed. Silence stretched between them, then softly he asked, “Do you remember when we completely stopped?”

She nodded, looking down. “That café in Hapjeong. You told me she found the divorce papers. And the list she’s making you do.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything at first. His gaze drops to the rim of his coffee cup, and for a moment, the café around them fades.

To another café. To another day. Hapjeong.

“I don’t know if I’m a good person,” Jiwoo said quietly, her voice barely rising above the hum of the street outside. “Sometimes I think maybe I deserve to lose everything.”

Jeongguk looked at her then—really looked. “You didn’t make me love her less,” he said. “That’s on me. And you’re not losing anything. I’m here. I’m still here.”

Jiwoo swallowed, gaze darting to the window. “For how long?”

His gaze stayed stead, but something behind it softened. “As long as necessary,” he said. “To make sure you’re okay. To help you figure out whatever you need to do next.”

A brief silence followed, broken only by the gentle clink of a spoon from another table.

She didn’t look at him, but he caught the way her fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve.

Then, more quietly, he added, “After that, I’m going on with that list.”

The silence that followed wasn’t surprised — it was quiet. Knowing.

Jiwoo’s voice was thin when it came. “You never loved her any less, did you?”

Jeongguk’s gaze held hers, steady but distant, as if weighing a truth he’d long avoided. “Guess I didn’t.” he said quietly. “Think I just lost my way. Lost who I’d become. Changed into someone I barely recognized.”

He swallowed, voice thick. “I didn’t know how to come back.”

Jiwoo’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What made you want to find your way back?”

Jeongguk’s eyes dropped to the table. “The way she still looked at me,” he said. “Like I wasn’t lost at all. It’s been that way all these years. Was just too blinded by all the pain, all the failures, all the disappointments. Let them take hold.”

He drew in a breath, slow and quiet. “I’m done with that. No more running. No more escaping. I’m going on with this list the right way. I’m going to mean it. No more lies. No more hurting her. No more going behind her back.”

Jiwoo’s eyes stay fixed on. “You think that’s going to make her forgive you?”

Jeongguk’s thumb traced the rim of his cup. “Not doing this for forgiveness. Accepted a long time ago that nothing I do will reverse everything I’ve done.”

She sighed softly. “You said the list is a set of conditions she made before finalizing the divorce. You do know that completing it means ending everything between you, right?”

“I know.” He swallowed down the nerves. “But until then, I’m going to try to love her the right way. I’ll just love her – no ‘what ifs,’ no ‘buts.’ And if she lets me go – then that’s just the consequence of every fucked-up choice I made.”

“You’re fucked up, Jeon.” Jiwoo let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Should’ve never started that divorce agreement. Should’ve owned up to your mistakes years ago.”

“Too late for that now.” Jeongguk gave a faint chuckle, low and a little worn. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I know one apology won’t fix anything, but… I’ll be around. If you need help with anything moving forward, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Jiwoo said softly. Then, after a pause, “Guess I should start looking for another company.”

“You want to leave?”

“Doesn’t feel right staying,” she said, meeting his eyes briefly. “Not if you’re going to try again with her.”

The days slipped by as Jeongguk helped Jiwoo navigate her transition. He made calls, pulled strings, even visited a couple of agencies on her behalf.

One evening, after finalizing some transfer logistics, they sat in silence at a convenience store bench.

“You look tired,” Jiwoo muttered without looking at him.

Jeongguk cracked a weak smile. “Have felt worst.”

“You don’t have to do all this.”

“Just let me help.”

She didn’t argue. Just nudged his knee with hers once—quiet thanks unspoken.

Jeongguk followed through with the Chuncheon firm. Quiet team, flexible direction—room for Jiwoo to breathe. He drove her up for the meeting, vouched for her, stepped out when needed. They made her an offer the same day.

On the ride back, Jiwoo turned to him, “You did more than I expected.”

“Good luck out there.” Jeongguk kept his eyes ahead as the city lights faded behind them.

Steam hissed softly nearby, mingling with murmurs and the occasional metallic clink. The rich aroma of fresh coffee wrapped around him, pulling Jeongguk back to the moment.

Jiwoo’s calm gaze met his across the café’s warm light. “You didn’t ask me to meet you to reminisce our era.”

“Don’t make it sound like some concert tour we’ve headlined.”

“Not me. Just you. Would’ve been a great idol.”

Jeongguk smirked. “What would my stage name be? ‘DJ Regret’?”

Jiwoo chuckled, shaking her head. “More like ‘The King of Sorrys.’ Your fan club would be huge.”

His smile faded, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Why’d you do it?”

“Not gonna ask when I did it?” Jiwoo shot back, a teasing edge in her voice.

“If you were gonna go through my phone, at least mess with the archive too,” he said calmly.

What happened next wasn’t a question of if, but when.

In the days that followed, Jeongguk had settled into a new rhythm—balancing work, the list, and the slow rebuilding of what was once lost. Meanwhile, Jiwoo adjusted to life in Chuncheon, facing fresh challenges with a quieter pace.

It was during a late afternoon in the office, sifting through the cabinet, making space for a new team’s mock-up, that Jeongguk stumbled across it – clean layout, pinned swatches, slipped sketches, a familiar signature on the corner. It was Jiwoo’s.

He tore out a notepad page, scribbled her name and phone number, taped it on the corner. Then sent out a text before returning to the rest of his day filled with back-to-back meetings.

Jeon: Found your old board. Front desk if you need it. Swamped.

Later that evening, Jiwoo stepped into the lobby. The receptionist, mid-call and juggling a delivery form, waved her through. “It’s in the corner, go ahead. Got to deal with a mix-up.”

She spotted the board exactly where she was told. Her name and number marked clearly on a note stuck at the top. As she peeled it off, another paper came loose beneath it – same notepad, different message.

Messy handwriting. A scribbled list. Restaurant names stacked one after the other, some crossed out, others with times rewritten, erased, replaced again. One had a smudged heart half-erased. Another with a small sun doodle at the end. A few notes scattered like Go early. Less crowded. Cheesecake out of stock. Pass.

Jiwoo paused, reading it twice. Didn’t take much to guess what it was. Or who was it for.

He still hadn’t said it.

Nearby, Jeongguk’s phone buzzed once on the front desk – forgotten, maybe dropped in the middle of another rushed hour.

She picked it up, tapped the camera roll, scrolled briefly. Found the clip—one from a late-night drive some time ago. Her voice in the background, laughing. Posted it to his story.

Then walked out with the board in hand. And just like that, it was done.

Jeongguk exhaled slowly, the weight of the past settling quietly as he looked at Jiwoo.

“Did you know she almost finalized the divorce that night?”

Jiwoo didn’t flinch. “Good. It shook her.”

“Was that what you meant to do? Some kind of revenge? Karma I deserved?”

“No, Jeon,” she said, calm but unyielding. “It was meant to shake both of you. I knew she’d see it. Knew you’d find it. You made this big declaration about wanting to love her again – and you still haven’t said it.”

“I was trying to make myself worthy enough before telling her.”

“And when will that be?” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “You’ve spent the last three years trying. Said it yourself – you got lost chasing the version of you she once loved. The one she still loves. And you’re still going in circles. When will you realize that no matter who you try to be, she’s going to love you anyway?”

Jeongguk’s face stayed still, but the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken words. “You weren’t part of this anymore. You had no right to get involved.”

“If I didn’t, would you have pushed yourself to try harder for her? To be there for her?”

Jeongguk leaned back slightly, jaw tense. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“But it was a choice that started to make things better for you, didn’t it?”

He remained quiet, the weight of her words pressed down on him.

Jiwoo started to gather her things. “Just be fucking honest for once. Love her like you used to. Or maybe even better,” she pauses briefly, then adds. “Stop wasting time. You won’t realize when time will run out and you’re left with regrets instead of love that should’ve been yours to hold.”

She left before he could say a word, the silence between them closing like the last page of a book.

Jeongguk swallowed hard, the truth in Jiwoo’s words hitting him like a sudden, cold wave. His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. The screen glowed with a photo of you, lips pressed softly to his cheek, eyes closed in a moment of pure tenderness.

He stared at it, breath steadying. A soft light began to grow inside him, like the first rays of a sunrise finally breaking through after a long wait.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts fanfction #fanfic #bts jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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woantohae · 4 months ago

Text

I love you, I'm sorry || Bucky Barnes x reader! au)

Summary: James loved his wife, his son, and the life he had. However, lately he begins to remember his days as a sought-after bachelor in the past and all the opportunities and experiences he wasted.

One night, a magical being appears to him, who offers him to fulfill a wish, which will change his life completely.

Author's note: So i had this idea for a long time ago and i thought it'll be fun to see where this is going. This is some kind of au, where reader and Bucky are married. The magic being is Doctor Strange.

P.S: I love Bucky, and i know he will never do this 💌

《tags: angst, Bucky being a jerk, fluff, married life, arguments, curse words, a character that decide to step in 👀》

Bucky was tired.

He didn't know if he was tired of the long work day he had in the office, or if he was tired of returning to the routine. Sometimes he began to think what would happen to his life if he had made different decisions.

Don't get him wrong, he was sure of what he had chosen: he loved his son Theo, the sweet 5-year-old who looked up to him with a twinkle in his eye every time they spent time together. Bucky thought it was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. On the other hand, the job he had was good, considering that he must maintain a house, a family, pay the bills, put food on the table everyday and treat himself, his son and especially to his wife.

His dear wife Y/N, who had always been there for him. Who he loved with all his might. He can still remember the first time he met her. Well, the first time he actually saw her. Bucky used to be a heartthrob even back in the days when he went to college. He had a certain reputation with the ladies and never committed himself to a relationship; the black haired man wanted to enjoy his single days as much as he could. That's what he thought until he met Y/N, the sweet girl with glasses who helped him with exams and congratulated him every time he got an A. She had bewitched him from head to toe with her noble heart and sweet aura.

He had it all.

But he also had everything in the past.

A life without worries or bills to pay, girls who fought for his attention or to sit next to him in classes, a group of friends whom he still saw, but without seeing much because of their tight schedules. And well, he didn't want to sound like an idiot, but he didn't have anyone to send him to wash the dishes or change diapers. Plus, he always had someone to have a good time with, if he needed to... de-stress.

It wasn't that with Y/N he didn't want any of that now. But he felt like the flame had gone out since she spent most of her time taking care of Theo, the house and resting from expecting her second child on the way.

Shaking off those thoughts of his head, James takes the keys from his pocket and begins to open the door to be greeted by the excited screams of his son, Theo.

"Daddy! You're finally here." Theo throws himself at him and Bucky reciprocates his hug.

"Hello champion" Bucky ruffles his hair and looks into the boy's blue eyes, who look at him adoringly "You didn't cause your mother any problems, did you?"

The little boy shakes his head.

"I helped her clean up the mess after I drew something for you," he mentions.

Bucky raises an eyebrow and looks at him softly.

"Yeah? I want to see it" Bucky says and the boy runs off to look for the draw.

Bucky sighs and puts his coat and briefcase aside to loosen his tie. All he wanted to do was finish the paperwork he needed by tomorrow without fail, take a shower, and sleep.

"Doll, where are you?" Bucky asks, running his hand over his face in frustration.

"In the kitchen!"

Bucky walks to the room and watches as his wife stirs something in the pot. The aroma of food invades the man's nostrils and his stomach growls with hunger. Y/N puts the spoon aside and hugs him lovingly, making sure her bump doesn't crush against the man's body.

“I missed you,” Y/N murmurs against his lips. Bucky accepts it and hugs her.

"Mhm. I'm really tired," he says barely. Y/N frowns and pouts.

"Long day at work?" He nods.

"And I still have to finish the paperwork," he mentions, rolling his eyes. Suddenly, a crazy idea - which he's sure young Bucky would like - occurs to him, he raises an eyebrow and lowers his hands to his wife's butt. "I was thinking that as long as I do the paperwork, and Theo falls asleep... I don't know, we could have fun in the office room."

Bucky starts kissing her neck, to which Y/N giggles. She sighs and moves away from him a little.

"I have to finish doing the laundry and help Theo with his homework," she excuses herself. Bucky grimaces and can't hide the discontent on his face "But maybe later we can..."

"No, it's okay," Bucky says sharply. "I'd better take my plate to the office and eat there."

"Honey, I..."

“It’s okay, Y/N.” And with that, he grabs his plate of food and takes it to his office to lock himself in and not go out again.

"Theo!" Bucky exclaims.

His temperament overwhelms him, especially when he sees the drawing that his son had given him for him to appreciate. He had appreciated the gesture, since Bucky loved when his son drew him, but the man hadn't liked it at all when Theo decided to paint on the reports he had to correct for tomorrow.

Bucky enters the boy's room and he is surprised to see his father angry approaching him. He had never raised his voice at the boy like that, not even when he got into trouble. Y/N follows him when she hears the commotion from the bathroom.

"What happened?" the woman asks calmly. Bucky shows his sheet to the boy.

"Why did you draw on my work report papers? Why did you come into my office, Theo?" Bucky asks, about to lose his cool.

Theo purses his lips and his eyes fill with tears.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to come into my workspace without permission? Damn it!" Bucky screams and the little boy runs into his mother's arms.

"Bucky, this can be fixed, but please don't be so hard on him," Y/N asks, holding the child's head in her belly, in a motherly way.

Bucky shakes his head, laughing unamusedly.

"I have to hand these papers in tomorrow, Y/N! I'm going to have to stay late looking over them," Bucky says angrily. "Theo doesn't have to do this thing where he comes into the office and draws on my papers."

Theo starts to sob.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, choking back a cry.

But when James sees this, the man lets out a sigh through his nose and closes his eyes, trying to calm down. The black-haired man crouches down to the child's height and opens his arms. Theo hesitantly approaches him and lets his father's arms wrap around him.

"Oh, champion..." Bucky whispers "I'm sorry"

Y/N watches the scene. She knows his husband is under a lot of stress.

"Do you promise me you won't do it again?" Bucky says looking at the boy, who nods his head and sniffles. The man wipes his tears and smiles slightly. "Good boy. Sorry for yelling at you."

Bucky starts tickling him and the boy laughs in his arms. Y/N laughs when she sees the scene and touches her belly.

“Theo, you have to finish your homework and brush your teeth before going to sleep,” Y/N reminds him.

Theo nods and proceeds to look for his notebooks so his mother can help him. Bucky stands up and looks at his wife with a tired face.

"I have to finish this," he says and she leaves him, caressing his cheek before they both go to do their chores separately.

Bucky can't help but think about how tired he is as he goes to his workspace and locks himself in until he finishes the paperwork.

What would his young self be doing if he hadn't had children?

If he hadn't had Theo and his second baby on the way?

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom in the room he shares with his wife, he drags his feet across the soft carpeted floor and falls onto the bed, while his wife applies cream to his belly, which has grown quite quickly, indicating that there are a few weeks left to see their son be born.

The man just wants to sleep, because he must get up early. He turns off the light on his bedside table and lets his head fall back onto the pillows. He hears a playful giggle from his wife and notices how she turns off the light and approaches him, to begin kissing his neck and caressing his chest with her hand.

"Hi" she whispers.

She continues kissing his neck and Bucky lets her for a moment, even when he feels his wife's hand go down to his boxers. But he doesn't feel like continuing this, he doesn't know why. Maybe it's tiredness or... he no longer feels that way for the woman who caresses his manhood.

"I don't have the energy to continue, doll," he whispers, pushing her away from him and turning his back on her.

"Oh, I'm sorry..." she says, feeling embarrassed.

She raises the sheets until they cover her chest and looks at the ceiling. The truth is that she had also realized that something was distant between them, ever since she gave him the news that they were expecting another child together.

It's like Bucky doesn't see her with the same adoration as before and that makes her feel insecure. Especially when she didn't feel pretty or sexy with the pregnancy.

She closes her eyes, preventing another tear from falling, falling asleep.

Bucky can't.

He keeps thinking about what his life would be like if he hadn't married Y/N.

He loved her, yes. But he was bored of playing the role of the worried, caring, gentle and loving husband. He needed space.

He needed air, so he gets out of bed and watches the figure of the woman sleeping with one hand on her belly. Bucky leaves the room and goes downstairs to grab a beer from the refrigerator and go out to the backyard and sit on the bench to watch the starry night.

"Fuck" he mumbles.

He can't admit it.

No.

But....

"I wish I could go back to my past life" he wishes and takes a sip of his beer.

"Are you sure it's what your heart truly desires?" A voice surprises him.

"Fuck! Shit!" Bucky curses.

He stands up from his spot and notices a man floating in front of him and points the bottle at him, ready to defend himself.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" James looks around and his eyes travel to the window of his room, where Y/N sleeps. "What did they do to my wife? My son?"

The man stops floating to walk on the grass in the yard. Bucky backs away on instinct and continues raising his bottle.

"James Buchanan Barnes" he says his full name, and danger scares him.

"How do you know my name?" He asks without believing it.

"My name is Stephen Strange, and I came here to grant you a wish" Bucky shakes his head, not believing it.

"Pff, sure. And I can fly" he says and raises the bottle, but Strange snaps his fingers and it disappears "What the hell...?"

"Now do you believe me?" Bucky swallows and thinks he's dreaming.

"Who the hell are you?"

"The man who can grant you your wish"

After explaining where it came from and why he was in front of him offering to grant him the wish, Bucky let out a heavy sigh and crossed his arms.

"So... you're saying that you can take me to another reality where I start my life again?" Strange nods calmly. Bucky grimaces. "What will happen to my life here? My job? My kids and my wife?"

Stephen replies: "If I take you to another reality, which in this case would be your past self, your life here will take a different direction. What you do there can completely change what happens here," he explains and moves his fingers to make a golden circle appear with scenes from Bucky's past appearing. The black-haired man approaches as if he were under a spell and remembers some things. "If you decide to go back and be in that reality, nothing you had here would be the same again."

Bucky smiles when he catches a moment where he was the most popular guy in college. Or when he dated Natasha, the most gorgeous woman in the school.

Bucky smiles falters when he sees Y/N studying with him for the exams. And when he carried his son Theo in his arms for the first time.

"Are you sure you want to leave everything you built here to go back to being the famous heartthrob Bucky Barnes?" Strange asks. Bucky swallows and finds himself in a dilemma with himself. On the one hand, he is bored with this domestic and routine life, he misses his life without ties and when he felt like he had everything in the palm of his hand. However, he loves his son Theo, his second child who is on the way and, above all, Y/N.

The woman he married. The woman he loved.

But right now, that didn't seem to care.

But Bucky wanted to have it all and more.

"Strange.... I want to go back" he decides after a moment.

"There will be no turning back," the magician warns him. "With a snap of my fingers, you will wake up in another reality and your life will be different."

And without hesitation, he didn't let himself be clouded by anything other than his desire to have it all again.

"I'm sure"

And Strange snapped his fingers, feeling disappointed once again in people's desire.

Bucky was having a blast.

So far he attended all the parties, went out more with his friends and could go on dates with any girl he wanted. He was taking advantage of that and more.

It was a starry and cool night and with his group they decided to go for some burgers where they always went to eat. Bucky's arm was around the shoulder of his former girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff. The hottest and most outgoing girl he had ever met.

"Today Bucky must buy the burgers" Sam says pointing his finger at him.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes in amusement, ignoring the strange emptiness he feels in his chest.

"I'll do it as long as someone deigns to come take our order," says the blue-eyed one, looking around in search of a waitress.

Everything stops in the moment for Bucky.

A couple of tables away was Y/N chatting animatedly with Yelena, Ava and John Walker. He knew John because the blonde was with him in his class. He was a jerk, but somehow he was in Y/N's group since he was dating Ava.

Y/N looks beautiful with her glasses.

When he had married her, he may have commented how funny she looked in them, and how the next day she had gone to the ophthalmologist to see if she could wear contact lenses. An idiotic comment on his part.

"Good evening, what are you going to order?" asks a deep voice coming to their table.

Bucky turns around and sees a boy with slightly long brown hair, below his ears. He remembers it because he was in Y/N's class. His name was Robert Reynolds.

The brunette had always tried to woo Y/N, even when she started dating Bucky. Even at their wedding, Bob was there with a hopeful and hurt look as he saw the girl he wanted marrying Bucky. The latter could only give him a victorious look when he kissed the girl to close their engagement.

"James...." the redhead shakes his arm. He reacts and turns to look at the boy who is looking at him expectantly. "What do you want to order?"

Bucky clears his throat.

"I want a burger and a soda," he asks, not really wanting to eat now. Bob notes it and gives them a flat smile.

"Coming right up, excuse me" he leaves and takes the menus from their hands.

Bucky follows him with his eyes to see how he leaves the menus on the table.

"Are you alright, Buck?" Steve asks him.

Bucky nods nonchalantly.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's good"

After a few minutes, while Bucky looked out of the corner of his eye at the table where his wife was, Bob arrives with everyone's orders.

"Thank you," thanks Steve.

"Sure. Enjoy"

Bob leaves again and the black-haired man notices how he talks to the man at the cash register, taking off his apron, and then goes to Y/N's table. She smiles shyly at him and he sits next to her, putting his arm behind her shoulder. Bucky watches this scene in front of him with jealousy.

She was his wife. His Y/N.

"Bucky, are you sure you're okay? You seem angry" Natasha points out, stroking his hand. But he feels a different sensation, comparing it to when Y/N used to do it.

Bucky nods curtly.

"Why do you keep asking me if I'm okay?" He takes a French fry and bites into it. "I'm clearly okay!"

Bucky turns to look at the table and sees how the boys from the other table start walking towards the exit. He notices how Bob leaves his hand on Y/N's lower back and gets up from the table.

"Hey!" They turn to see him. He is frozen in place as he reacts without thinking. Y/N frowns holding Bob's hand.

"Um, the burger was good" he says in an attempt to save himself "Thank you".

John, Yelena and Ava laugh watching the reaction he had. Bob nods his head, looking at him strangely.

"You're welcome?"

Bucky stands for a few seconds before Natasha tugs at his jacket, asking him to sit down. The black-haired man watches as the other group leaves the restaurant, ignoring the rest's eyes on him.

"What is wrong with you?" The redhead asks him.

"Buck, you're acting strange" Sam says.

That's it. Strange.

Stephen could help him.

Bucky gets up again and hurries to chase the group.

"Sorry, i don't feel so good"

Bucky rushes out hearing the screams of his friends behind him, but he doesn't care.

He is a few meters away from Y/N who hugs Yelena, Ava and John goodbye. Those three go their separate ways, while Y/N returns to Bob's arms, who takes her cheeks and kisses her sweetly. Y/N hugs him around the waist and Bob imprisons her against him with his arms.

Bucky feels something in his chest and thinks about the wrong decision he made. He would have to be the one to kiss her. She married him. With Bucky she had a family. With her he had everything.

"Strange. Damn Strange, I need you to help me" he whispers.

"I told you the consequences and you still accepted," Strange says, seriously. "Just like everyone else."

Bucky sighs angrily and waves his hands in exasperation. "Yes, i know. But I regret this. I want to go back to my stupid job, see my son Theo again and meet my son who is on the way. And Y/N...." he whispers hurt "My Y/N"

Stephen shakes his head in dissaproval.

"Humans are all the same. They have everything in their hands and it's still not enough," he reflects. Bucky feels the desperation for his body "I can take you back, but not to go back. But so that you can see and learn from your own mistake"

Bucky nods desperate.

Strange snapped his fingers, and the go back to where it all started.

His house.

It's the same as when he left.

Only the yard is with more flowers and toys scattered around. Bucky felt the urge to pick everything up and wondered since when they had so many flowers. Y/N had told him how much she wanted to plant roses for the garden, but Bucky never liked the idea. Now there were flowers.

Bucky walks to the door and Stephen's voice stops him.

"Don't hurry," he says. "No one will be able to see us, so it's better if you come with me."

Bucky follows him and they enter the house, where the aroma of home-cooked food fills his nostrils. His eyes light up as he sees a child painting on the floor. His adorable face rises when he hears the keys to the door.

"Mom, daddy is here!" he exclaims. The next thing he sees surprises Bucky.

"Champion! I missed you so much!" Bob exclaims, receiving the child in his arms.

The black-haired man's face falls as soon as he sees Y/N receive him in her arms and kiss him lovingly. Like she did with him.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"I'm starving," he says over his lips. And he plays a little longer without his little son hearing "Maybe later you could give me my favorite dessert."

Y/N laughs sheepishly and punches him in the arm.

"Dad" his son intervenes. Bob ruffles his hair.

“Wait, why isn’t Y/N pregnant here?” Stephen looks down in shame.

"Today they are supposed to do it so that Y/N gets pregnant with a girl."

Bucky chokes a sob. Y/N always wanted two kids: a boy and a girl.

Bucky remembers that he wasn't all that excited to have a second child. He thought it was already a lot of responsibility with Theo, and a second would be chaotic.

But she looked so happy here.

"I guess I'm not coming back here, am I?" Strange nods.

"It was my decision. And I have to face it like a man," Bucky says. He sighs and looks one last time at the scene in front of his eyes. "He won't hurt her like I hurt her, right?"

Strange denies. "It wouldn't cross Bob's mind to change anything about his life with Y/N, here. It's more than enough"

And with that Bucky leaves with Strange feeling like a sword is stabbed into his chest.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #fanfic #marvel #bob reynolds x reader #angst #bucky barnes angst

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