Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You really didn’t know what possessed you to break your usual routine and do what you did that day.

Maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself get distracted during the last of your daily work tasks, freeing the penthouse’s lower level of dust. You also shouldn’t have let that damned grand piano dominating the sprawling living room seduce you into finally laying your hands on it, without a rag to clean it with.

Ever since your agency had assigned you this place, you had wished you could try the instrument out at least once, hear its sound as it came alive under your hands. You knew it would happen sooner or later, the temptation was just too big. You hadn’t touched a real piano in months.

You were supposed to be working, finishing up the living room and collecting the pile of clothes wrapped in protective black covers to take them to the dry cleaner’s. Like every day, you were meant to be professional, to do your part-time job of cleaning for two hours and leaving the fancy top-floor apartment in a spotless and pristine condition.

For some reason, things were different today.

Today, you’d finally succumbed to the burning need inside you.

It wasn’t the right thing to do. It was against the rules to make use of any home appliances during the resident’s absence, aside from basic facilities like the bathroom and kitchen, and whatever was necessary for your work.

Yes, you definitely shouldn’t have gotten carried away playing your heart out on your client’s personal and very expensive musical instrument.

But most of all, you probably shouldn’t have gone to work in your current mood in the first place, upset and humiliated from being broken up with in the nastiest way humanly possible: the group chat of one of your college classes, that both you and your now-ex were part of.

Yet here you were in your client’s home, seated on the plush stool in front of the most magnificent piano you had ever seen, the cleaning utensil abandoned on the instrument’s closed lid. You poured all of yourself into the music as you played your favorite pieces, angry and worked up over the spiteful method your boyfriend of three months had chosen to dump you with, and the week right before midterms too.

It wasn’t that you were heartbroken over the sudden breakup. You hadn’t agreed to date Shin out of love or silly infatuation.

Back when he’d first approached you, your last relationship had been a matter of ancient history. Well into your second year of college by then, you hadn’t known what to do with your time outside of working and studying. And you'd been miserable. Deprived for years of the one thing you truly enjoyed doing, you found no pleasure in the activities other people filled their hours with.

The lack of music in your life had made your days melt into a bleak and sluggish sequence of daytime and nights, an ever repeating pattern as monotonous as being stuck playing the same rigid tune on repeat a hundred times.

And…you’d been lonely. You had a bunch of friends in college, but you weren’t close enough with any of them to let down your guard and be vulnerable about your troubles.

So, when the charming boy you had more than half of your schedule in common with expressed his interest in getting to know you, you'd decided not to dismiss him. It was nice to be on the receiving end every now and again when it came to male attention.

If only you hadn’t given that particular guy a chance…

Fueled by your anger, your fingers skipped over the keys, the sounds of Chopin’s Nocturne swelling along with your temper as your thoughts drifted back to this morning’s incident.

Shin hadn’t been satisfied spending time together in and out of classes, and going on dates. Pretty soon into your new relationship—too soon for comfort—he had conveyed his eagerness to be intimate with you and not taken well to your reluctance of allowing physical closeness at such an early stage. He’d grumbled and groaned about it but eventually accepted the reasoning that you weren’t ready yet…only to start badgering you about it again a month later.

You’d liked being with him. He was cute and funny and smart, and the fact that you could study for exams together was an additional bonus. But when he’d gone back to trying to guilt you into sleeping with him with no consideration for your feelings, you had decided to pay attention to the way he acted with you when alone and around others…and started chafing at the way he only seemed to care about sex.

When alone together, you were the sole focus of his attentions and flattery, all words and actions meant to coax you into giving yourself up to him. But as soon as others were present, he switched up, paying you no mind to the point that you felt invisible until someone other than him interacted with you.

It didn’t help that he’d become an integral part of your friends group by then.

Two months into a relationship wasn’t long if neither person had feelings for the other yet. Was it that wrong of you to want to wait with the intimacy until there was some sort of emotional involvement?

Apparently, yes. And in the middle of morning classes, Shin had made sure to let everyone in your group chat know.

That he was done with you and your 'uptight ways'. In the pettiest way possible, he had painted you a tease who would naively lead him on only to deny him when it got serious.

And to top it off, he had claimed you’d only become his girlfriend to take advantage of the fact his older brother was your economics professor. Now all of them believed you were an opportunistic prude, probably a virgin, who did nothing other than working and studying and leaving your boyfriends blue-balled for eternity while you used them for your own selfish gains.

Judging from their responses, they believed him, too. You weren’t sure how extensive the damage was, but for now, you had no idea if you could trust any of your 'friends' or if they’d been turned against you by that bastard.

Exactly why did guys like him seem to think they deserved to get laid for whispering a few pretty words in your ear?

The tempo and volume of the classical piece you were playing gradually increased as it neared its climax, the unrestrained passion of that part right before the end matching your agitated frame of mind. It was one of your favorites to play when upset…

You bounced about two feet off the stool when the electric lock on the front door chimed behind you, startling you so bad that your music died off in a burst of off-key tones.

In your blind haste to cover the keys back up and get away from the piano, you slammed the fallboard down on your fingers just as the door swung open behind you.

Swallowing the ensuing cry of pain, you made yourself reach for the feather duster laying on top of the piano, and swiped your uniform jacket off the nearby sofa, together with the pile of clothes meant for dry cleaning.

You didn’t dare look up at the resident as you offered a hurried bow and rushed past him, barely catching a glimpse of wide gray eyes and dark hair on your way out the door.

Crap. You hadn’t just broken the rules, you’d been caught in the act too. Your job was toast as soon as your agency got word of your misconduct…

Cursing this day that had started bad and turned even worse, you dropped off the bundle of clothes at the client’s signature dry cleaner’s and went home, the duster still clutched tightly in your battered, throbbing hand.

~~~

For the rest of the night, you were wound so tight, the slightest noise made you jump. Unable to relax or focus your scattered thoughts, you locked yourself in your room, waving your dad off when he dropped by to announce dinner was ready.

The worry and anxiety churning in your gut had you feeling physically sick just thinking of food. Whenever your phone dinged with the sound of an incoming message, you had to work up enough courage to check it, expecting to get a dismissal notice any minute, or at least be notified of a salary cut for the transgression.

It was so bad that even your rescue kitty, a black and white tuxedo cat called Vic, picked up on your mood and became all twitchy and energized, not helping your own distraught condition.

Desperate for relief from your frantic thoughts, you tried to remember everything you knew about the penthouse’s owner, to gauge your chances of getting away unscathed.

You had never encountered him in person before today. Judging by his wardrobe, which seemed to consist of mostly formal and business casual pieces, and the fact that the apartment was never messy or disorganized in any way, you had taken him for some wealthy older gentleman or middle-aged business operative.

The entire space felt so impersonal, almost sterile in its lack of family pictures and personal mementos that you’d assumed it was only used as temporary lodgings for when the owner was in town for business, if it weren’t for the pet cat that was there sometimes, and other times not. You didn’t think people took their pets with them on business trips…or did they?

As if he’d sensed your thoughts going in that direction, Vic—short for Victor—cocked his head with a puzzled expression, as if to say: Wait, wouldn’t you bring me along on a trip?

Victor usually had this dapper air to him, with his black coat and white chest and face markings giving the impression that he wore a crisp suit. But posing this way, his head tilted and blue-gray eyes narrowed, he appeared almost stern—if it wasn’t for the band of black fur at the front of his neck that made him look like he wore a perpetually crooked bow tie. That totally ruined his image.

You couldn’t suppress the smile his goofy mannerisms always managed to put on your face. It wasn’t for no reason that you’d started calling him your silly little CEO soon after taking him in.

When Vic trotted away to do cat things, your momentarily distracted mind wandered back to the topic at hand.

All those musings about the client’s identity seemed to have been far from reality. The brief glimpse you’d caught of him during your rushed escape had proven that he wasn’t very old. In fact, he didn’t appear more than a couple of years older than you. Was he a college student, too, then?

No, that didn’t explain the luxurious apartment, or the obscenely expensive grand piano you’d sullied with your commoner’s hands.

Rolling your eyes at your dramatic thoughts, you shooed Victor away when he tried to nibble on your fingers for lack of attention.

You vaguely recalled seeing forms and folders with a company stamp whenever you cleaned the study, something with a C and an R on the logo. He seemed to be a businessman after all. But the level of extravagance he lived at continued to eat away at you.

Was he perhaps…a young heir?

You scoffed. Your luck had to be rotten if you’d actually managed to piss off some spoiled rich brat by touching his invaluable toys.

But, would it be any less of a disaster if he was just some rich businessman?

What you knew about the wealthy was that they tended to look down on those people not as well off. What if he would get you fired just on principle?

You threw your phone on your bed with an exasperated groan.

This went on until, several hours later—after nothing but a few invitation pop-ups for a pre exam weekend party circulating in the group chats had you frantically picking up and tossing your phone back on the bed like a lunatic, repeatedly—you decided you wouldn't keep doing this.

You turned your phone off and buried your head in your books to review for the exams instead of stressing over the day’s consequences. You’d either be fired or not, you couldn’t turn back time or undo how you had broken the rules.

It was beyond you how the others were planning to spend the weekend partying instead of preparing for the exams, but you definitely wouldn’t be doing the same. Thank God it was Wednesday. You had no more classes before the midterms and you’d already taken leave from work a while ago, to spend the rest of this week cramming. You'd had a study date with Shin planned for Friday, but there was no way that was happening now.

Sigh.

It seemed like you’d have to weather through this mess one way or another.

Chapter Text

You made it through the weekend without losing your mind, and midterms turned out to be a walk in the park—that was, if the park was entirely covered in a layer of blistering coal and your walk was actually being chased barefoot by a pack of hellhounds that wanted your lunch. Woof woof.

As expected, just setting foot on campus grounds had felt like dipping your toes in piranha-infested waters. You’d been avoided by everyone as if you had some deadly contagious disease, even those you’d previously considered your friends.

And yet you were the subject of all the whispered conversations erupting behind your back the moment you entered a classroom or lecture hall.

By the end of the week, although you’d survived the exams themselves, you were exhausted from bearing the weight of all the stares and hearing snippets of the lies and juicy gossip about you that seemed to get ever more ridiculous the longer they circulated.

You doggedly ignored and endured everything that happened, although you came awfully close to throwing punches when a guy a year your senior sauntered up to your table one lunch break, loudly announcing that he would graciously suffer your 'curse of the blue balls if you became his girlfriend and let him tutor you—under the condition that you attended every session in nothing but your underwear; and he got to cop a feel every now and then.

Instead of letting anger overpower reason, you forced yourself to remain polite as you declined his public proposal, but couldn't resist pointing him to your ex with a sickly sweet smile, stating that he’d have better chances with Shin, considering his penchant for going for second base regardless of consent.

After that little scene, things eased up considerably. People still talked, but now everyone was being extra careful not to be caught, in case you felt like taking action again. No one else tried to approach you or ambush you in public, so you were able to finish your exams in peace.

Strangely enough, nothing came from work all week, no call or message to let you know you were being let go. Your colleague texted you instead, the one who'd covered your shifts the rest of the week, and also filled in for you during exams.

It appeared the client had called in to ask about you when someone else had shown up to do your job the day after the piano incident.

This had your anxiety coming back with double the intensity of before. By the time you were scheduled to go back after your time off, you were a bundle of nerves, equally exhausted and worked up from overthinking.

Tense enough that you had to start over twice while punching in the penthouse’s access code, you almost dropped the dry cleaned clothes you’d picked up on your way there when the elevator dinged behind you, only for the car to arrive empty after it had almost given you a damn heart attack.

Although you felt ridiculous doing it, like some burglar confirming the absence of residents before breaking into a house, you first poked your head inside to check if anyone was home. You couldn’t help but be paranoid. Why else would the apartment’s owner call to ask about you if not to know when you’d show up again so he could give you hell in person?

No one seemed to be there, though, and you trudged inside to do your job once more. Maybe showing up earlier than usual had been a good idea after all…

You went into the kitchen first, to put down the container of homemade cookies you’d brought. You always baked too much of the sweet stuff, so you thought you’d bring some along for your client.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you were feeling guilty and hoping to bribe yourself out of the scolding possibly awaiting you...

Today, the cat was there. The fluffy, white, long-haired beauty with the cutest pink nose and stunning blue eyes lurked near you and intently watched you clean as if she’d been personally tasked with supervising you.

It was kind of cute to think of it that way. Would she chastise you too, if you did something wrong? You snickered inwardly, dismissing the mischievous thoughts urging you to test your theory. Instead, you approached the kitty slowly and held out your hand to let her sniff you.

To your surprise, she hissed and swatted at you after a few seconds, then turned up her nose and strutted away as if she didn’t deign to be in your presence anymore.

She must have smelled Victor on you. It was the same reaction he gave you whenever you came back from feeding the strays in your neighborhood, like you’d been unfaithful, or betrayed him by consorting with other cats.

Clicking your tongue at the cat’s huffy attitude, you went back to work.

By the time you were done with most of the apartment and only had one room left to clean, you’d forgotten all about your earlier paranoia and your status as a wanted criminal.

Whistling your favorite tune and wishing you could play it on a piano instead, you flung open the door to the study to finish the job—

Only to find yourself face to face with the man who had occupied your mind all week, the one person you were supposed to avoid running into.

You froze, hand going bloodless on the doorknob from how hard you gripped it in your moment of paralyzed shock.

For one terrible second that didn’t seem to end, nothing happened. Maybe, maybe he hadn’t noticed you after all?

He was wearing a wireless earpiece, and the door wasn’t in his direct line of sight from the desk. Maybe you could still get away…

Slowly, very slowly, so you wouldn’t draw attention to your movements, you inched the door closed, your eyes glued to his form, to know should you alert him in the slightest. You started to think you’d gotten away, up until he unhurriedly raised his head from the documents in front of him, and you found yourself pinned down under the undiluted force of his gaze on you.

“There you are.”

~~~

“Please, come in and have a seat.”

You came to abrupt awareness of the fact that you’d been mutely staring at him in wide-eyed terror for the past minute, half-hidden behind the door you were holding in front of yourself like a piece of armor.

With an impatient shake of his head, he took off the earpiece and closed the file he’d been reading. “I have a video conference in fifteen minutes, so we’ll have to make this quick. Take a seat, please.”

Jolted into action by the sound of the folder snapping shut, you robotically approached the desk and lowered yourself into the worn leather armchair facing it. You didn’t dare look at him as you perched on the edge of the seat, nervously fiddling about with the rag in your hand, awaiting a heated lecture on work ethics and workplace propriety, and How to not piss off your clients…

But instead of addressing you, he swept the documents on his desk into a neat pile, then went about organizing his pens in a row next to his computer keyboard, each one nudged into place with meticulous care.

You furtively examined him while he was busy putting the items on his desktop in order.

His gray eyes were downcast, single-mindedly focused on what his hands were doing. Set in a pale face with chiseled features that placed him on the pretty side of handsome, they were the most expressive part of his face, despite the guarded expression you’d seen in them back when he caught you at the door.

A sweep of black hair cascaded over his forehead and across one temple, the dark strands cut in an expensive, layered style just long enough that they brushed the edge of his starched collar at the back. He wore a pinstriped white dress shirt, but his sleeves were folded up to the middle of his pale, toned forearms, and the top buttons undone to bare a hint of collarbone. A dark blue tie sat loosely around his neck.

Somehow, he looked less imposing than how you’d painted him in your mind…

Done with the rearrangement of his desk, he unrolled his sleeves next, carefully straightening out the fabric to keep it from getting wrinkled.

It was strangely mesmerizing to watch him do that. He’d looked relaxed and casual before, but in a matter of minutes, he seemed to wrap himself in an impenetrable aura of aloofness and professional unapproachability. It was like, just by fixing his clothes, he became an entirely different person.

How the hell did he do that?

“Who taught you how to play like that?” The question, when it came, was so soft, you barely caught it in your distracted state.

“Huh?” Oh, how eloquent you were today.

“The piano. Who taught you that?” His hands went to his throat next, where he threaded in the buttons all the way to the top, then tightened the fabric of the tie to slide it back into place, snug under his collar.

For some reason, watching him adjust the tie felt weirdly intimate.

“Hm?” He turned his head at that moment, catching your eyes on him. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, you quickly averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Uh, my dad. He’s a piano teacher.”

He nodded as he tugged open a drawer almost absently, his eyes holding a neutral curiosity when they met yours. “He must be an outstanding teacher. You play very well. Better than I do, in fact.”

Caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, you forgot you were supposed to play ostrich and stared at him openly, dumbfounded.

How could you possibly be better than him when he had that beautiful instrument to practice on everyday?

His lips curved tentatively at the corners when he saw your expression. “It’s true. I lack the expressiveness and emotion that seems to come naturally to you. Would you like to have it?”

You blinked, no longer able to follow what he was saying. “Have…what?”

“The grand piano. It is very much wasted on me. What use does an instrument have, when the person it belongs to cannot do it justice?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

What!?

Was this some kind of sick joke he was playing on you? Was he resorting to psychological torture to make you pay for your crime? There was no way he was offering you the expensive grand piano in his living room. For free. Out of nowhere. No way.

“Look, mister…uh…sir.” You squirmed in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable. You should have checked properly before entering the apartment. Hell, you shouldn’t have come here in the first place after hearing him ask about you. Why else would he do that, except to mete out punishment by himself?

At your awkward rambling, his hand paused in mid-air above the desk, the gleam of metal twinkling at you from between his fingers. He was holding a pair of gold cuff links he had to have taken out of the drawer.

“Sir, I’m sorry I touched your piano without permission. I've overstepped my bounds. It won’t happen again. If you prefer that my agency assigns you a different worker, I will make arrangements for that.” Anxious to the point you had trouble filling your lungs with air, you didn’t dare look at him. But even with your gaze firmly fixed on the desk he now placed the cuff links on, you caught when he cocked his head in the periphery of your vision.

“Why would I want that? Do you lack competence in carrying out your work?”

“W-what? No! I’m perfectly capable of doing my job, sir!” How the hell had he jumped to that conclusion? Again, you forgot all about your avoidance tactics, snapping your head up in puzzled surprise at his unforeseen question.

With the way his head was tilted to the side, and the confused frown on his face, he suddenly looked a lot like Vic to you. A wave of hysterical laughter swelled in your chest at the absurd image, but you forced down the conflicting emotions so he wouldn’t think you a complete nutjob.

“Then there’s no reason to request someone else. As long as you’re capable, you can keep working here. Also, please don’t call me ‘sir’. People address my father that way. It makes me feel old.”

Beyond perplexed at the turn this conversation had taken, you could do nothing but nod your acknowledgement of his words.

“Excellent. Now tell me, what is your name?” With the ghost of a smile, he aligned his shirt sleeves and swiped the cuff links off his desk to fit them in place as he spoke.

You swallowed, your throat going dry at his words. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, si-. I-I mean, nice to meet you.” Was he asking for your name in order to lodge a formal complaint? In any way, you wouldn’t drop your guard and risk messing up any more unless you knew for sure that he wasn’t out to get you. From now on, you'd be on your best behavior.

“Likewise, Y/N. A friend once told me I should try conversing with my maid on occasion. I used to think that the difference in social status made such interactions a waste of time, but I now realize that it doesn’t seem to be a bad idea at all. It appears that my preconception of hired subordinates being inferior was misguided.”

This guy was so blunt, it bordered on rude, yet for some reason, you didn’t sense any ill will behind his words. Could it be he was just so awkward at talking to people that he didn’t realize how crude it came across to say things that way?

Still, his words bothered you. You couldn’t stay silent, despite the ambiguous nature of your situation and the promise you had just made yourself. “I’d like to let you know that, while it is uncalled for to consider interacting with your employees a waste of time, I just work as a maid part-time, and not professionally. I’m actually a college student, business major, but I work for Clean & Catered to make a living. College is pretty expensive…”

He stilled upon hearing your feeble rant, his eyes lighting up with sudden interest. “So we are in the same industry?”

“I…I guess so?” This guy was going to cause you heart problems from anxiety. You’d come into his office thinking he was going to give you a hard time, but you had ended up lecturing him about workplace propriety instead, and now you were chatting about your common careers?

What the hell was going on here?

“Si—…” You caught yourself slipping up and decided to start over differently, desperate for some clarity. “Uh, please wait a moment. You did not call me in here because you were mad about me using your piano in your absence?”

Done with his cuffs, he reached for the vest draped over the back of his chair. “Mad? No, why would I be? As a matter of fact, I meant to ask if you’d be inclined to share your talent with me? I am rather intrigued by the prospect of learning how to play like you do. I fear my skills are on par with a robot's.”

That left you speechless. He…wanted you to teach him? But, why— …how? How the hell did you teach someone emotions?

As if taking your sudden silence as dissatisfaction with his offer, he cleared his throat and hurried to add “You will, of course, be properly compensated.”

You vehemently shook your head, making your hair fly everywhere. “I don’t want your money. I already work for you, and it would be weird to work two different ways for the same person. Besides, I’ve never thought about the way that I play. I don’t even know if it can be taught!”

“I’m not sure I understand what the problem is.” He had that damn Vic-expression again.

How could a grown man manage to look so innocent in his confusion? It was almost comical. You couldn’t take him seriously like that.

And to think you’d painted him a diabolical monster in your head all week…

Overwhelmed, you pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, if I do end up deciding to teach you, then I won’t accept any payment for it.”

His eyebrows rose at that declaration. “If you don't want to do it as my employee, then how do you intend to teach me?”

Was that the only part of your speech to reach his brain?

More than taken off-guard, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I suppose I could consider it, if we went into this as, as…friends?”

His face shifted to betray his skepticism as he buttoned up the vest he’d slipped on. “Friends? I was under the impression that it is inappropriate for friends to profit off of each other. Or is that inaccurate as well?”

You almost laughed out loud at the challenge in his tone. “It's called doing someone a favor. You can help your friends without expecting anything in return. That's how friendships work.” That’s it, now you were fully convinced this guy wasn’t messing with you. He just seemed to be incredibly inexperienced and clumsy when it came to interpersonal relationships. If he couldn’t even read the emotional mood inside a room properly, how did he expect you to teach him to imbue his piano skills with feelings?

He took a moment to contemplate your words. “Very well. I usually refrain from mixing professional and personal matters, but I suppose it is alright in this case, as long as our 'friendship activities' take place outside the hours of your part-time work.” He held out his hand to you, as if you had just finalized a business deal together and had but to shake on it to make it official.

How again had things ended up this way?

Finding yourself backed against the wall, you had no choice but to sigh and accept his outstretched hand. At least you’d finally get access to a real piano like that. And you didn’t get fired, or punished. Didn’t things turn out better than expected?

But still…why did it feel like you had just bartered away your soul? You really hoped you wouldn’t come to regret this.

His fingers felt warm and strong around yours. Holding your eyes with his gray ones, he smiled, and this time, it seemed a little more genuine than before. “I would like to return the favor by offering to help you with your studies, if the need arises. I trust you will find me proficient in business-related matters.”

Another exhale tasting heavily of defeat. “I guess I can work with that.”

Letting go after a brief, firm handshake, he glanced up when something dinged on his computer screen. “I apologize, but the video conference is about to start. Allow me to walk you out.” He stood and tugged his vest in place, then went ahead to open the office door for you. He waited by the entrance while you put away the rag and collected your jacket, his hand on the door handle.

You briefly considered pointing out that you still hadn’t cleaned the study, but considering he was still doing work in there, you’d just have to take care of that tomorrow.

Suddenly nervous, you twisted your jacket in your hands. “So…do you want me to come back later today? You know…for the lessons.”

A subtle sigh whispered past his lips as he pulled the door open for you. “As soon as I’d like to start, I unfortunately have a full schedule for the rest of the day. I will be expecting you tomorrow afternoon instead?”

Nodding, you pulled on your uniform jacket. “That’s alright.”

“If there’s nothing else, please take care on your way home.”

Halfway out the door already, you suddenly whirled back around when you recalled something. “Errm, wait! What…what’s your name?”

He chuckled softly as he crouched down to scoop up the Persian cat streaking around his ankles. “I’ve neglected to introduce myself, please excuse my discourtesy.” Lifting the white-haired feline until her face was on one level with his, he gracefully inclined his head in an implied bow, lips curving into a pleasant smile. “My name is Jumin Han, Executive Director of C&R International. And this is my beautiful princess, Elizabeth The 3rd. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Y/N. I look forward to the development of this friendship.”

Chapter Text

The entire way home after that strange encounter, you found yourself in a daze, as if everything had been a surreal dream induced by excessive sugar and caffeine mixed with lack of sleep. It felt like the aftermath of your mad study spree for midterms hadn’t already ended the week before.

Somehow, both your job and your mental health had been spared. Not only that, but you’d gained an opportunity to play the piano regularly, at least for the foreseeable future.

And…a new friend, apparently.

But you weren't sure what to make of him yet. Hopefully you’d be able to get a better impression of him during your 'lessons'.

After that roller-coaster ride of a work day, you were in a better mood than you’d been the entire past week, but in dire need of a nap. Luckily for you, a week of no classes awaited you and your fellow students, to recuperate from the stress of midterms.

Since you hadn’t eaten anything yet—you couldn’t stomach anything that morning from how anxious you’d been at the thought of going into work—you first swung by your favorite bakery and picked up a bagel and a box of powdered doughnuts, one of your guilty pleasures when it came to food. Patience wasn’t your strong suit, however, so by the time you made it back to your place, your lips were dusted white, and the box was several pastries lighter.

To your immense surprise, your dad wasn’t home.

You had gone to work earlier than usual today, but he normally didn’t leave for his music lessons until the early evening. The only teaching he did prior to that occurred in his own office, at home, which is why you tended to spend the mornings outside somewhere as not to be a bother.

This had been a fixed routine for the two of you ever since your mother had left to start a family with another man. Throughout the past eight years, it was you and your dad, learning how to live with and take care of each other while simultaneously trying not to cross any boundaries or step on each other’s toes.

Which didn’t mean that your life together was always harmonious. Far from that, actually. Because, even though he was your pillar and the person dearest to you in the world, he was also your greatest antagonist.

He’d been the one to teach you all about the piano and how to play it, sharing his great love with you since your earliest childhood, until all you breathed, all you thought about, was music.

He’d been the one to inspire your pieces when you started composing your own, and to shape your wishes and dreams for the future.

And…he’d been the one to crush them.

His experiences as an aspiring professional pianist had turned him bitter after the unanticipated failure of his hopeful career, and upon finding his talents reduced to giving private lessons to anyone who had enough to pay his fee just to make ends meet, he’d vowed to keep you from making the same mistakes that had led him to ruin.

The subsequent changes inside your home radically contradicted your way of life that he had previously supported and approved of: shutting down your piano classes and practice at home, and barring you from using his instruments and participating in any school clubs or extracurricular activities related to the musical arts. His attempts to obstruct your love for music entailed what was essentially a ban, imposed on you alone.

At first, you’d find ways to circumvent it, sneaking into your school’s music hall to use the piano during lunch break or after school classes. Infiltrating his office while he was away, to play on the old-fashioned upright piano he gave his at-home lessons on. You had even volunteered to help out at a music shop in your neighborhood as a last resort, in exchange for being allowed to practice on their pianos. Until your dad had caught you and threatened to report the owner for exploiting minors in his business, if he continued letting you practice there.

After that day, and after finding out you secretly used his piano whenever he wasn't home, he would always lock the office door to keep you out and otherwise try his damnedest to cut you off from the world of music…

As you sat down for a very late breakfast with your bagel and a cup of tea, you found a note your dad had left on the kitchen table, informing you that he probably wouldn’t be back until the evening.

An idea began to take shape in your head.

You’d been forced to give up your habit of sneaking into your dad’s office back when he changed the door lock to one that was harder to pick. The previous one, a flimsy, old model without a separate key, was easily opened using just a coin or butter knife, and could be locked from the outside the same way again. So upon finding out you were taking advantage of that, he’d gone all out and replaced it with a sturdy keyhole lock that wasn’t just difficult to pick, but also nearly impossible to re-lock.

The one time you had managed to break into the office but failed to lock it again afterwards, you had had to convince him he’d forgotten it open to save yourself from being found out.

After that day, you abandoned your risky endeavor of trying to gain access to the office, acting like you’d given up on your dreams ever since.

But today, for some reason, it seemed like the heavens were smiling down on you. You were inclined to try your luck because you felt like you might just get away with it.

“Don’t you think we’re blessed today, Mr. CEO?” You grinned at Victor when he sheepishly blinked at you from where he’d been trying to stick his head into the doughnut box on the other side of the table.

At the sound of your voice, he cocked his head in his usual adorably dorky way, which looked even more hilarious with the mess he had made of himself. Powdered sugar dusted the dark fur of his forehead and clung to his whiskers and nose, causing him to erupt into a sudden sneezing fit that seemed to go on without end. When the attack finally stopped, he just stood there, frozen in shock at what had happened, the most adorable look of alarmed confusion on his little face.

You laughed and reached over to brush the rest of the white substance off him. “I think that was a yes. I’m glad you share my enthusiasm.”

So you cleaned up after yourself and made your way to the office, nervous anticipation thrumming a ceaseless beat in your blood. You were supposed to start those 'lessons' with Jumin tomorrow, but you hadn’t been lying when you told him you didn’t know how to, or even if you could teach him to play like you.

When you played, you played without thinking. Your fingers followed the call of the music and moved on their own to sustain the melody, the notes dancing in the air around you like static.

…which was a problem. Because, how could you teach someone something when you didn’t even know how you did it yourself?

So, today was your chance to find that out in order to become an adequate instructor and be able to teach Jumin effectively.

It took several minutes of awkwardly twisting and jostling two metal hairpins inside the keyhole for the lock to click open, but when it finally did, you beamed at Vic who had tagged after you from the kitchen. “See, luck’s on our side today.”

You just hoped that this time, it stuck around until after you were done being a petty criminal.

~~~

By the time your dad returned, the office door was firmly locked once again and you were back in your room, pretending to read a book while actually revising a composition you had been working on for the past months.

The piece itself wasn’t very long, but you were having a hard time capturing the right emotions within the interplay of chords and note progressions that made up the melody. It would be much easier to figure it out if you could actually play it somewhere, to hear how it sounded when it came to life as music, so you were planning to take it with you when you went to Jumin’s place tomorrow. Maybe he would let you have a few minutes with his piano to find a way out of this musical dead end you’d maneuvered yourself into.

It was terribly impractical to write music blindly like that, but for the past years, you’d had no other choice. You’d rather do it blindly than not at all.

A muted knock sounded. “Y/N, are you up?”

You scrambled to hide your music book at the sudden presence outside your bedroom door.

It was only early evening, but it had become a common occurrence for you to take naps in the afternoon when you went in for morning shifts. Thank God it reminded your dad to actually knock.

Having properly concealed the evidence of your shady activities, you flipped your cover book open on a random page to make it seem like you’d been reading in it. “Come in!”

Your dad stepped inside and perched on the edge of your bed with a tired smile. “How was your day? Judging by the doughnuts in the kitchen, something good must’ve happened. What’s the occasion? Did you get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes and marked the page off with a sticky note. Whenever he actually seated himself after entering your room, you knew he wasn’t just dropping by for a quick chat. So, this could take a while.

“No, I…” You hesitated. What would you tell him about your new change of routine? You’d forgotten to prepare an excuse. For now, you’d just stall and try to come up with something later. “You know, just enjoying the days off. College is hard work...”

Crap. Why had you said that, when your studies were one of the things you always fought about?

“You can do it, sweetheart. You know you can do anything once you set your mind to it.”

But…wasn’t it his mind that was set on having you study business? Or, anything but music, for that matter?

With two mere sentences, you could feel your good mood dissolving like a sand castle worn down by wave after wave washing over it. But for once, you didn’t say anything. You were so tired of having the same argument over and over…

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, your dad awkwardly cleared his throat. “Anyways, I have something to talk to you about.”

There it was, the big reason behind his strange behavior. You were dying to know why he was acting so weird. Usually, two things could make him act that way, either the taboo topic of music that you couldn’t even mention in front of him without him exploding, or your—

“Your mother called.”

Hearing the word alone made you cross your arms over your chest, defenses subconsciously rising over one of the few things in your life that had the power to hurt you.

Forget that. One of two things that had torn a gash across your heart, a dripping wound that hadn’t even begun to heal after eight years of festering. You could feel the familiar resentment accumulating inside you like a dense cloud of toxic gas poisoning your mind and weighing down your soul, slowly choking out the day’s previous euphoria.

How dare she show her face after what she had done, and how dare your dad bring her up like she hadn’t trampled all over the love and adoration the two of you had once felt for her?

Forcing indifference into the words, you met his gaze head-on, letting him see how unwelcome that particular topic was. “What did she want?” All at once, your insides felt frozen, a thick layer of ice glazing over the chaos in your mind.

Did it even matter? It didn’t at all. Whatever it was, she could go bother someone other than you with it.

You had no intention of ever seeing her face again.

Although he must have anticipated that you’d be upset, your dad grew visibly tense, one hand unconsciously rubbing over his jaw in a nervous habit he displayed when stressed or uncomfortable. “Calm down, sweetie. She just wanted to, uh…talk to you about something…”

“No, thank you.” You were actually surprised he hadn’t called you outside and seriously sat you down for this topic. Had he thought your reaction would be more mellow if he casually brought it up like it wasn’t one of two time bombs ticking under this roof?

“Just hear her out, Y/N. Can’t you do that at least?” Without meeting your eyes, he rose and handed you a slip of paper on his way across the room.

A phone number was written on it in black ink.

And just like that, what little remained of your patience died a sudden, painful death.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you acting like you don’t hate her after what she’s done? You should despise her.”

The accusation in your tone made him pause in the doorframe, his shoulders sinking on a weary sigh. “Y/N, now is not…”

“Why not? You started a conversation. You can’t just end it whenever you like and not give the other party a chance to speak their mind.” Abandoning your chair, you slapped the piece of paper with the number onto your desk and rose to your feet, to be on equal terms with him as your temper flared.

“That woman threw us both away like trash, then moved on to a new life like we’ve never even been a family. She didn’t care who or what she was leaving behind. She didn’t stay in contact. I haven’t heard her voice in years. And now, just because she randomly remembered that, oh, she still has a daughter and some remnants of a dusty, old life somewhere, she thinks it’s okay to call you up for a chat and ask to speak to me like the past eight years never happened? Does that sound right to you? Why the hell aren’t you pissed off?”

Upon seeing a series of conflicting emotions flash over his face at your words, you turned away with a start and shoved a crude hand into your hair, unnerved at the way you’d lost your composure. Still breathing heavily after your outburst, you cradled your head as if to physically try and slow down the thundering drumbeat in your ears.

What the hell… You didn’t even know what you were doing getting mad at your dad. Wasn’t he suffering in this too?

Could it be that he still loved her, after everything that had happened? Was that why, even now, he couldn’t refuse her when she asked him for a favor?

If that really was the case…even if it was, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of him as pathetic for that.

Your anger deflated like a balloon rapidly losing air. Bone-deep resignation flooded every corner of your being instead, bringing with it a wave of exhaustion so strong, you sank back onto the chair.

It seemed like, this time, you had to be strong enough for the two of you.

“I’m…sorry.” You didn’t know which one of you uttered the words. The next moment, the door to your room fell shut with a quiet sound and suddenly, an impenetrable wall divided the space between you and him.

~~~

After a restless night filled with the familiar nightmares of past and new, creative ones your stressed mind threw at you, you were a scatter-brained, bleary-eyed mess at work.

Sluggish from both physical and mental exhaustion, you somehow knocked over the bucket of dirty water, after you’d already finished vacuuming and wiping the entire penthouse. Thanks to your carelessness, you not only managed to undo all the work you’d already done, but also got the expensive fur rug in the living room soaked. And that although you had rolled it up before starting, to keep it from getting wet in the first place…

Jumin’s cat, Elizabeth The 3rd, who’d been grooming herself as she once again supervised you, watched you mess up from a safe distance, then, full of attitude, padded into Jumin’s office with a sassy side-eye and a flick of her tail, as if to let you know she was leaving to write a damage report about your screw-up.

With a heavy sigh, you deposited the soiled rug in the guest bathroom and started mopping up the mess, your mind wandering off again as your body went into autopilot with the repetitive motions of your work.

Judging by the night you’d had, the falling-out with your dad over the topic of your resurfacing mother apparently stirred up all your childhood insecurities and lingering anxiousness. On top of those, the past week and the drama on campus seemed to have taken a bigger toll on you than you’d thought, because your nightmares hadn’t just featured the deep-rooted fear of your dad leaving you like your mother had, but also various vivid scenarios of your friends betraying you, or taking advantage of you, or abandoning you…much like they already had after the ordeal with Shin.

Thus, every single one of your nightmares that night involved you ending up all by yourself, one way or another.

As if that wasn’t enough, you’d been preoccupied all morning, contemplating what to do with the number your dad had given you. You first considered blocking the number right away to have your peace, but the part of your mind that was still rational had dismissed that idea. Instead, you’d saved it so you would know every time she called, and although deep inside you dreaded the first time the phone would ring, the deliberate intention to outright reject every call yourself gave you immense satisfaction.

Despite that, when the first call finally came, you couldn’t do anything but stare at your phone until the lovely, familiar piano tune that was your ringtone died off into silence. By the time it rang again a few minutes later, you realized that you were under no obligation to answer.

You owed her nothing. Not even a single phone call.

When your phone kept chiming, ringing on and off in minute intervals, you were briefly tempted to block the number again…but, again, you didn’t.

Because part of you wanted to make her suffer like she had done to you. Not answering the phone or picking up your calls. Not replying to messages, letting you pour your increasing frustration and despair into your attempts to reach her only to not get through even once, and never being able to hear her voice like you’d longed to.

You knew it wasn’t the same, but your petty side, the wronged child that was still heartbroken over having been discarded like an unwanted puppy abandoned on the street once its owners got sick of it…it wanted her to taste how miserable she had made you feel all those years ago.

You didn’t care that it was childish to try and get back at her like that, even if it wouldn’t hurt her the same way it had you. It made you feel a little better, at least…

Until your mind slipped your control and started doing its own thing. With every time your phone screen flashed an incoming call with that number, your mind decided to rewind all the memories from before. All the happy moments and the love and affection you’d shared, the dark times and terrible loneliness that had followed the day she’d thrown you away.

Your mood darkened with every further incoming call, so you put it on Silent just to not have to be aware of every time it chimed or vibrated. Already, you were sick of hearing your ringtone on repeat like that. You realized that you would never be able to enjoy that particular piece ever again without associating it with the pain of your mother’s betrayal.

By the time you’d cleaned up the living room a second time, all the while ignoring your phone that you’d shoved out of sight into your bag, not even the thought of your upcoming piano lessons with Jumin was enough to cheer you up anymore.

As you finished up your work, you thought about letting Jumin know about the soiled rug first, but ended up just wrapping it in plastic and dragging it outside with you when you left. You decided to just take care of it yourself. Cleaning such an item required special services, so you looked up a place nearby that provided them and dropped it off there on your way home.

According to your dad’s schedule hanging on the fridge, he didn’t have a session right now, but you could hear piano music coming from his firmly shut office door. So…was he actually busy or just pretending to be so he wouldn’t have to talk to you?

Either way was fine by you.

You showered, changed into casual clothes, filled Victor’s food bowl, and headed right out again with your music book in your purse, having left a vague note on the kitchen table explaining that you had daily club activities on campus starting today. Your made-up cover for your afternoon lessons with Jumin.

A few hours remained until the agreed-upon time, so you grabbed some snacks from a convenience store on your way to the park sprawling along the river that split the city center, about halfway between your home and Jumin’s place. Your favorite bench in the park was free, so you settled down with the snacks, headphones, and your music book to continue working on your composition with the river in front of you as your muse.

Despite how sleep-deprived you were, you managed to unravel part of the problem you had with the piece thanks to the tranquil view soothing your agitated mind, even getting so absorbed in it that you forgot to check the time. You worked on it until your vision blurred and you looked up to find shades of pink and orange blossoming across the sky and reflecting across the water as the sun said its goodbyes for the day.

You watched, transfixed by the beautiful sight, how the glowing disk disappeared behind the skyline of tall buildings and the occasional skyscraper, taking with it those streamers of color and the fading warmth that was yet making the early autumn days bearable.

Rubbing your eyes that burned and stung, already tired from lack of sleep before, now strained by the world’s brightness dimming, you packed up your things and left the bench. It was too dark to keep working there, so you would continue this at home…

When you pulled out your phone to check the time, it almost slipped through your fingers frozen from shock, and not because of the countless missed calls you could see on the screen.

Crap. You’d silenced your phone because of the annoying calls and forgotten to set an alarm to remind you, now you were late for your appointment with Jumin! And you couldn’t even let him know because you didn’t have his phone number…

You took off running for the subway, praying that he wouldn’t be mad. What if he cancelled your friendship deal over this?

By the time you made it to his building, you were well over an hour late. Upset with yourself for forgetting something as important as this, you rode the elevator upstairs and got off on the top floor where the penthouse was.

More than a little nervous, you rang the doorbell, fidgeting with your jacket zipper as you waited for Jumin to open. You knew the access code, but since your presence there now wasn’t related to work, it would be a breach of his privacy and trust to let yourself in. You were there as a guest now, so you’d behave like one.

When the door stayed closed, you rang again, just in case he didn’t hear the first time. But after several minutes, there was still no response.

Could it be that he wasn’t home yet? He may have been held up at work…

You tried to remember if you’d seen any lights in the penthouse from outside the building, but you couldn’t be sure, since some of the lights inside were always on even with no one home, like you knew from working there. Something about top floors and roof safety.

Maybe he was home, but so mad about your tardiness that he’d decided not to see you…

Would he really be that heartless?

Ugh. You should’ve asked to exchange numbers in case of an exact situation like this happening, but he’d been in such a hurry when he ushered you out yesterday that he even forgot to tell you his name until you asked.

Getting tired of pacing around in front of the door, you sat down on the topmost step of the staircase leading up to this floor, determined to wait. If he wasn’t home yet, he’d show up sooner or later. And if he was inside…

For some reason, you didn’t think he’d be that cruel.

What you didn’t expect, sitting there on the cool marble steps with your back against the wall, was for the stress and fatigue of the last few days to catch up to you.

You dozed off while waiting in front of Jumin’s apartment.

Chapter Text

A careful hand on your shoulder roused you from your unrestful slumber.

Eyes not yet accustomed to the dim hallway lighting, you squinted to bring the blurry figure in front of you into focus.

A tall man in a wrinkly business suit, slim briefcase in hand. Dark hair and pale skin and a face that seemed unaccustomed to showing emotion.

Jumin. You were in front of his home, after all.

Suppressing a yawn as you rose, too out of it to even feel embarrassed about your unscheduled nap, you blinked up at him drowsily when he spoke.

“My apologies for the delay. I was called into an emergency meeting and was unable to leave until the situation was resolved.”

A rectangle of light cut through the dimness of your mind, Jumin waving you through the now open door to the penthouse.

You stumbled inside and straight to the sofa, letting yourself sink into the plush, leather-covered cushions.

As you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, Jumin shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, undoing his tie as he spoke. “It’s late. I understand if our lesson has to be postponed…”

“That’s alright,” you cut him off, draping your own jacket over the sofa’s back. “It’ll just have to be a short introductory session today. I’d like to, uh, freshen up first, though.” With a belated, sheepish smile at how he’d found you sleeping in front of his home, you placed your purse on the coffee table and headed for the guest bathroom, rolling your shoulders to relieve the kink in your neck.

“In that case…”
Almost at the bathroom door, you glanced back upon hearing his voice falter.

He stood in front of his office with one hand on the doorknob, briefcase in hand and a pensive frown on his face. “Would you mind if I called for a meal? Dinner time has passed, and I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

Despite your reply, he didn’t move or open the door. “Have you had dinner?”

It took you a moment to answer, taken off guard by the unexpected question. “…I have not.”

“Then, I will arrange for us to have a meal together. It would be rude to let a guest go hungry.”

Slightly amused by his choice of words and more than surprised by his courteousness, you nodded and flicked on the light switch. “Thank you.”

You fixed your hair and splashed your face with cold water, finding it ironic that the most rest you’d gotten in the last twenty-four hours had been in the hallway in front of Jumin’s place. Even the neck pain was worth it. You barely remembered having had any concrete nightmares during your nap, just a vague feeling of unease that permeated the strained monotony of your sleep.

Maybe your brain had finally shut down after running on fumes all day. Tirelessly grinding out intrusive thoughts and useless what-ifs seemed to use up a lot of mental energy…

Having taken care of your appearance, even though you couldn’t do much about the dark circles under your eyes, you stepped back out and checked your phone, just in case your dad had messaged you. Aside from a bunch of missed calls from the forbidden phone number, there was nothing, but the time had you doing a double take.

It was almost eight o’clock. Three hours after you’d been supposed to meet Jumin for lessons, and a whole lot later than you’d thought it was.

You would just have to come up with an excuse for your dad later…

You set your phone down beside your purse and stood, stretching to loosen up a body still stiff from sleeping in a strange position. As if unable to withstand its magnetic pull, your eyes wandered to the grand piano dominating the living room. Maybe you could play for a few minutes before the lesson began?

Just then, Jumin returned from inside his office. “I’d like to take a few minutes to wash up and change. Please make yourself at home. You may, of course, use the piano in the meantime, if you need to prepare for our lesson.”

Your eyes must have lit up at his words, because the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips as, after your nod, he disappeared towards the master bedroom.

Not wasting any time, you seated yourself on the music stool and lifted the cover, brushing your fingertips over the smooth keys with reverent admiration. The last time you’d touched it, you hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to marvel at the instrument’s beauty. But now that it was right under your hands, you could pay it the tribute it deserved.

It was indeed a magnificent grand piano. You had never before had the chance to get this up close and personal with an instrument of this caliber before, let alone touch it.

But now, you would finally get to play on it, too.

Unable to resist any longer, you hastily retrieved your music book from your purse and launched straight into bringing your personal composition to life.

You played the entire piece as it was first, letting the melody permeate the empty space around you like tendrils of a fledgling breeze stirring up stagnant air. After hearing how it sounded as a whole, you repeated the parts you’d been having trouble with, until the out of place notes grew obvious, announcing their flaw to your ears now that they escaped the muteness of being caged on paper.

It was like reading a text, when your brain automatically started highlighting the important parts after you’ve skimmed over it for the third time. At some point, you could hear which tones were wrong and knew where to change the tempo or mood to fix the overall tune.

Barely fifteen minutes after you’d begun noting down corrections in your music book, you were playing the revised version of your composition when Jumin reentered the living room behind you. As you let the last few notes of the melody fade, he crossed behind you to stand beside the piano, now in casual pants and a soft v-neck sweater. Judging by his damp hair, he must have taken a shower too.

Feeling much more centered after what, to you, was essentially a therapeutic experience, you closed your music book with a dreamy smile. It had only been a week since you’d last played, but with how your stress and anxiety had been piling up lately, touching a piano again was akin to the relaxation and relief a full-body massage after weeks of hard physical labor.

Beside you, Jumin ran a hand through his hair, the water drops clinging to the glistening strands catching the light. “You compose your own music?”

Suddenly embarrassed, since it was the first time you’d ever played one of your creations in front of someone, you gave a slow nod. “It needed some improvement, but I think it’s done now…what do you think?” You didn’t know why you were anxious for his opinion, holding your breath as you nervously searched his face.

Instead of answering right away, he reached for your music book and flipped it open to the page marked for the piece you’d been playing. “How long have you been doing this for?” The question was almost off-hand, his eyes gliding over the arrangement of notes and staves as if he was reading a business report.

Blinking, you watched him leaf through your book, past the last page of the relevant piece, looking over your other compositions as well. “I wrote my first piece when I was nine. Why?”

You wondered if he was actually as well versed in music as he made it seem, or if he was pretending. But…he didn’t seem like the type of person to put on an act. Then again, he’d said he knew how to play, so it made sense for him to know how to read sheet music.

Still…you couldn’t get a read on him. He was so guarded with his expressions and words, constantly acting as if in the middle of crucial business negotiations. He betrayed none of his thoughts or inner musings to the world, lest someone try to take advantage of his state of mind and tilt the odds in their favor.

“You’re quite talented.”

Staggered by the unexpected compliment, you felt your face flush with delight, and a little bit of embarrassment. You hadn’t thought that hearing those words from him would make you so happy. “Th-thank you.” You accepted the book when he handed it to you, bounding to your feet to go put it back in your purse. You wouldn’t risk forgetting it here. You’d lose your mind if you did.

That done, you returned to stand beside the grand piano, glancing up at Jumin. “So, uh…shall we get started?”

He nodded at your words. “The food should arrive shortly, but we can just take a break then.”

“Great!” Overcome with nervous anticipation, followed by a sudden wave of enthusiasm, you clapped your hands together. “I suggest we start by having you play something. I’d like to hear you play, maybe a few of your favorite pieces. Let’s say it’s a type of skill evaluation. I need to hear you play to get a feel for what your problem is, to know what to work on with you. Just go for it, I’d say, about thirty seconds of each piece to start off, back to back…” You noticed that you were rambling a little, and pressed your lips together to keep the nervous habit in check as you nudged him towards the stool. Your expected performance as a teacher had your nerves on edge.

He told you his picks beforehand, wanting to make sure that you had at least heard them before. As it turned out, you were familiar with them all.

And thus, your first lesson began.

For a few minutes, you just let him play, listening and watching intently.

His abilities exceeded your expectations. He hit the right notes and chords, in accurate combinations, at the correct tempo and with the proper emphasis. His technical skill was near perfect.

But, much like someone who held a speech by merely reading the words off of note cards, he wasn’t emotionally invested. His eyes followed his hands’ movements, calculating and planning ahead at a rhythmic level what keys to play next, and not at all feeling the piece’ mood or the music's longing to merge with the emotions of the person playing it before flowing out into the world.

In short: His heart wasn’t in it. And judging by the fact that it continued through every single piece he played, he truly didn’t seem to know how to change that.

You let him play for several uninterrupted minutes, even going beyond the pieces he had announced, before signaling for him to come to an end. “Your technique is immaculate, but holy hell, how many pieces do you have memorized?”

His fingers stilled, his eyes unfocusing as if he was going over them in his head.

“Stop that, I didn't mean for you to actually count the damn pieces you know by heart.” You rolled your eyes, tapping a finger onto the glossy surface of the instrument with a wry smile. “What I was saying is, you play outstandingly well, but your interaction with the instrument is cold and impersonal. Like a business relationship.” Hah! You were proud of yourself for coming up with an analogy he would be able to work with. “You see it as a mere tool, but the piano isn't what produces emotion. YOU are. The piano only gives them back in the form of sound.”

Flustered by the intense focus in his eyes as he listened to you explain, you started pacing back and forth along the piano’s edge. “Sure, every composition has a certain emotional message to convey, but that's why no two pianists play the same melody in the same way. Each individual adds their own emotions and experiences into the piece to make it their own. Therefore, the music comes not from the piano, it comes from you!”

You glanced back just long enough to make sure his attention was still on you, despite the drawn-out explanation. “If you don't let the music pour out of your heart, your soul even…the instrument can't work any magic for you. You need to put your feelings into your hands, feel the keys under your fingers, and coax the music out of your soul.” Nodding firmly to emphasize your words, you pointed at the instrument in question, caught up in the heat of talking about something you were passionate about.

“It’s not just a tool. You have to…uhm…” You worried your lower lip with your teeth, trying to arrange the thoughts flitting around your head into sensible sentences. “...Oh! I got it. Think of your connection with the piano, while you play, as a symbiotic process. One half alone can’t weave any magic by itself. Both sides have to contribute for it to be successful.” Pleased with the way you’d managed to put your abstract thoughts into words, you turned to face Jumin again. “Does that make sense?”

Looking down at the keys in front of him, he nodded slowly, as if still contemplating your explanation. “It does…”

“Great! How about you give it a try, then?” Huh, this was going better than expected. “Try a single melody this time.” You couldn’t read what was going on in the depths of his dark eyes, yet anticipation swelled inside you when he placed his hands on the keys once more.

Music filled the air…but there was no life to it still, no flavor. Like he was withholding his emotions.

Maybe you had underestimated how difficult this would be. He had likened his skill to a robot’s, after all.

With a soft sigh, you poked his shoulder to make him stop playing. “What do you think of when you're playing?”

At the frown creasing his forehead, you couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at you already, or if it was just the face he made when concentrating. “Obviously, the progression of the keys and tones.”

You shook your head. “Wrong. In order for you to give justice to the piece you're playing, you have to match your mood to it. If it's a happy piece, you think about happy times in your life and pour the emotions it evokes into the music. If it's melancholic, you draw inspiration from the dark moments, the sad and painful ones. If it's an intense, energetic melody, you think back to instances where you were overtaken by anger, or strong excitement.”

You started pacing again, your hand gliding over the surface of the instrument as you trailed it along beside you. “You can't just hit the keys in the order and combinations you memorized. You have to let your fingers work the keys like you're rifling through the many files and folders in the drawers of your soul, to feed the piano all the documents you signed your name on with your heart's blood.”

This time, his face indicated obvious confusion, along with a hint of impatience. “So, what is it that I’m required to do?”

It seemed like your flowery words were wasted on him. If he had a hard time accessing his emotions, you would start him off with something easier first. “Try playing with your eyes closed. Choose a piece you know really well, then play without looking at the keys. Try to feel the notes as they come, instead of thinking about them in advance…”

Several fruitless attempts later, the doorbell rang.

“Keep going, I’ll get it.” Waving him on, you turned towards the door.

But he rose with a shake of his head and grasped your shoulders, gently pushing you onto the piano stool instead. “You play now. I have to get my wallet.” Ignoring your protests, he ducked briefly into his bedroom, then went to answer the door.

Damn. There go your efforts to pay for the meal.

With a sigh, you decided to settle the bill with him later and started a languid, flowing melody, losing yourself in the way the notes burbled along like water in a small creek. Monotonous pieces of that kind were best to get your creativity running. Now that you’d fixed your composition from before, you were itching to start on a new one. So you let your fingers do the work as your mind drifted off, thinking about what tunes you wanted to put down on paper next…

“Dinner is served.”

You jumped at Jumin’s sudden presence behind you, the melody derailing into a bunch of misplaced tones as your startled hand struck the wrong keys.

Pressing a hand to your chest on a deep, steadying inhale to calm your jumpy nerves, you lowered the fallboard and rose from the stool. You’d gotten so carried away, you had completely forgotten that you weren’t alone at home but a guest at somebody else’s house.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got too absorbed…” You waved off his words with an embarrassed laugh, avoiding his eyes as he walked you to the kitchen, where the food was laid out.

It looked more like a feast than a meal for two.

Slack-jawed at the spread of sushi dishes awaiting you on the dining table, you didn’t even notice how he pulled out a chair for you. “That’s…a lot. I don’t think we’ll be able to finish it all.”

“I wasn’t aware of your preferences, so I ordered a bit of everything.” Jumin said it in a matter-of-fact way, as if it was natural to buy the entire menu when you didn’t know what to get someone. After making sure you were seated comfortably, he took the chair opposite yours, picking up a pair of fancy metal chopsticks instead of the disposable wooden ones that usually came with delivery food. “Please, help yourself.”

The first bite of succulent fish over perfectly cooked, vinegared rice told you that, had you succeeded in footing the bill, it probably would have cost you half a month’s salary.

But, God, did it taste good.

You’d had sushi before, more than once, but never of this quality or variety.

Jumin encouraged you to try several types of fish you had never even seen before, draped over rice, rolled in seaweed, or on their own as fresh sashimi slices dipped in citrus-y soy sauce and wasabi. There was even Japanese-style eel, grilled to perfection and slathered in a thick, savory-sweet glaze that had your taste buds doing a happy dance.

The two of you ate quietly for a while, savoring the food, until the prolonged silence began feeling awkward to you. Just when you were about to strike up a conversation, however, you noticed him slow down, rolling the chopsticks back and forth between his fingers, like he’d forgotten he was in the middle of having dinner.

It was how you imagined he might act during a meeting, absentmindedly twisting a pen in his hands as he considered an important business proposal.

Then his gaze landed on you, and you felt heat scorch your face over being caught staring at him like that.

“May I…ask you a question?”

You hadn’t expected those words. What could he possibly want to know? “…Sure.” Curious, you raised your eyes to his face, saw how he was watching you with an almost thoughtful look in his.

“It might be a little too personal…” He glanced away as if embarrassed, putting down his utensils as he spoke, only to pick them back up the next second.

Upon seeing him like that, you wondered what kind of personal question had him this preoccupied, almost restless, even.

So he did have some rare moments where he wasn’t calm and collected. It was unexpectedly cute…

A smile tugged at your lips, the awkwardness from before forgotten. “Friends get to be personal with each other. Ask away.”

“Very well.” He cleared his throat. Reaching out with his chopsticks, he grabbed the big piece of marinated eel you’d been eyeing and casually placed it on your plate. “Your love for music is obvious, and with your skill and potential, you could easily qualify for a full scholarship at any renowned music college. So…why is it that you’re in business school instead of letting your talent unfold?”

Chapter Text

You had expected him to ask about your circumstances sooner or later, but this particular question, you hadn’t anticipated.

As you pushed a lonely rice grain around on your plate, you thought about what to tell him. You didn’t really want to burden him with your messed up life story, or worse, make him pity you, but you felt that, since he was the one giving you the chance to make music again, he deserved to know the truth.

So you told him about your father’s unfortunate career outcome, and how it had led to his misguided efforts to suppress your love for music after carefully nurturing it in the first place. You left out the part about your mother, though, since it didn’t have to do with his question…and because you weren’t ready to talk about it yet, not after yesterday’s events.

“…For years, I kept trying to find a way to continue doing what I love behind his back. Until there was barely any time left until I’d graduate high school and I realized that I was going to miss out on choosing my own path because of him.” With a sigh, you swirled the glass of sparkling water he’d poured you in the middle of your story, watching the bubbly liquid churn like a tiny maelstrom. Much like your emotions did from recounting the past.

“But—being the willful, rebellious teenager that I was back then—I got cocky when my secret applications for a music scholarship went through, and, like a fool, I had to go and boast to my friends about being invited to auditions.” Going silent, you took a sip of your water, more to give yourself a break than to soothe your throat, dry from all the talking.

You'd had no intention to mention this particular incident, but the more you thought about it, the more you wanted someone to know. After enduring it for years, how your dad selfishly kept the music to himself and forbid you to practice or even just play his piano for fun, always finding new ways to limit your contact with the thing you loved…what he’d done on that day had been the proverbial last straw.

And now, you were desperate for someone to be on your side for once, to understand why a part of you couldn’t help but hate your dad after that day. And still did.

“It was my fault to begin with, for thoughtlessly blurting it out in class, but when I thought about it later, it must have been one of his clients or their parents who mentioned it to him. As a private music teacher, some of my friends from school who lived in our neighborhood had lessons with him as well, you know?” You chanced a quick peek at Jumin as you spoke, found him watching you with a look of unreadable intensity in his dark eyes.

As usual, you had no idea what he was thinking. It was kind of unfair how he wasn’t giving you the slightest hint of a reaction when you were basically laying your soul bare in front of him…

“Anyways, my dad found out about the auditions…and somehow, he did something to get them to rescind my invite.” To this day, you didn’t know how he’d done it. No explanation in any of the rejection letters that had come in the following days, just vague excuses from every single college that had previously invited you to audition, telling you to please disregard any prior communication.

But you’d known it was him. You’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d handed you the envelopes.

“I went on strike after that. I didn’t tell him why, but I took a break after graduating, spending my time putting all my chaotic feelings down in my music book and working every part-time job I could find. Naive younger me was determined to save up enough money to be able to pay the tuition fees myself after my chance at a scholarship fell through.” You let out a short laugh suffused with bitterness as you thought back to that time you’d been fresh out of high school, thinking the world was an easy place. “It took me a while to realize that college cost more than I could scratch together even after two years of countless odd jobs. So, to do something useful with my time and to get rid of my dad’s lingering suspicion, I enrolled for business classes, and he was more than glad to pay for those, thinking I had finally given up on my dream.”

Although you weren’t hungry anymore, you ate the piece of eel Jumin had given you, chewing the bite of tender, glazed fish and crunchy seaweed with slow deliberation. “My objective is still the same, though. I’m saving up for my own tuition. If I happen to clinch a business major on the way, even better. At least I’ll have something to fall back on if my dad’s fears prove true.”

You washed the story down with the rest of your carbonated water, the bursting bubbles pricking your tongue with the sensation of a hundred tiny bites. “That’s why I was all over your piano the other day when you walked in. I couldn’t resist the temptation after going through withdrawal for that long.” The words were filled with obviously artificial cheer, your embarrassed smile further debasing your already halfhearted attempt to brighten up the mood. “And that’s the story of why, at twenty-two, I’m still only in my second year of college, and that not even for the program of my choice. What do you think? Could be straight out of a drama, right?”

And all that without counting in the headache-inducing mess of your mother’s betrayal…

Jumin had calmly finished his meal without interrupting your story, and gracefully dabbed at his lips with a napkin. Then, after refilling both your glasses, he finally spoke. “First of all, while I can’t speak for his talent or skill, I will say that your father was being entirely irrational in his assumption that your career in music would fail just because his did.”

There it was, the understanding and support you’d been longing for. “Right? I mean, what kind of logic is that? It’s like…it’s like declaring all bodies of water off-limits because, sometimes, people drown.”

Across from you, Jumin’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “An interesting analogy, but I suppose you’re not wrong. Although we must not forget the terrible threat of shark attacks…“ He said it in such a deadpan way that you didn’t catch the clumsy attempt at a joke at first.

“Exac—…” When your brain finally registered his words, your jaw dropped. “Jumin, did you just…are you making fun of me?”

Honestly, you didn’t even know what you were more shocked about. The fact that he actually had a sense of humor, or that he was using it to mock you.

As he took a drink of his water, his eyes sparkled with withheld laughter over the rim of his glass. “I would never.”

A not very ladylike snort escaped you at that, and you reached for your own glass to hide the grin breaking out over your face. So, the eternally poker-faced Jumin Han could crack jokes, huh? Maybe this friendship wasn’t as hopeless as you’d initially thought…

As if at a loss about what to do after your conversation derailed like that, the not so poker-faced man sitting opposite you cleared his throat. “To return to the topic at hand…Thank you for answering my question and sharing your personal matters with me. I would like to offer my assistance as a friend by covering the college expenses for you, so please go ahead and enroll…”

The meaning of those casually spoken words hit home just as you were in the middle of taking another sip. Your ensuing gasp opened up the wrong pipe, causing you to cough and wheeze as you choked on your beverage.

Desperate for air, you thumped your own chest until you could somewhat breathe again. “Jumin, no…” Tears of strain blurred your vision as you gaped at him in helpless shock, your chest heaving.

He stared back almost as wide-eyed, swiftly handing you a napkin. “Are you alright?”

You took a few seconds to make sure your airways were clear of liquid, wiping your mouth and blinking away the moisture in your eyes. “I’m good…” Carefully this time, you drank some water to soothe your sore throat. “Uh…just to let you know, Jumin…Friends don’t offer to pay each other’s astronomical tuition fees, just like they don’t casually gift each other grand pianos. That’s just something you don’t do, among friends. Hell, not even among family.” A firm nod to emphasize your hoarse statement.

“They don’t?” He sounded genuinely surprised, raising a hand to rub his chin pensively. “But the presents my father and I exchange are usually more expensive than that single instrument. Why is that an inappropriate gift for a friend?”

You almost rolled your eyes. This guy was so oblivious…

“Because most people don’t have that amount of extra money laying around to spend on friends. Not even if they wanted to. And something like that is just too big of a favor to do someone, especially if they can’t reciprocate.” Since neither of you seemed interested in eating more, you offhandedly started packing the leftovers back into the plastic dishes they’d come in.

Jumin helped, and when you volunteered to wash the dishes the two of you had used, he simply stood next to you after putting the leftovers in the fridge, and began drying whatever you handed him with a dishcloth.

“Then…what about letting a friend use one of your belongings? Something the friend doesn’t have.”

“That’s fine. It’s like letting a friend borrow something of yours, knowing they’ll give it back at some point.” You finished rinsing the chopsticks and found a second, clean towel to dry your hands on.

“Good.” This time, the smile he flashed you was more substantial, with an edge of satisfaction. “Because I want you to use my piano whenever you like. It’s the least I can do to compensate for the lessons you’re giving me. And your friendship.”

Before you could protest—did you even want to?—he stepped into your space to wipe his own hands on the towel you were still holding.

All of a sudden, he was so close, you had trouble thinking clearly.

Damn. Had he been that good-looking all along? Even at that proximity, his pale skin proved flawless—even nicer than yours—his eyes a translucent, almost purplish gray that seemed to reflect a dozen other hues when it caught a ray of light.

Standing close together like that, you noticed for the first time how tall he was. Although he wasn’t wearing a suit, his presence was imposing, a natural grace evident in the very way he conducted himself.

It made him beautiful, in a detached kind of way, much like a piece of art displayed in an exhibition. Both drew the eye, making it hard to look away once you’d caught sight of them…

The moment passed when, hands now thoroughly dried, he turned to stack the clean dinnerware back into the cupboards and drawers, leaving you reeling.

“So the next time you’re early, or I’m delayed, please let yourself in and play to your heart’s content.” Unaware of the mess he’d left your thoughts in, he kept on talking. “I’m not here much in the daytime during the week, except to feed Elizabeth The 3rd and, as of late, for our lessons. But you’re welcome to stop by even on the weekends. Consider this your secret refuge where you have a piano waiting for you to play it.”

Something stirred in your chest at the unexpected kindness of his proposition, leaving you at a loss for words. Even when he turned back to face you, you just stared at him in silent awe until, out of nowhere, something brushed around your ankles, making you jump approximately three feet high in fright.

“Careful.” Jumin grasped your waist to steady you when your start had you inelegantly bouncing off his chest.

You felt like one of those cartoon characters getting scared so badly, they accidentally hopped into the arms of whoever stood next to them.

Jumin’s aforementioned furry housemate threw you a contemptuous glare as she moved on to rub against her owner’s legs instead. At least he’s not making a fool of himself, her blue eyes seemed to say.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your face burn as you put some distance between yourself and Jumin. Annoyed at your own clumsiness, you huffed out a breath and pushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear to mask your embarrassment. “I should be used to that. My cat does it to me all the time.”

Jumin’s eyes seemed to light up at that. “You’re a cat lover as well?”

“Yup. My Vic’s a rescued stray though, not pure-bred like I’m guessing Elizabeth The 3rd is…” Your eyes fell on the clock mounted to the kitchen wall.

Quarter past ten. You’d get an earful if you got home any later than that.

Becoming the single parent of a pubescent 14 year old girl had resulted in your dad being overprotective to the point that, once you’d reached adulthood, his way of looking after you had the tendency to infringe upon your independence and liberties, even now as a 22 year old.

Since he was still your father, however, and since he refused to let you chip in with paying rent, as he considered it his responsibility to provide for you until you had your own home, the least you could do was to respect that he didn’t want you coming home too late. There wasn’t exactly a curfew for you to live by, but you’d agreed on at least letting him know when you’d be home later than expected, which you hadn’t done today. The way things had gone with your unforeseen nap and Jumin’s holdup at work, followed by the short piano lesson and getting carried away talking over dinner…you had plain forgotten to text your dad that you’d be late. So, you already knew to expect a talking-to later.

With a sigh, you turned back to your host. Spending time with him had turned out to be more enjoyable than you’d expected, so the fact that you had to leave already…it bothered you more than it should have. You shouldn’t feel this reluctant to leave…considering your next lesson would probably be as soon as tomorrow.

“I’m sorry to cut the evening short, Jumin, but it’s getting pretty late. I should get going…”

He looked up from where he’d hunkered down to pet Elizabeth The 3rd, his eyes gleaming with obvious affection for his pet as she gleefully purred under his hands. “Give me a moment to grab my coat. I will take you home.”

Oh. But…why did that surprise you when he’d been acting like the perfect gentleman the entire night? “You don’t have to do that. It’s too far and too late to trouble you with that—”

“Nonsense. Besides, the distance of your home and the late hour are the exact reasons why I can’t sit by and allow you to take the bus. The least I can do for you, my friend, is to have my chauffeur drive you home.” One of Jumin's eyebrows rose in challenge. “Or do you intend to tell me that friends don’t do that for each other?” You ignored the good-natured, though smug, jab of your own words being used against you. And of course he had his own private chauffeur…

“You really don't need to trouble him at this hour, just for me…”

Yet again, your halfhearted protest met the iron wall that was Jumin's will, fixed in place by his unerring disposition for planning and preparedness. “No need to worry. Driver Kim has been on standby ever since I alerted him to the possibility of his services being needed tonight. I anticipated that our plans might encounter a delay because of me.” He gave you a knowing look, a smirk flirting with the corners of his lips.

Thoroughly bested, you could do nothing but scowl at the smug man in front of you.

This guy seemed to pick up on things fast…just not when it came to your lessons.

Still, you were curious about one thing. “Do you never drive yourself?” Was it preference or necessity that called for him to have a personal driver? Or perhaps something else entirely?

For the first time since meeting him, Jumin averted his eyes as he responded. Despite your surprise at his reaction, you didn't miss the way his pale complexion seemed to warm all of a sudden. “I…prefer not to, unless I absolutely have to.”

Was that a blush? Had you caught Jumin Han actually, genuinely, embarrassed about something?

Before you could process this experience, or the new piece of information you'd gleaned from it—that, apparently, he was a bad driver—Jumin moved.

Rising from his crouch, he brushed off a few white cat hairs clinging to his clothes and nudged you out of the kitchen, still avoiding your gaze. “Go, grab your belongings, I will only need a minute.”

You proceeded to collect your jacket, phone, and purse, making sure your music book was tucked safely inside.

Still, you remained in awe about your latest discovery. The more you chewed it over, the more strangely endearing did it feel to you, to know there was something he wasn't good at, or didn't like doing. And the fact that telling someone about it had flustered him so.

You felt the need to reassure him there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

True to his words, he caught up to you by the door soon after, stopping to slip on a coat and his shoes.

Huh. Funny how you hadn’t noticed once that he’d been wearing a pair of cozy looking slippers. Until now, you hadn’t been able to imagine him in anything but the polished patent leather shoes that went hand in hand with his suits. It didn’t help that, even in casual clothing, he held himself with almost formal poise, his demeanor restrained and carefully controlled even then. As if he wore an invisible dress shirt with a starched collar and a tie at all times…

Your musings had you so distracted that you didn’t notice him reaching for something mounted on the wall above your head, until the lapel of his coat brushed your face, jolting you back to the present.

The present in which his chest was all you could see as he stretched to retrieve the item, his weight braced on one arm against the wall beside your head so as to not crush you.

“My apologies…” Wallet in hand, he retreated and pulled the door open for you, somehow overlooking the way your burning face had to be displaying more shades of red than a flower shop on Valentine’s Day.

What was wrong with you? Not even the few times Shin had kissed you in the course of your short relationship had left you that flustered…

You stayed a step behind Jumin as the two of you walked to the elevator, belatedly noticing the plastic bag in his hand as you willed your frantic heartbeat to calm down. “Oh! Did you try the cookies I left yesterday?” In your frenzy to hide your embarrassment, you accidentally blurted out the question when it randomly popped into your head.

He briefly glanced over at you as he went for the button to summon the elevator. “I should have known it was you who brought them. What bakery did you buy them from? I’d like to sample some more of their desserts…”

You froze at his words. “Oh…those were homemade.”

“I see.”

The arriving elevator kept you from seeing his expression. When the car started descending after you both had stepped inside, you chanced a peek at him. “Did you…like them?”

He was silent for a moment, as if pondering what to say, his eyes locked on your face through the reflection on the elevator door’s glossy surface. “I’ve never had these ‘cookies’ before, but…I found yours quite to my liking.”

You couldn’t not smile at him at the feeling of near-giddy satisfaction his words evoked in you, warming you from the inside. “I’m glad you did. I’ll save you a share the next time I make something. I may not be a baker by trade, but I’ll make you acknowledge me as your favorite pastry chef!”

It was meant half in joke, because your mundane creations likely couldn’t surpass the fine dining desserts he was used to, no matter how good your baking skills were. You still decided to bring him a portion of whatever future pastries you’d come up with, if just to see the look on his face when he tried them…

If he hadn’t been familiar with cookies before, you’d make it your new mission to introduce him to the world of common sweet treats, a field you had outstanding expertise in.

That was because, in your experience, nothing could mend a broken heart or dull emotional pain as well as sugar…then, your mind suddenly piped up, shouldn’t it also be able to accomplish the opposite, like draw out emotions buried behind a protective layer, or ten?

The saying ‘the way to someone’s heart is through the stomach’ seemed promising enough a conjecture, and might prove helpful in your endeavor to get Jumin in touch with his emotional side.

Or maybe you were just using all of this as an excuse to bake more and eat more sweets yourself.

But…if it got the job done, did the reason really matter?

~~~

Jumin blindsided you by joining you in the backseat, after Driver Kim, a friendly older gentleman, opened the door of the sleek black sedan to help you inside. Neither of you spoke much on the way, except for when you gave directions on how to get to your apartment once you were in your neighborhood. Driver Kim seemed well versed in the area, professionally silent though he was.

As you waved goodbye after they had dropped you off at the curb, Jumin surprised you again, lowering the window on his side and calling you over to him.

You walked back the few steps you’d taken. “Yes?”

“…forgot something,” you heard him say, his voice sounding muffled as he strained to retrieve something from the front seat. The next moment, he handed you the plastic bag he’d brought with him earlier. A glimpse inside revealed the contents to be the leftovers of the meal you’d shared, almost enough to feed another two people.

“No—”

“Give me your phone for a moment.” He cut you off before you could say anything about the food. With a smirk that reminded you of Vic, he held out his open palm through the gap in the window, rolled back up to leave just enough space for a hand to fit through.

As if he’d known you’d try to give back the food he already hadn’t let you contribute to the bill for.

“That sneaky…” The man definitely spent too much time with his cat.

Muttering curses under your breath, you gave him your phone anyways, glowering as you watched him add his number to your contacts.

No matter, you’d just have to buy him dinner next time.

“Give me a call when you’re inside, so I can save your number as well. This way we can let each other know if something comes up again, in case one of us is delayed or has to cancel.” His eyes still twinkled with that light that said he’d outplayed you when the car pulled away and disappeared into the night’s traffic, leaving you standing there, speechless, your phone and an expensive bag of food in your hand.

Fortunately, your luck seemed to have held, because you didn’t encounter your dad once you entered your apartment. He had a habit of going to bed pretty early, so he either hadn’t stayed up to wait for you to return, or he was occupied in his office.

That meant that, in case he did end up bringing it up tomorrow, if you played your cards right, at least you wouldn’t be getting a lecture today. Phew.

After putting away the food, you tiptoed to your room, taking extra care to be quiet as to not alert your dad, should he still be up. Despite the nap you’d had, the eventful day left you tired, but you weren’t ready for bed just yet. Suppressing a yawn, you washed up and changed into your sleeping attire, then, excited to go over what you’d achieved today, you pulled out your music book.

Like a mental recording, the revised melody played in your head from start to finish as you leafed through the corrected version of your composition. Your lips blossomed into a smile of delight when you recalled Jumin’s praise.

“You’re quite talented.”

Humming softly to yourself, you opened a clean page and took down the rough succession of notes for a melody that had been swirling around in your head ever since hearing Jumin play the piano. You didn’t know where you were going with this yet, but it seemed that your mind had decided that Jumin was to be your latest muse…

Just when you put away your sheet music and got into bed, you remembered his parting words to you. Mildly curious to know what he had saved himself as, you took out your phone to check—not paying any mind to the countless missed calls from a certain unwanted number—but were disappointed to find his contact under his plain full name. “You’re no fun, Jumin Han.”

So unimaginative…then again, you didn’t know what you’d expected, considering he had literally cracked a single joke only in all the hours spent together today…

Pouting, you briefly considered changing the display name to something else, but ended up dismissing that thought fairly quickly. You did intend to change it at some point…as soon as you came up with a proper nickname for him.

Highly amused by the mischievous thoughts running through your head, you nestled down under the covers and hit the call button. Your intention had been to hang up after letting it ring a few times, just to make sure the call went through properly.

What you didn’t expect, was for him to pick up on the second ring.

“Jumin Han.” A cool, succinct greeting. Very business-appropriate.

Just like you had imagined how he would answer the phone…now why the hell had he actually answered!?

“Oh, uhm…Hi. It’s Y/N.”

“Hello, Y/N.” There was very little background noise, so you had no way to tell if he was still out or back at his apartment already.

You were getting fidgety for some reason. “You said to…to call so you’d have my number?”

“Yes, thank you. I will save your number.” The trill of a bell echoed through the phone, like the chime of an elevator reaching its destination. He must have just arrived home.

“That’s, uh, good.” You cleared your throat when he didn’t respond, heard the distinctive sound of his door being unlocked as he entered his apartment.

Plenty of background noise now. But the human on the other end of the line? Still silent. Awkward…

This was terrible. You’d known he wasn’t much of a small talker, but at least face to face you could somewhat read the mood by what he did—or didn’t—show in his expressions. Yet, connected over the phone like this, you were completely blind, and it didn’t seem to occur to him to fill the visual blanks for you.

More silence.

You were about to bid him farewell and hang up when he finally said something.

“We forgot to confirm the details about the next lesson. Is tomorrow suitable for you?”

You didn’t let him hear your sigh of relief when it came. “Sure. The same time we were supposed to meet today?”

“That would be ideal. I will make sure not to be delayed in the office again.” You could hear Elizabeth The 3rd’s purrs through the phone. He had to be lavishing his attentions on her again.

“Uh-huh.” Rolling your eyes, you lifted the edge of the blanket when your own furry friend came to join you in bed.

Victor liked it warm and cozy. The best way to achieve that was to steal your body heat. Sometimes you wondered if he even saw you as anything but a source of warmth and food and cuddles on demand.

Inspired by your train of thought, you made a mental note to ask Jumin what he considered Elizabeth The 3rd to be. Somehow, you didn’t think he’d call her a ‘friend’ like you did Victor, mutually applicable or not.

He had called her his princess back when he’d first introduced her to you. But if she was his princess, then, was he, perhaps…her human slave?

You had to hold your breath to contain your amused snort.

“Then, I will see you tomorrow.” He sounded like this was his equivalent of ‘bye-bye’.

“Jumin?”

A pause. Then, “…Yes?”

“I…I had fun today.” You felt like you had to tell him. “And thank you for dinner. I’m looking forward to our coming lessons…”

When he spoke next, the words sounded softer, like he was holding back a smile. “I’m glad to hear that. Good night, Y/N.”

You, too, smiled. “Good night, Jumin.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The remainder of the week passed by in a blur. You had lessons with Jumin almost every day, would eat dinner with him occasionally afterwards, and managed to kick off your stealthy campaign of getting him acquainted with your kind of desserts by bringing some of your favorite sweets for him to try—starting with a box of the powdered doughnuts you had a serious weakness for.

The man had the audacity to stop after a single bite of the sugary, doughy goodness, calling them something as preposterous as ‘too sweet’.

You almost rescinded his friend status right then and there.

But the more time you spent with him, the more you learned to appreciate his keen mind, quick wit, and not inexistent sense of humor.

You also found out that, despite the multitude of physical and intellectual assets he possessed, he did have some imperfections. Which was something you’d normally be thankful for…if it didn’t affect the one thing you’d been trying to help him improve in.

And thus, your class-free days of post-exam relaxation ended without much meaningful progress in your lessons of How to incorporate emotions when playing the piano.

Then you had classes to attend again, somehow having to now fit work, school and your sessions with Jumin into your schedule.

It was tiring, especially with the ridicule and the malicious attitudes you still encountered on campus, and you had to cancel some of the lessons now and then to get assignments done, but the precious moments you did get to spend with Jumin’s piano were a powerful remedy.

Your mother still tried to contact you regularly, but by now it was a normal part of your day to see the missed calls on your phone. You became paranoid at some point, fearing she’d just show up on your doorstep eventually, if you continued ignoring her calls. But when a second week passed with no trace of her, you found yourself dismissing those intrusive thoughts as well.

Gradually, you grew accustomed to your new routine, finding ways to maintain a healthy work-school-life balance while simultaneously settling your dad’s suspicions over why you suddenly spent way more time outside the house than before.

So, the days passed by quietly and nothing out of the ordinary happened…until the midterm exam results were released, and things changed again.

That morning, you heard the buzz of voices even before you entered the corridor with the pin board all kinds of official notices were usually posted up on. The murmurs swelled upon your arrival, and when you spotted your name high up in the list of results sorted according to grade, you realized why everyone was whispering about you.

You’d gotten full marks. And Shin’s entry was nowhere near the top of the list.

Now the snippets you caught of the hushed conversations around you made sense. Such results meant that you had to have aced the exam without his help, or his grade wouldn’t be in the average range. After all, why would he help someone study if he himself wasn’t any better, or smarter, or academically superior in any way?

And if he had taken advantage of his teacher brother to get his hands on the answers for your sake, it made no sense for him not to have used them for himself as well. Especially since cheating on the test seemed more necessary for him than you, as his mediocre results had proven.

And that was how your reputation was washed clean and Shin became the number one topic on campus instead. Because, now that everything he’d been spreading about his ex had turned out to be blatant, fabricated lies, he had to be the one truly at fault.

By the time you switched classrooms for your second morning lecture, the wildest stories were already making the rounds about Shin. You were once again reminded of how shockingly fast the rumor mill worked in your faculty…

During that same lecture, your phone flashed with an incoming text message from Nami, one of the people you’d been close friends with before Shin had poisoned their minds against you.

As you unlocked your phone, you remembered that you’d noticed her watching you more than a couple of times the past week, stealing careful glances at you during classes and even at break time. Back then, it had seemed like she’d been trying to come up with an excuse or a reason to approach you. Apparently she’d finally found it, now that everyone’s negative attention was no longer focused on you.

Can we talk? Lunch is on me. She had added an emoji making hopeful puppy eyes at you through the screen.

You looked up from the message and caught her gaze from where she sat across the room. With an exaggerated sigh that turned into an amused eye roll when she decided to mimic the emoji in real life, you gave her a stealthy thumbs up the moment the professor turned his back, and were rewarded with a beaming smile in return.

Wow, you hadn’t realized how much you had missed your friends until then. Part of you was hoping for a reconciliation, despite the ugly way most of them had bailed on you, without any second thought. You weren’t as averse to making up with them as you probably should have been—if anyone besides Nami even showed remorse—as long as they didn’t try to absolve themselves of the blame with lame excuses and rationalizations of their behavior.

You could accept a sincere apology, since real friends owned up to their mistakes. But you wouldn’t tolerate any empty words or euphemistic attempts to justify their errors. That would just mean you were giving them the opportunity to stab you in the back again when the next crisis came.

And you didn’t forgive repeat betrayals.

When lunch break finally rolled around, Nami was waiting for you at the door to the cafeteria. The two of you stood in line together to buy lunch, then found a table in a quieter part of the cafeteria that was rapidly filling up with what felt like the entire campus coming in to eat.

Sitting across from each other after not talking for over two weeks was a little awkward at first, until Nami reached across and placed a carton of dark chocolate milk on your tray, the kind she knew you liked because it was the only thing you ever got from the vending machines on campus.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You searched her face for signs of sincerity but found her hanging her head in shame. It didn’t seem like she was done talking yet, so you didn’t say anything and simply waited.

A moment later, Nami bit down on her trembling lower lip and took a deep breath. “It was dumb to believe his claims when I’ve been your friend for almost two years but only knew him in passing. He seemed so convincing at first…I shouldn’t have let him plant any doubts in my mind in the first place, but when I realized that he had to be lying, that you would never do something like that, I still acted like a coward and avoided you like the others. I guess I was scared that I’d get treated badly along with you…so I took the easy way out. I want to apologize for that. It was incredibly selfish of me to just turn my back on you when you were going through a hard time, just because I was afraid to get caught in the rain with you.”

It burst out of her in a rushed string of words she didn’t even seem to breathe in between. When she finally paused to fill her lungs, she glanced up at you with a dejected look on her face, her normally cheerful doe eyes dull without their usual spark. “So, I just wanted to say that I’m incredibly sorry for that. I know it was wrong to act like that, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but…the selfish part of me can’t help but hope that we can still be friends.”

Slowly, you reached for the chocolate milk she had brought you, and watched her anxiously play with the packaged bento in front of her as she waited for your response.

Nami So had been the first person you'd befriended back when your first year at college had begun.

Although you’d never been one to be easily intimidated, you had had trouble making friends with anyone at first and spent most of orientation week by yourself, as you weren’t among the lucky ones who entered college together with their classmates from high school.

Then, two weeks into the term, Nami had one day showed up in your classes, late due to having been hospitalized after an accident during the summer. Everyone had already formed friend groups by then. Except for you, who was still coming to terms with your enrolling in a business major instead of pursuing the music you so loved. Both your inner conflict and the belief that you were in the wrong place initially made for a hard time connecting with people who thought so differently than you did.

You’d been alone because you hadn’t felt like you belonged—until Nami had come along feeling as much as an outsider as you did.

The first time the two of you had talked, the thought that she seemed too soft and kindhearted for the cutthroat world of business had crossed your mind even before she told you that she felt uncomfortable there because it didn’t agree with her personality.

From the first impression you’d gotten of her, the shrinking manner in which she would ask for your notes on the lectures she’d missed during her absence, you had expected her to be meek, almost timid, an introvert overwhelmed by new situations. But she had surprised you by warming up to you quickly, and you soon realized that, though shy at first, she was easily one of the most cordial and amicable people you had ever known.

Her dream was to open her own flower shop, as she had cheerfully told you over a coffee after classes that first week. And although she was going to business school mostly to make her parents happy knowing she’d chosen a solid path in life, she remained optimistic that a business major might just help her achieve her dream later on. Because, wasn’t a flower shop a small business in its own right?

You couldn’t help but admire her way of thinking that was so unlike yours.

And at some point, you‘d come to realize that she was what you would never be, a better version of yourself. Someone who saw the positive sides in being selfless just to fulfill their parents’ wish.

Perfectly contradicting the bitter determination that drove you, to hold onto your own happiness and dreams no matter what your father said.

“Oh, I forgot.” Nami pulled you out of your thoughts when she dove for her bag. “This is for you.” She pulled out a tiny, adorable bouquet consisting of four flowers held together by colorful string.

A purple hyacinth, two chrysanthemum blossoms—one white and one yellow—and a neatly tied bunch of crimson and white basil flowers that you recognized more by scent than appearance. You knew what they symbolized, because Nami had spent many a day talking your ear off with one of her favorite topics: flower language.

A plea for forgiveness, friendship, sincerity, and hope. In that order, that’s what the flowers she was offering you stood for.

You couldn’t keep the smile from forming on your lips. “You’re too much, Nami So.” You laughed when you saw her making puppy eyes at you from across the table once again. “Fine, fine, you’re forgiven, okay? Now stop resorting to illicit methods to win me over and dig in. Lunchtime is halfway over and we haven’t eaten yet.”

A weight seemed to fall from your heart when she finally smiled, relief and a tentative joy at your words bringing back the light behind her eyes. “I had to do everything in my power to make you see that I’m serious. An apology alone wouldn’t cut it after the sins I’ve committed.”

You snorted, amused. “But still, flowers? I know you’re obsessed with them, but I haven’t even received flowers from a boy before!”

“I know.” A mischievous twinkle lit up the chocolate-y depths of her eyes. “That means I’m your first. So you have to forgive me.” Then her laughing expression changed to a solemn one as she carefully unwrapped a sweet bun she’d bought for dessert, one-handed. “But seriously. I’m extremely, very, super sorry and I swear I will never again break your trust.”

You rolled your eyes at Nami’s eternal habit of starting a meal with dessert before the actual food. She always did that…and it made you inexplicably happy to see her engage in her silly peculiarities in front of you again.

“The next time you’re pushed off a cliff like that—if it happens again—you better believe I’m jumping after you. Pinky promise.” She held up the finger in question, only to shake her head and wave the tiny bouquet she still held onto like a flag before finally handing it to you. “No, flower promise. I’m getting you clovers and violets next!”

Violets symbolized trustworthiness, as you recalled, and clovers stood for unbroken promise.

“No, no, no!” You wagged your finger to stop her, seeing how hyper excited she was getting once again. “No more flowers, please. People will get the wrong idea if you keep doing that.” You didn’t actually care what people would think, but she did. “Go give the flowers to your sweetheart, why are you wasting them on me?”

But despite your words, you were really happy about them. She might be the first person you had ever gotten flowers from, but with how important they were to her, it was more than a big deal that she was giving some to you. So you had no problem forgiving her after the heartfelt apology, and the obviously sincere regret she was feeling.

“Speaking of boys, I’m glad you and Shin aren’t together anymore.”

Her words had you glancing up from the food you had finally turned your attention to, after having safely stowed the flowers away in your bag. “Oh?”

Nami nodded firmly, using the back of the chopsticks to push her dark bangs from her eyes. “He’s a total douchebag. I mean, as if the drama and lies he made up about you weren’t indication enough already, I caught him making out with Sora in the hallways on the last day of midterms, and he was totally trying to put his hand down her shirt.”

That was barely a week after he had publicly broken up with you, and Sora Choi was another member of the friend group you had been part of before Shin’s betrayal.

“She wasn’t having it, but he didn’t stop until I kicked an empty soda can in their direction from behind the corner,” Nami continued. “Then he let go of her and hightailed it out of there like he was being chased by an angry bull. I asked Sora after, and she told me he was being pretty forceful and not letting a 'no' stop him.” She shook her head in disgust. “She said he promised her a 'good luck charm' for the exam if she played along. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. So yeah, if you ask me, you’re lucky he ended it when he did and didn’t try any of that with you.”

You decided not to correct her by mentioning that the reason for Shin’s petty breaking up with you had been your refusal to surrender yourself to precisely that kind of situation. You were done wasting your time and thoughts on him, so from now on, you wouldn’t even grant him the honor of mention by spilling to Nami how much of an asshole he’d actually been.

As she cheerfully chattered on while you two finished your lunch, bringing you up to speed on everything you’d missed during your time in social solitary, you secretly wondered how you had survived without her since before midterms. Compared to those stifling weeks on campus where everyone pointed fingers at you and whispered behind your back, having her by your side and people’s attention directed somewhere else felt like pure sunshine.

As if a bright spring morning had finally broken after the seemingly unending darkness of frigid winter nights.

~~~

Your reconciliation with Nami and the changes on campus brought with them a drastic improvement of your mood. That afternoon, when you once again showed up first for a lesson with Jumin and spent your time waiting for him on the piano, you found yourself playing a springy, animated tune full of happy notes that mimicked a child carefree skipping along beside its parents. Or maybe a cute baby goat gleefully bouncing over a lush, flower-covered meadow in the sunshine.

Thinking about the clumsy baby goat put an uninhibited grin on your face as your fingers moved with the beat of tiny, imaginary hooves on verdant grass.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” were Jumin’s greeting words when he entered following the fading final notes of your private performance.

He always did that, somehow showing up just at the end of one of the pieces you were playing. You were beginning to suspect that he was doing that on purpose on the days he wasn’t already home by the time you came. Could it be that he intentionally delayed himself to let you arrive before him, just so he could listen to you play, then burst in right around the end?

No, that wasn’t possible. Jumin was a serious workaholic, as you’d found out in the weeks since you’d first met him. He wouldn’t waste precious time like that when he could be working or efficiently doing something else productive.

“What, are you sick of my grumpy side already?” You gave him a cheery wave, looking on with a smile as he crossed the living room to deposit his briefcase in his office as usual.

“I never got to see your grumpy side,” he remarked dryly. “Only hear it. And although I wouldn’t say I’m sick of it, I am glad you seem to be in high spirits. Do play on while I take a moment to wash up.”

As he disappeared for a quick shower and change of clothes, you happily went back to painting the air a rainbow of sound infused with your 'high spirits'. In line with the routine the two of you had established, you got a few more minutes to play while he freshened up and switched his business persona of C&R Director Mr. Han for the still slightly awkward but ever improving, casual friend-Jumin—a side he hadn’t known he possessed until you’d started coaxing it out of him during the course of your lessons.

And it had coincidentally become your muse for the new piece you’d been working on over the past weeks. You just didn’t know yet where this unexpected inspiration would end up leading you…

His first words to you upon his return were expected. “Have you decided whether to apply for the scholarship yet?”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned around on the cushioned piano stool to face Jumin, your legs crossed beneath you. “I have not. And when will you stop nagging me about that?”

Dressed in more comfortable clothes now, he stood in the doorway of his bedroom while rubbing his damp hair dry with a towel. “It’s not nagging, and not until you do it.”

Oh, Director Jumin Han was opening up to you, alright. The first week of your lessons with him, you’d had to painstakingly search his facial expressions for any indication of what was going on in his head. At some point you’d started reminding him that you couldn’t read his mind, like his assistant Jaehee Kang seemed to be able to. You had briefly met her when she’d come over to pick up Elizabeth The 3rd once, since Jumin had told you she was the one who looked after the cat whenever he left on business trips.

The two of them barely exchanged words, and Jaehee still seemed to know exactly what Jumin wanted her to do. It was almost creepy how good she was at reading his cues, when you hadn’t even known they were cues in the first place.

Somehow, you had managed to get Jumin to talk to you more, mostly to avoid awkward silences and make communication easier, for the sake of your lessons as well as the deepening friendship between you two. But now that he was comfortable enough speaking his mind around you, he was growing more and more bold, and you weren’t yet sure if you liked it or not.

For example, that question about the scholarship. After you’d told him about your father’s meddling in your application process, he had let you know that he thought you should try applying again, and used every chance he got to urge you to consider his suggestion.

After all, since you were well into your business major, your father had no reason to suspect you were still holding on to your old ambitions, and even if he found out about it somehow, he had no legal right to interfere again now that you were of full age.

Jumin's reasoning was sound, and the argument that, if you scored a scholarship now, you wouldn’t have to spend any more time on the wrong career path while saving up to eventually follow your dreams, was very convincing…but tempting as it was to listen to him, something still held you back.

You didn’t know if it was the dreadful idea of your application being rejected, your fear of failing the auditions, or the recurring nightmare of your father’s smug and scornful I told you so after your own music career collapsed on top of your head like his had.

Whichever of those was responsible for the anxious reluctance filling you whenever Jumin brought it up, you didn’t know. But barely a day had passed without him mentioning it at least once, even if it was just an ambiguous text message he sent you about it. Funny enough, those usually came across more like a threat than the casual hint they were meant to be, since he hadn’t yet figured out how to use the emojis appropriate for the mood while texting.

At some point, you had even stopped giving excuses when he asked, constantly putting off having to face the reason behind your reservations. You kept telling yourself that it didn’t matter for now, that it wouldn’t matter as long as you weren’t going to take action…but what if it was your own cowardice that eventually caused you to miss your chance at happiness?

With a soft sigh, you pushed those thoughts out of your head and waved away the silent question in Jumin’s eyes. You became aware that he’d been waiting for you to speak, but you had no idea if he’d said anything else since your last exchange.

Since you also weren’t in the mood to discuss why you were so distracted, you simply got up from the music stool and beckoned him over to sit in your place. “Come on, we should get started. I have to be home by seven today, my dad’s insisting on another movie night.”

He seemed to miss spending time with you. Ever since starting your lessons with Jumin, you hadn’t been hanging out at home as much as you used to. Your dad believed you owed your busy afternoons to extracurricular activities on campus that turned into friendly get-togethers with your fellow students afterwards, as vaguely insinuated by you. He had therefore requested that you make an early getaway from post-club meetups once a week, so he’d get the chance for some quality time with his daughter.

Who would have thought that his plans for the two of you would involve a feast of takeout and Disney movies? Like back when you'd been a child and he would try to distract you from your mother’s absence with your favorite food and silly fairy tales.

You didn’t know why he wanted your time together to be like that. It might be that he just missed the old times, your habits together from before you'd grown into an adult too busy with work and school to do fun things with your father. Or maybe he thought that you were upset because your mother was trying to come back into your life and this was the only way that he knew how to give you comfort.

Those nights always felt surreal to you. There was an eerie sense of consistency to them, as if nothing had changed from back then. Both then and now, your mother wasn’t part of the picture, only you and your dad helping each other patch up the wounds she had left. Then and also now, you sensed your father’s despair for your future, and your own obstinacy to determine your own path.

Then and now as well, it was always more of a negative sentiment that connected you and your father. It was like the only difference were the years down the line, and it filled you with the terrible, foreboding dread that the two of you would end up forever trapped in this bitter struggle for control over your life.

Again, your thoughts were interrupted, the sound of a throat being cleared pulling you back to reality.

You blinked, and found Jumin’s face less than two inches away from yours, something akin to concern in those gray eyes that were so close you could have counted his lashes.

“You seem distracted. Are you not feeling well?” His low murmur had you jerking away from him like he’d jabbed you with a glowing poker.

Since you stood with the piano at your back, your frantic retreat had you nearly putting your butt down on the uncovered keyboard behind you. With a yelp that was drowned out by the dull c-sharp note your behind had accidentally struck, you jumped away from the instrument and the man it belonged to, feeling embarrassment scorch you to the tips of your ears.

“What are you coming so close for!? I’m alright!” Twisting on your heel, you fled into the kitchen, stuttering something about the brownies you’d brought with you today as an excuse for your escape.

He had no business invading your personal space with his perfect face like that, and your reaction to his proximity made no sense at all. Not when you were supposed to be just friends!

So why was it that he could get you so flustered with his mere presence, when yours seemed to have no effect on him in the slightest?

By the time you returned with a plastic container in hand, you had regained a measure of composure and your face was back to its normal color.

“Since you haven’t been making much progress in our lessons,” you began all businesslike, deliberately acting like the past minutes had never happened, “we’re trying a different approach today. I’m going to borrow our old pal Pavlov’s trusted teachings.”

Jumin’s expression displayed hints of feline curiosity as he watched you set the container down on top of the piano and place a couple of napkins next to it.
“You see these? Homemade brownies with chunks of dark chocolate and pieces of salted, caramelized walnuts. I used the good kind of chocolate with a lot of cocoa in it. There’s absolutely no way these are too sweet for your manly taste buds.”

When his eyes lit up with interest at your words, a pleased smirk spoiled your feigned professionalism.

“You’ll get a small piece now, just to give you a taste of how scrumptious they are.” As you spoke, you opened the container to hand him a square piece of chocolate-y decadence on a napkin. “Go on. Try it.”

Jumin had already sunk his teeth into the treat before you had finished your prompt.

Your eyebrows lifted in astonished surprise.

Having eaten dinner with him several times since starting your friendship, you knew he usually took proper-sized, neat bites. As a child of high society, he’d been raised with perfect table manners, after all.

But this almost excited, can’t-wait kind of unrestrained anticipation he was displayed just then? You'd never before seen him do something that uncalculated and impulsive. It seemed so very unlike the Jumin you'd been getting to know, until today.

You hadn’t realized, nor expected, that such a side of him might exist, but now that you'd glimpsed this facet…you couldn’t help but be charmed.

Fascinated by this new, self-indulgent Jumin in front of you, you watched, enthralled, how he chewed the bite of brownie, his eyelids fluttering shut as he let the flavors unfold in his mouth.

“How exceptional. Caramel walnuts should have already been too sweet mixed into chocolate batter. But…the slight bitterness of the toasted nuts balances out the sugary caramel, and the unexpected notes of salt in combination with the tart chocolate offsets the overall sweetness.”

Slowly, with deliberate care, he lifted the brownie for another blind bite. The tiniest frown creased the space between his brows. “It’s superb. A perfect composition of flavor.” At odds with his words, his voice held puzzlement rather than satisfaction.

Then, finally, his lids lifted. “I’ve never had a pastry with such a peculiar texture before. It’s almost like undercooked cake…but velvety. And it doesn’t taste raw at all.” His expression showed a kind of helpless confusion, like he didn’t know how to deal with this discovery.

“That’s because it isn’t.” You popped a piece of brownie into your own mouth, a sound of pure delight escaping you at the gustatory explosion. Licking your lips just in case any chocolate clung to them, you wiped your fingers with a napkin and flashed him a proud smile. “The correct ratio of sugar, flour and egg accounts for the texture. It’s fully cooked, trust me. This chewy, gooey mouthfeel is the product of chemical reactions, and fully intentional.”

Judging by his wide eyes, this was the first time he had to have heard about the mechanisms of baking. “How astounding.”

“I know, right?. And I’m very glad the stimulus seems to be effective.” Your smugness intensified as you watched him almost reverently finish off the last bit of brownie in his hand. “Which brings us back to our buddy Pavlov. Now that you know how great these are, you sure want more?”

You almost laughed when his gaze wandered to the container with the remaining brownies.

An enthusiastic nod. “I do.”

“Huh…” The smudge of chocolate decorating the corner of his mouth distracted you momentarily.

Jumin cocked his head in a silent question upon seeing you zone out again. Vic 2.0 was back.

But you couldn’t focus. That damn brownie stain had drawn your attention to his lips, and you found yourself unable to look away.

The bottom one was a little fuller, but his upper lip curved in a delicate, graceful arch that could have been carved by a master sculptor’s hand. His mouth looked incredibly soft, which was so at odds with the ever stony-faced, blue-blooded man it belonged to…

“…Y/N?” Gray eyes widened slightly, and you realized that you were doing the same thing he had just a while ago. Invading his personal space with your face. “What are…”

“Ugh!” With an undefined sound that was a hybrid of surprise, embarrassment, and exasperation—because his moving mouth had almost lured you into another round of mindlessly admiring it, again—you stepped closer, grasped his jaw to hold him in place, and almost aggressively started scrubbing at that wretched chocolate stain with the napkin you were still holding.

You were so focused on not leaving a trace of it behind that you didn’t notice him going motionless under your hands.

When his pale face was back to its usual immaculate state, you marched all the way to the trashcan in the kitchen to get rid of the soiled napkin.

And peeked out into the living room from behind the kitchen door, your heart beating too fast, a frantic bird that was trapped behind your ribs trying to fly free.

Jumin was frozen in place, like the statue you’d likened him to earlier. Then, as if waking from a slumber, he blinked slowly, and his hand rose to touch the corner of his mouth that had been the target of your surprise attack.

And slipped to where your hand had cupped his face to keep him from moving.

The bird in your chest flapped its wings harder.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

What the hell is wrong with you!?

Out of an inexplicable impulse, you shook your head, as if that could get rid of the heat you could still feel burning your face.

You backed away from the kitchen door slowly. To buy yourself a little more time to calm down, you washed your hands at the sink with ice-cold water, then took a few deep breaths to get yourself back under control. Though it was futile, you willed your heart to settle down, irrationally certain it was beating loud enough for Jumin to hear.

Not leaving yourself any time to chicken out—because if you kept stalling, you'd just get worked up even more—you turned and walked straight back out.

This time, it was harder to act like nothing had happened. You were acutely aware of his gaze on you when you leaned against the piano, a good foot of space between you and the stool he sat on.

“Anyways.” You cleared your throat, the renewed air of awkwardness you hadn’t felt in two weeks leaving you uneasy. Business as usual, you told yourself. Just continue with the lesson…

Although he was still watching you with a more intense focus than before, Jumin gave a mere nod when you resumed speaking.

“Just like Pavlov, I’m introducing this irresistible stimulus as a reward to boost your motivation. Because, every time you make progress in our lessons, you don’t just get brownie points, but actual brownies.” You paused halfheartedly for comedic effect, though the joke sounded flat even to your ears. “Then, and only then.” To underscore the meaning of your words, and to jolt the past minutes out of your system, you slammed the lid back onto the brownie container and pushed it behind your back and out of Jumin’s sight.

“This way, you will start to associate them with positive achievements during the sessions and hopefully try your hardest to do better so you can have more. Feel free to bark for effect. Or…meow,” you added when you spotted Elizabeth The 3rd giving you the stinky eye from where she lounged on the ottoman closest to her human servant.

A little dry humor couldn’t hurt. Especially with the atmosphere all messed up like that. Maybe it would help you feel more like yourself.

“These are rare goods, got it? I created this recipe myself, so I’m the only source for these.” You had to emphasize it, just to make sure he knew what was at stake. “If you hope to ever eat them again, or try other treats specifically tailored to your tastes by yours truly, you better aim for success.”

“That’s…a cruel strategy.” Judging by the wry smile Jumin gave you, the awkwardness seemed to be dissipating.

Almost back to normal. Thank goodness.

“But I will work hard to earn your approval and make sure to collect on the rewards you owe me.”

You expressed your approval of his answer with a satisfied nod. “Now that that’s settled… Since your blind playing is almost where I want it to be, I’ll let you know that we’re starting with something more difficult soon. And for that…I need you to conjure up the most prominent memories connected to the emotions we’ll be dealing with.”

Back to your old habit, you paced along the piano’s side as you carefully chose your words. “I’m going to run you through a month of ‘recall training’, where in the first two weeks, we focus on positive emotions, and in the remaining two, we go through negative ones. The concept is simple: you tell me about your personal experiences that are linked to a certain emotion, and at the same time try to infuse your performance with the feelings that come up as you remember.”

His skeptical frown told you that your idea might need further elaborating.

“Hm…wait. I’ll give you an example. Let’s say I’m playing a cheerful piece—like the one earlier, when you arrived. I was obviously thinking happy thoughts to channel the right emotions. Do you know what I was thinking of?”

The slightest tilt of his head betrayed his curiosity. “Tell me.”

You wondered what his reaction would be. Would he think it silly? “Baby goats, prancing and frolicking around in between wildflowers.”

He took a moment to think about it. “I suppose it fits. Baby goats are quite endearing, after all.” But his ambiguous glance told you there was more he wasn’t saying.

“What is it? You think that it’s silly, don’t you?” You scrunched up your nose in a sheepish grimace.

“No, that’s not it, I’m just…surprised.” As if grappling for words, he rubbed two fingers over his chin. “You said we’d be working from memory, but this doesn’t seem to be a very personal experience. Don’t you have your own instances of happiness to draw inspiration from?”

That made you pause. “I…do?” What should have been a confident statement sounded more like you were asking confirmation of yourself.

But now that he’d said it…had you ever recalled something especially precious to you when playing cheery melodies?

“Ah! Playing the piano by itself makes me so happy that I don’t need to think of anything else. Only for negative things…”

The knowing look in his eyes told you that it didn’t just sound like an excuse to your own ears. Yet he refrained from commenting again and turned back to the instrument instead. “Very well. I shall attempt to 'think happy thoughts', then.”

But his hands didn’t move, his fingers remaining still on the keys.

So you stepped in to assist. “Think about when you got Eli here.” You lifted the white-haired cat when she attempted to streak past you, facing her towards Jumin, not just because you wanted him to look at her, but because she was probably glaring at you for the undignified position you’d put her in. Oh, and the name calling.

The way Jumin's brows drew together was the closest thing to a scowl you’d ever seen him produce. “Her name is Elizabeth The 3rd.”

“I know that. But who has the lung capacity to say that every time she’s mentioned?” With a roll of your eyes, you carried the feline over until the two of you stood in his line of sight.

Maybe he’d need some visual prompting before getting him to fully rely on his recollection…

“Anyways. Keep your eyes on her and try playing something. Don’t try to be perfect, just pour what you’re feeling into your hands.”

Music filled the air when he complied, his eyes fixed on his pet in your arms as if she hypnotized him. Instead of his usual blank expression, or his signature frown of concentration you’d seen a lot during your lessons together, his face was relaxed…and a tiny smile had the corners of his mouth pointing upwards.

Already, there was more heart to the melody than you’d heard him exhibit in all the times he’d played in front of you before.

As things seemed to be going in the right direction, you got the idea to up the intensity from visual to tactile inspiration, and stepped closer to him with Elizabeth The 3rd in your arms.

The change was immediate. The smile widened into a full-fledged one, like a flower unfurling its petals at the first hint of spring warmth, his eyes twinkling with a tender kind of fondness that had your heart in your throat. When the cat stretched forward to nuzzle her pink nose against his face in greeting, he did it back, rubbing his cheek over her furry head as if he was trying to pet her despite his occupied hands.

The tune faltered a little, but his emotions were clearly bleeding into his performance. You could feel his affection for the cat in the notes that gently swayed in the air around you, moved by an invisible breeze that came straight from the heart.

Hearing the harmonies of his soul blossom out like that stirred something inside you. Awestruck by the potential he’d been hiding—hell, he sounded like a completely different person compared to before, and it was beautiful—you didn’t know what mesmerized you more. The music he had managed to breathe some life into at last, or the way his face was transformed from all the emotions he was finally allowing to the surface.

The realization that he had so much feeling bottled up inside him without knowing how to let it out…it staggered you. Deep inside, your heart hurt for this man who had to be holding so much of himself back, and a part of you vowed to help him unfold all those hidden layers of himself so he wouldn’t have to live half a life anymore.

When the music died off, you coughed softly to mask how overwhelmed your own thoughts had left you. Then, more to escape his inquisitive gaze than to keep busy, you dropped a squirmy Elizabeth The 3rd into his lap and turned to the plastic container. “You’ve done very well, so…try to think back to this moment in the next lessons. And, uh…”

You faced him again, mustering up your best attempt at a smile despite the weight of your compassion still constricting your ribcage. “…keep up the good work!” A square brownie on a fresh napkin was the prize for his first achievement.

When he accepted the reward, the kitty now happily curled up on his thighs, he had an almost dreamy look in his eyes.

It made you chuckle, the heaviness in your chest easing a little.

And then break into full-blown laughter at the flat ‘meow’ he gave right before taking the first bite with wickedly twinkling eyes.

Author's Note: please follow this link to experience Jumin’s meow for yourself:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHYWLFQMoGc
It's originally part of the 2017 April Fool's Special DLC content.

~~~

Movie night with your dad brought back memories from your childhood that the time hadn’t managed to erode.

The traumatic weeks directly after your mother’s departure from your lives had been spent with you and your dad watching all kinds of animated movies together. Although it couldn’t have been much fun for a grownup, the two of you had binged your way through all of the classics: from most of the Disney movies out at the time, to every single old Barbie film, which you’d even known the songs for, once.

As you let the movie you’d chosen load, you poured two cups of soda to go with the triple order of fried chicken your dad was paying the delivery boy at the door for. You’d been craving the grease of fried food lately, so you couldn’t wait to dig into your favorite combination of juicy meat, crispy batter and spicy marinade, as well as an order of plain fried chicken to neutralize the taste buds, and the garlic soy variety that was your dad’s standard choice when chicken was on the menu.

Since it seemed that you weren’t the only one starving, however, several pieces of chicken were already gone before you could start the movie.

Even Victor had managed to snag a piece and run off with it somewhere so you wouldn’t be able to confiscate it. Rolling your eyes at his usual antics, you let him have it since you’d gone with the boneless kind this time, and nudged your dad aside so you could plate up the food to go with the movie before he could decimate it all.

When you finally settled down on the sofa with your drinks and the spread of chicken in front of you, you were almost excited for the movie you’d never gotten to see a second time after first watching it years ago.

A Disney remake of one of your favorite fairy tales.

There was just something about Rapunzel’s golden cage of a tower and her desire to break out of it in order to experience the outside world that resonated with you.

Jeez. You wondered why…maybe it was because you and her were both tangled up in a similar mess—caught between personal desire and parental reason.

Giggling quietly at the lame pun you’d come up with that somehow sounded incredibly funny in your head, you ignored the sideways glance your dad threw you and shushed him when the opening credits started playing on screen.

Although it had been nearly seven years, you had a vague recollection of what happened in the movie and recalled it to be one of your favorites out of all the ones you’d watched back then. It made you ponder whether you would still like it now, or if you had changed too much to appreciate your tastes from before.

You noticed the first difference in perception after your first piece of chicken.

As you watched Rapunzel give her rendition of Disney’s typical character introduction songs, you found yourself reaching for a pen and a napkin in place of paper to scribble down the notes of the melody, but in a different key than what was in the movie. You felt like your version would better fit the theme of her hopeful yearning for freedom and a change of scenery, and emphasize the emotions of the scene rather than just sound fun and springy to go with her bubbly personality.

As the movie progressed, you felt compelled to write your own alterations for several of the songs you heard, changing the keys and chord progressions to acknowledge the underlying emotions instead of the carefree, child-safe way the movie presented them more for dancing and singing along.

It was almost like you were unable to watch it without a part of yourself focusing on the authenticity of the music. Your younger self wouldn’t have cared to ‘correct’ or modify any melodies. The story would have had you too enthralled to even notice how the music didn’t fit the meaning behind the words…

The third time your dad looked over to find you abusing the napkin as a notepad during a musical scene, he cleared his throat. “So, Y/N. How's the club been going? Do you like it so far?”

You barely paused to answer, too distracted jotting down the notes before the song ended. “Huh? Club…?”

You missed how your dad’s eyebrows shot up at your absentminded response. “That business club or whatever you told me it’s called. The new one you’ve been attending on campus lately?”

“Oh, right, that club.” You realized you’d almost tripped up and took a sip of your soda to mask the spike of panic his sudden question had raised. “It’s, uh, nice. A lot of fun. Nami’s loving it, too.” You hoped your chuckle didn’t sound as nervous as it felt as you lied through your teeth. “Yesterday, the Director of a big export company was there as a guest. We got to ask him all kinds of questions…”

At least there was some truth to that. You had met Jumin yesterday, who was the director of C&R, and you’d asked him a lot of questions…

“That sounds fun.” His nod of approval eased your anxiousness a little. “I’m glad you’re using your free time for meaningful things that will help you progress in life…”

As usual, he had to say too much. You didn’t know if he did it on purpose or if it was just a subconscious habit of his, to always make offhanded remarks about how your academic choices and leisure activities—or what you had him believe about the latter—were so great for your future, and insinuating that anything else would be an atrocious waste of time.

As if you weren’t already aware with every breathing second that you were expected to put stability over happiness in this illusion of a choice he’d given you, and to not even feel wronged about how he steered you in a different direction than your heart wanted you to go.

Forcing yourself to remain calm despite your internal vexation, you bit into another piece of chicken, letting the sweet-hot marinade placate your heated temper with a different kind of fire.

You didn’t know how the restaurant did it, but for some reason the marinated fried chicken always managed to maintain its crispiness throughout the delivery process. Not soggy in the slightest, the fried batter around the chicken was coated in a thick, sweet yet immensely spicy sauce with almost fruity hints, complementing the nuttiness of the roasted sesame seeds clinging to the sticky marinade.

You weren't tempted as much by the plain kind, but the garlic soy chicken was serious competition. Your taste buds rejoiced at the intense flavor explosion brought about by the sesame oil and soy sauce in the mellow buttermilk batter. Add to that the fried slices of garlic, essentially garlic chips you were supposed to eat with every bite, and the addictive composition was complete.

Between spicy-sweet and garlic-savory, it was impossible to stop reaching for the bite-sized pieces of happiness. As you munched your way through what felt like a whole bucket of chicken, you put aside the makeshift sheet music napkins and focused your attention on the movie.

During the tavern scene with the thugs putting on a musical act about their dream careers, the hook-handed one with the ambitions to become a concert pianist despite his handicap had you snorting with an amused kind of sarcasm. “Funny how a whole missing hand isn’t enough to keep that one from following his dreams…” A pointed look at your dad accompanied your comment, but he didn’t show any reaction.

With an internal sigh, you told yourself to stop the pettiness and reached for your empty glass. “Want a refill?” At his nod, you grabbed his glass as well and went to get new drinks for the two of you.

Just as you were about to return, your dad called out to you. “Can you throw a pack of popcorn in the microwave?”

You did, although you were wondering where he planned to fit all that along with the chicken that hadn’t been eaten yet.

“And get the ice cream from the fridge, please.”

Now you were starting to get suspicious.

When you walked back with two filled glasses balanced on top of the tub of ice cream, he gave you a saccharine smile. “Thanks. Spoon?”

You nodded to where you had wedged the utensil safely among your cargo. As you sat down, ignoring the way he seemed to glance over at you a couple of times, you tried to get your attention back to the screen, where Rapunzel and her thief were trying not to drown in a flooded cave.

The question, when it came, was so quiet and languorous that the danger of the situation only reached you when the words registered in your mind.

“You haven’t actually given up on music, have you?”

Movie forgotten, you looked over at your dad, found him squinting at you in open suspicion.

He didn’t even give you a chance to deny it. When he raised his hand, you saw that he held up your music-covered napkins with two fingers. “Answer the question, Y/N.”

Your heart sank. With a mute shake of your head, you forced yourself to stay in your seat when he crumpled up the ink-covered layers of tissue in his palm like a used handkerchief. Although every fiber of your being was screaming with the painful need to snatch them from his grip, you didn’t.

Because the dread filling you upon seeing his temper slowly unravel in front of your eyes told you that fighting back now would only make things worse.

He crudely tossed the crinkled napkins onto the coffee table separating you. “How long have you been lying to me? And what else about?”

He fixed you with a hard gaze. The exaggerated, distorted smile that followed had your defenses rising. “Let me guess, that damn club was a lie, too?” A bitter, grating chuckle, its jagged edges sawing at your frayed nerves like a serrated knife. “Are you even taking business classes anymore, or have you been wasting your time—and my money—with this nonsense again?”

If you wanted to hold on to the slightest hope of staving off disaster, you couldn’t lose your own composure. You couldn’t let this end in a mindless shouting battle that would destroy the fragile truce between the two of you, would undo all the progress you’d made in your efforts to work towards your dreams in the shadow of your father’s ignorance.

Now that he’d caught wind of your doings, he wouldn’t let off, like a hound mercilessly running down its prey until it was cornered with nowhere to go.

You didn’t intend to fight back before being taken down. Your plan was rather to throw him off your trail before he could drive you into a dead end in the first place. So you would give him something, just a little scrap to take the edge off his bloodthirst and divert his suspicions for a little while longer.

But you had to word this very carefully, to not end up reinforcing his leeriness instead.

Forcing your lungs to expand on a breath although it felt like your throat was too tight to let any air through, you faced the beast you were starting to get sick of always running from. “A friend I made through work has a piano at home. I use it for fun sometimes when we hang out there…”

Sinking back onto the sofa, you started collecting the leftover food on a single plate to not waste any fridge space. And to keep from looking at him and losing the gossamer thread of control holding you together. “You can ask Nami about the club if you don’t believe me.” You made a mental note to fill her in later, in case you had to ask her to cover for you.

“And about this…” With shaking hands, you shoved the crumpled napkins with your music on them into the trash can beneath the coffee table. “I can’t help it. It’s a habit I can’t turn off. You’ve spent even longer than me learning music and writing your own every chance you got. Could you just stop because someone else told you to? When I hear a melody I like, my automatic reaction is to want to make my own version of it.”

When you finally looked up, you were relieved at the pensive expression that had wiped the anger off his face.

“Since I know what you mean, I guess that can’t be helped…” A reluctant grumble under his breath. Then he squared his shoulders, and the strictness returned to his eyes. “As long as you understand that I won’t tolerate anything beyond this.”

Your own anger flared at the rebuke, going head to head with reason in an inner battle to stop yourself from going off on him. Bear with it just a little longer, you told yourself, drawing in another breath to help you ride the raging waves of your ire. We’re almost there. The crisis is almost averted…

“And your new friend…” His lips pressed into a pale, hard line, betraying his disapproval of the situation before he expressed it with words. “…try not to meet her at home as much. There’s plenty of other places you can go.”

At this unexpectedly mild response, the uproarious sea that was your temper calmed a little.

Huh. That was way better than what you’d thought he would say. You had expected him to try to micromanage your life for you again, tell you what you can and can’t do to keep your priorities where he wanted them to be. But this, it was almost good, considering the way he’d usually overstep his boundaries like he had every right to…

“On second thought…I think I’d like it better if you just stopped seeing her entirely.” He set off towards the kitchen when the microwave beeped, oblivious to how his words made your every muscle lock. “You have other friends, and you can always make new ones on campus. You don’t have to get hung up on this one person…”

The fragile threads of your sanity snapped, waves of boiling fury capsizing the swaying boat that was your mind.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

Your father stopped where he stood, turning only his head to throw you a glance overflowing with an astonished kind of surprise at your back talk.

But you weren’t done yet. Years of holding back what you wanted to say had left you with too many words to contain within yourself any longer, and too little patience to keep enduring the way he continued to crush everything that meant something to you.

A red haze descended over your vision when your wrath finally fled your reins and pushed reason off a cliff into the foaming, crashing breakers below.

Then, deathly calm reigned.

The decision to make it stop solidified in your heart, and you deliberately gathered up all that’s been festering inside you to fling at him with everything you had.

“First, it was my hobby. Then, my studies, my entire career. Now you want me to ditch my friends because they don’t fit into the plans you have in mind for my future? And you expect me to play along? Are you out of your damn mind!?”

For a few nerve-wracking seconds, he stared at you in mute shock, jaw gone slack at hearing words he’d never expect from you.

The next moment, his expression hardened and he stalked back to where you stood, popcorn forgotten. “Maybe you should make better choices in life, then, if you didn’t want me setting yours straight.”

You knew that tone, the disturbingly calm one preluding the explosive anger that would end up ripping your heart to shreds once more.

Gritting your teeth, you braced yourself for what was to come, making a fierce vow to yourself not to back down even as his eyes sparked with his own rising temper.

If you didn’t break through the walls he had bricked over your life with this time, you would never find another way out.

“Choices?” you sneered, letting him hear and feel the biting sarcasm behind your words. “How funny that you’d say that. You mean the choices you never allowed me to make, when you just decided by yourself how everything in my life should be? Those choices?”

“Never mind those!” His bellow made you wince a little at the abrupt increase of volume. “You don't need a choice when all it would lead to is failure! As your father, I know what's best for you, and if you weren't so determined to mess up your own damn life, you'd realize that and stop fighting my efforts to save you from the bleak future awaiting you.”

Although the unfamiliar harshness of his words stung like salt in an open wound, you pushed back. “I really wish you had given me a choice, because as things are now, someone is going to end up getting hurt by your unreasonable, blind paranoia.” Trembling with rage, you pushed to your feet and stomped towards him. “Just because your career ended in bad luck, doesn’t mean that the same is going to happen to me! This isn’t some kind of family curse that will put every single one of us to ruin!”

If you didn’t see this through today, you might never find the courage to oppose him again.

“Is it so wrong to want to spend the rest of my life doing something I love instead of suffering for stability? I don't care about money or fame, I just want to have fun doing what I love, and share it with the world!”

The derisive laughter that was his reaction to your words felt like being stabbed through the chest with a burning poker.

“Doing what you love isn’t going to pay the bills and keep you from drowning in poverty. Do you think life is a fucking game?” He chuckled some more, as if you’d said something truly hilarious that made him unable to contain his amusement. “You’re better off sticking to the business route, because you’ll never run out of job opportunities with a knowledge of numbers and stocks. Not like the losing game of surviving in the world of music.”

“I'm not made for numbers and stocks, and freaking financial reports!” Driven by your desperate indignation, you went toe to toe with him as you cried out words coming from the very depths of your soul. “I'm made for progressions and scales and sheet music, and the haunting melodies you make by pouring your heart out onto paper and turning it into sound that makes someone’s soul dance when they hear it!”

His response came with more of that acrid laughter that burned your senses like acid. “You seem mighty confident that people will want to hear you make music, but the way I see it, you don’t stand a fucking chance with your childish, immature skills.”

The vicious spite with which he spat those words staggered you, eliciting a choked sound from your throat that was a nameless combination of breathless shock and hurt. “How can you even say that? You taught me everything I know! Do you have no faith in your abilities as a teacher!?”

No faith in your own daughter!? The anguished child in you wanted to scream out these words stuck inside your heart for years, but the grownup in you knew what his answer to them would be.

“Do you have any idea how many great pianists are out there? Knowing how to play an instrument isn’t everything there is to being a musician. If it didn’t work out for me, you’re delusional if you think it will for you.”

Taken aback by the decisive confidence in his ridicule of your musical skill, and the unexpected malice of it, you ended up just staring at him in wounded confusion, your mind blank. You'd thought yourself numb to them, but his words drew blood like the beast's razor teeth against your skin.

But he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was beyond caring about your feelings at this point. When he spoke next, the dangerous glint in his eyes was an alarming sight, an ominous precursor to the hurtful words that followed.

“If you’re so determined to go against my word and screw up your future because of a silly ambition you can’t let go of, you’ll have to do it without me in your life. I’m not going to stick around and watch it all go down in flames a second time.” He paused, out of breath from the way he’d been yelling. “So, I suggest you think hard about what’s more important to you, your old man, or your precious pipe dream.”

He turned on his heel and left, the bang of the kitchen door slamming shut behind him reverberating like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe as the glowing poker scorched its way deeper into your chest.

You’d known how vehemently he was against your career of choice, but you had never experienced him talk to you with so much venom before. Had he been hiding that depth of acrimony and contempt all this time, or had you unwittingly pushed him towards that bad place with your defiant outbreak today?

As suddenly as it had boiled over, your anger dissipated in a cloud of weariness that left you exhausted and deeply unsettled by the way the events had unfolded.

Leaving the mess in the living room untouched and the movie unfinished, you dragged yourself to your room and into bed, where Victor had cowardly taken refuge as soon as your voices had risen with the erupting argument.

When the bitter tears came, they followed you into your dreams, where you fought another losing battle. In the middle of violent, stormy seas, heavy rain pelted your skin, leaving bloody gashes. As if it were the sharp teeth of a hound assaulting you instead of mere water drops.

And piece by piece, your paltry, battered boat crumbled away beneath you.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

When morning came and you found yourself unable to get out of bed and go about your day like normal, for the first time in a long time, you made the decision to skip class.

Not even the terrible rumors and stares of the past weeks had made you do that, but the mask you’d kept up so bravely throughout that entire ordeal, to keep the world from seeing how hurt and miserable you actually were behind that facade of indifference you’d thought nothing could crack…it had been shattered by the one person who held the power to wound you with a mere couple of sentences.

As you nibbled on a cracker from the hidden stash you kept in your room for such emergencies, where your room was the only safe place in this house you shared with him, you even contemplated calling in sick for work.

Your face was a swollen mess, your eyes red-rimmed and sore from crying yourself to sleep, as using your phone screen as a makeshift mirror had proven. If you managed to conceal the physical signs of your emotional outbreak with makeup, Nami would definitely pick up on your mood and know that something was wrong. Even if she didn’t poke and prod you about it, she’d still try her absolute best to cheer you up with her silly antics, but you didn’t have the heart to act like it worked, nor did you want to crush her spirits by letting her know that it didn’t.

So, it made sense to skip going to class, but who would bother you at work? You were mostly alone during your shifts, save for the cat, so maybe it was a good thing to just be alone somewhere other than home while keeping distracted with carrying out your duties.

And about your lesson with Jumin…as desperate as you were to feel a keyboard under your hands and have the caress of music soothe your bruised heart, that wasn’t even what kept you from cancelling.

What made you hesitate the most, for some reason, was the absurd idea that Jumin’s calm and steadfast presence would help you reassemble the million jagged pieces of your broken mask back into a whole.

You had no clue what to do with this stray thought your brain had suddenly decided to put out there.

With a sigh, you washed down another cracker with a sip of water. You had to wrestle the bottle cap back from a hyperactive Victor, who was being a menace after several unsuccessful attempts to steal a piece of the salted snack from you when trying to will you into giving him some with his big, round, hopeful eyes didn’t work.

The squirming furball ended up knocking your phone off the bed while kicking his legs. With an annoyed groan, you tossed him a tiny piece and snatched the cap back while he was distracted, securely putting the now closed bottle down before picking up your abused phone.

Only to almost drop it again when you realized the screen was flashing with an incoming call from Work that you couldn’t hear because you’d had your phone on Silent ever since your mother started trying to contact you. You hurried to answer, torn between being mad at Vic for making a fuss and feeling grateful that his action of throwing down your phone had made you notice the call.

It turned out that one of your colleagues had unexpectedly called in sick today and you were being asked to come in as a replacement as soon as you could. You were somewhat relieved to have another reason that kept you from calling off your shift for the day. After all, if you showed up for your lessons after someone else had come in to do your work for you, Jumin would definitely know something was up.

So you would go take care of that before doing your own job at Jumin’s. But first, you’d disable your phone’s Silent mode so you wouldn’t miss any more important phone calls.

~~~

You had barely arrived at the place of your colleague’s job and you were already regretting that decision.

To kill time on the bus, you had spent the way to the client’s home in the suburbs of the city trying out a new musical game on your phone, something Nami had been pushing you to try. It was like a piano simulator where you had to 'press' the right keys at the right time to match a tune that played in the background. But although there were only four possible key fields to play, the melody consisted of more than just four notes, so it irritated you that the game wasn’t just inaccurate, but overly simplified and grossly limiting for someone who actually knew how to play the piano.

And you kept messing up because your fingers repeatedly tried to go for the actual notes of a melody you knew, instead of just the tiles alternatively flashing across the screen. But that wasn’t the reason you gave up without making it through a single song.

Aside from the underwhelming mechanics of the game, your ringtone kept interrupting, blaring at you through the earphones you were wearing to play and startling you out of your state of attempted concentration. When you ended up deleting the game and putting your phone away to work on one of your ongoing pieces instead, the unceasing vibrations disturbed your focus and had you unable to fill more than half a page in your music book.

By the time you were done standing in for your colleague and on your way to Jumin’s penthouse, you hadn’t had the space of mind to brood over yesterday’s fight with your dad even once, but you were developing a pounding headache from your efforts of trying to ignore your phone when it rang and to avoid looking at it when it didn’t.

This went on until you finally lost your patience while changing the bed sheets in Jumin’s guest room.

Cursing up a blue streak over the perpetual mistakes and unnecessary repeat work the lack of focus resulted in, you stomped to where your phone was vibrating away on the nightstand and answered without checking who it was.

Because, who else would call you a minimum of three times in the same hour but the one person who has been stubbornly trying to reach you for weeks now?

“Will you stop calling already?” You snapped, not even bothering to sound anything but pissed off. “Just take the hint and give up when you see your calls never going through!"

“Oh? Talking to a stubborn lover, perhaps? You sure moved on fast from your last relationship…”

At the unexpected but familiar jeer, you pulled your phone from your ear to check the caller ID on screen, though you had recognized the voice of who had just decided to ruin your week on top of everything that was already going on.

Mr. Dickhead, formerly known as Shin Yeong, before you had turned him into the joke that he was by changing his name in your contact list the day he’d shown his true colors. (see Author's Note 1)

Great. Your mood turned even more sour than before.

“None of your business. What the hell do you want!?” Huffing, you kicked the side of the bed when the stretchy mattress cover you were trying to put on wouldn't stay in place, slipping off the first corner of the mattress just after you'd wrestled it over the second.”

With a silent curse, you stepped away from the bed and grabbed the phone from its precarious position wedged between your shoulder and ear. “On second thought, I don't care what you want. I have nothing to say to you.” With that, you hung up and tossed the phone aside.

Just when you'd put your hands on your hips, contemplating how to best go about your endeavor of getting the sheet to stay on the mattress until you were done with all four corners, your phone rang again.

You let it ring, thinking he’d give up if you didn’t answer, but it kept going. And going.

Until the unceasing sound of the ringtone threatened to drill a hole through your already throbbing head.

Temper flaring, you grabbed the device again. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

He said nothing for a few seconds, as if your snapped question had surprised him into silence. Then… “I haven’t seen you in class today. Sick of the limelight already?”

Oh, how badly you wanted to hurl your phone into the nearest wall right then. “I’m hanging up.”

“Fine, fine!” A chuckle that sounded half forced and, if you didn’t know him better, a little nervous. “Jeez, talk about sensitive…and here I thought I would break the ice with some small talk first.”

“Forget about breaking the ice, you already smashed a whole glacier when you dumped me and made the world believe I’m a prude, opportunistic bitch.” That wall was looking more tempting by the second, but the thought of having to spend money on a new phone held you back. Instead, you started pacing to release the aggressive energy inside you somehow.

“About that…I'm sorry about what happened."

Although he managed to sound apologetic over the phone, his choice of words had you holding back a snort. ‘Sorry about what happened' not ‘sorry for what happened'. A single small word could sometimes change the entire meaning of a phrase, like here, and most times, people didn't notice the subtle difference in wording.

But you did. Your father had used the same verbal tactics when he'd first started denying you music. A clueless child of 12 years back then, you hadn't understood why you weren't allowed to have piano practice anymore, seemingly out of the blue. And then your dad would say something like 'I'm sorry it has to be this way', and you'd believe that it wasn't his fault or his idea in the first place to keep you from your favorite pastime, because how could it be when he said the word 'sorry'? Over time, you had learned to pay attention to the subtle changes of not just the behavioral kind, but verbal too.

You were so deep into your thoughts of the past that you almost missed what Shin said next.

“…I feel like things went wrong when they shouldn't have, so I thought that, maybe…we could start over?”

For a second, you thought you’d heard wrong. Your legs stopped. “Excuse me?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I said, maybe we could start over? You know, since things suddenly took a terrible turn, for some reason—”

“Oh, I heard you the first time, despite that nerve of yours blocking the signal. I was trying to give you a chance to take back those ridiculous words, but you don’t seem to get the hint, blinded by your own bullshit as you are.”

He actually had the audacity to sound offended. “Oh, come on, you don’t have to be so nasty about it…I’m trying to fix things here, and you’re mocking me like I’m not a victim in this as well.”

You laughed out loud at this. “You? A victim?” You made sure to let him hear your derisively amused snicker. “Last I checked, a public case of blue balls and being exposed as a scheming, lying asshole don’t make someone a victim.”

Your words must have hit a nerve, because you heard him exhale noisily, before something rattled on his side, as if he’d kicked something across the floor or swept something off a table in a spike of temper.

But he seemed to swallow down what he actually wanted to say and stick to his plan of kissing up to you, whatever the hell he was doing that for. As a result, his next words sounded like he was being choked while speaking. “I didn’t call you to fight about who suffered more the past weeks. I called to apologize, and to make up with you.”

Choked by his own pride, maybe. Because you still couldn’t hear or sense any sincerity in all this, and he was clearly expecting you to believe he was sorry. A few words of regret here, some bad acting there, and he thought things between the two of you would go back to normal? How gullible did he think you were?

To top it off, you had no idea why he was putting up this show of wanting to get back on good terms with you. Just what was he up to? You would find that out first, you decided, before planning your next move.

You resumed your restless pacing around the guest room. “Let’s say I forgave you for the petty slander. What brought this on? You didn’t seem very remorseful the last time I saw you.” Or heard of him putting his tongue down another poor girl’s throat, and his hand down her pants…

You were really curious what stupid excuse he had prepared.

“Well, I’ve had some time to think, and I came to realize that we had a lot of potential. We never got to see it unfold before things unexpectedly ended.”

The urge to laugh in his face returned, but before you could react in a way he could hear, he continued.

“We were so good together…”

Hah! You almost lost the fight with yourself and erupted into laughter, wondering who the ‘we’ he was talking about were. Because you sure didn’t remember anything good about the time you’d wasted going out with him.

“…and that’s why I would like a second chance. So that neither of us will look back years later, plagued by ‘what if’s about a past that could have been.”

It had been amusing to hear his fake apology and desperate sweet-talking at first, but now he was laying it on so thick, it had you cringing from second-hand embarrassment. It made you wonder if he would have shed a few crocodile tears, had this conversation taken place in person instead of over the phone.

Although you were getting tired of playing along with his nonsense, you held back the urge to cuss him out and end it with a heartfelt ‘fuck off and never show your damn face in front of me again’. After all, you still wanted to know why he was actually doing all this.

So you gentled your wrath and picked your next words carefully instead. “This…thing we had, it ended because you wanted, no, you repeatedly demanded something I wasn’t willing to give at that point in time. If you think a second chance at a relationship is gonna be any different, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“About that…” He cleared his throat as if uncomfortable about that particular topic being brought up.

Correction: acting like he was uncomfortable.

“I realize that I’ve been a little pushy and anything but a gentleman when it came to that, but…I promise to be patient, if you’re not feeling ready yet.”

Oh, how noble of him. Not. What an absolute douchebag…

Before you could go off on him, interrogation plans be damned, a sound like static cut through the line. You caught what sounded like muffled swearing, before Shin’s voice echoed back, sounding choppy and far away. “Hold on…the connection’s getting bad.”

As you hissed out a furious breath at the guy’s nerve, telling yourself you’d get your chance to vent your wrath on him later, you grabbed a rag and began to almost aggressively wipe down the surfaces in the room while waiting for the connection to settle.

You wanted to use your time efficiently and continue working, since you’d been standing around for a while now just staring daggers at the crinkled mattress cover that wouldn’t act like you wanted it to. But as conquering the stupid thing required more than one hand free, you figured you’d do something else for the time being. So you wiped the desk, then the bookshelves, then the window sill, all the while contemplating what to say next so the idiot dickhead would reveal his intentions to you when he was back on the line.

But for all your pondering and preparation, you didn’t get to squeeze the truth out of him when he did return.

“I have to go. What I said earlier…think it through, yes? I’ll call you back later so we can finish this talk.” And just like that, he hung up.

Grumbling under your breath in irritation, since you’d neither found out his goal behind contacting you, nor got to end the call like you’d been planning to, you put aside both phone and rag and decided to let your anger out on the damn bed sheets instead.

Author's Note - 1) I’ve allowed myself to build in a little Korean pun here.
Shin’s full name, Shin Yeong, is actually spoken and written 영신 - Yeong Shin, because surnames come before the first name in Korean. If you add a B to the first syllable, you get 병신 - Byeong Shin, which is what the MC refers to him by and saved him as in her phone after the incident where he publicly dumped and slandered her.
Byeong Shin, in this context of use, has the meaning of an insult and is oftentimes translated as ‘idiot’, ‘asshole’, ‘SOB’, etc. … I’m making use of my artistic liberties to have the MC call him ‘dickhead’ in English, because as he’s proven before, he only seems to think with his downstairs brain :D
I hope you’re having as much fun calling him that as I had coming up with this pun ~

~~~

Hours passed and the only calls you received were unwelcome ones from a woman that had once meant the world to you.

After finishing work, you found yourself in the park by the river again, seated on a bench by the water with a plastic bag on your lap. You’d dropped by a convenience store on the way to grab a quick bite for a (very) late lunch, but you’d been so preoccupied mentally planning out how your next conversation with Shin would go that you hadn’t touched any of the food yet.

Every time your phone had rung after your interrupted call with him, you would check the caller ID to see if you could carry on with your strategy yet, but the bastard hadn’t bothered calling back so far. You wouldn’t go out of your way to call him first, because he might get his hopes up when all you had in store for him was cold rejection. Knowing what type of person he was now, he’d undoubtedly read more into it than there was if you did contact him instead of waiting for him to call back. The guy already had too much of an unhealthy inclination to mess with your life…

But worse than that, if you called and he cut you off again like he had at the end of the previous call, be it because he was busy or just plain being an asshole and purposefully tormenting you, you’d feel even more angry and miserable about everything than you already did.

So for now, you’d wait.

You hated it, this feeling of being shackled to another person’s whim, unable to act until they did. And you especially hated that it was Shin's number you were waiting for to pop up on your screen, when you’d never wanted to hear his stupid name again. The only reason you hadn’t blocked or deleted his contact from your phone was that it could lead to confusion inside the group chats the two of you were in for class.

With how worked up he’d gotten you, you couldn’t help but mull over the call again and again. Had he said and done all that knowing he’d leave you in that kind of mental space? You wondered if that was the case and he was laughing and boasting somewhere about how he was manipulating you, waiting to see if you’d give in and call first to fulfill his request for a second chance.

But why would you do that? Did he actually think you’d believe all the nonsense he was spouting earlier? That there was any way in hell you would forgive all the things he’d done and consider getting back with him? How highly did he think of himself and his poor acting skills? Or maybe it was your ability to see through his farce that he was underestimating.

But really, who in his right mind would fall for that? He must be delusional to think you’d write off everything he’d done as bad luck or an unexpected twist of fate just because he phrased it as that. Like he could change your perception or memories of the incident by telling you that what had transpired was actually different from what you remembered.

To believe that something like that would work on you, he had to think you a complete fool.

With a heavy sigh, you tore open the wrapper of the egg sandwich you’d bought, resolving to push that part of the day out of your mind, at least until you’d get the chance to rectify his misconceptions. When the call came, you’d settle things once and for all.

Munching your way through a triangle of fluffy white toast full of a hefty dose of mayonnaise-heavy, creamy egg salad, you stared at the ducks floating on the water with not a single care in the world.

You, too, wished you could just empty your mind and simply enjoy life. Without constantly having to maneuver your way around people that betrayed you, and hurt you, and tried to clip your wings to forcefully keep you on the ground, when all you wanted was to soar and let the wind carry you far away from them.

All you wanted was a chance at freedom, so you could let go of the anger and resentment constantly simmering inside your blood, and find the path to your own happiness. But for now, you’d have to be satisfied with the window Jumin had opened for you with his generosity, letting you see that path from afar while you practiced spreading your wings until you were ready, and strong enough to take flight.

With that encouraging thought in mind, you packed up your things and decided to head to Jumin’s extra early for a change. And when your fingers finally danced over the keys, the mess churning inside you flowing out to flavor the air with the depth of your emotions, the weight pressing on your heart began to ease, little by little.

Playing with your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the music cascading from your soul like the wild storm you had dreamed about, you were unaware of the suit-clad man leaning in the doorway behind you.

He didn’t interrupt, just stood there, silently watching and listening as you played, until the boisterous tune lost its rough edge and smoothed out into a mellow, melancholic elegy lamenting lost tempers, tired smiles and a cautious hope for better times. It wasn’t until the final, soft notes faded into silence that he made his presence known.

The slow clapping had you swiveling around on the stool, abruptly torn from the trance-like state the piano had put you into.

“You deserve a stage.” Before you could react to his sudden presence and praise, he was already walking towards you.

By the time he stopped beside the instrument, still clapping, you had gathered yourself enough to give him a halfhearted, goofy smile. “Gee, thanks. How long have you been listening for?”

“I was here first today, so…since you started.” At the small, lopsided smile that accompanied his reply, your own felt less forced.

“Sorry, I’m too early for once. I hope I didn’t disturb you in whatever you were doing?”

He waved your words off, glancing down when a certain white furball streaked around his ankles. “Don’t worry about that. It was a nice change of atmosphere from the usual dead quiet I do paperwork in.”

You realized he was trying to be funny in his usual subtle way, but you had no laughter in your heart today. “That’s…good, I guess.” Going silent, you watched him tug at the fabric of his pants before crouching to pet Elizabeth The 3rd.

The luminous smile transformed his entire face as he looked at his beloved pet with a warmth and affection you knew he never showed anyone else.

It made your heart give a tiny, wistful twist. You didn’t know why, but suddenly you envied the person he would someday look at with such unconditional love.

You were so absorbed in the feelings his expression elicited in you, that you winced when he looked up, hastily turning your head away.

“So how was movie night?”

Like a switch being flicked, your slowly lightening mood was plunged into cold, harsh darkness again.

You thought about what to tell him, but found no words to express what was going on inside your head. It turned out that, buried under the ruins of your shattered defenses, your bruised heart had no more capacity for faking kindness today. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Only when you caught Jumin’s eyebrows shooting up in the corner of your vision did you realize how rude you’d sounded. Giving a soft sigh, you carefully avoided meeting his questioning gaze as you vacated the piano stool for him. “I’m sorry, I just…really don’t want to talk about it.”

“I see.” With one last lingering glance at you, he rose to his feet and casually brushed a couple of stray cat hairs off his clothes. “I suppose we should start with the lesson, then?”

At your wordless nod, he seated himself at the piano and shook out his sleeves, before lowering his hands to the keys elegantly.

Guilt wracked you when he began to play with no further comment. Since you were unable to tell what he was thinking, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d offended him. Was he so curt because he was mad? Or was that just his usual self and you were reading more into it because you felt guilty about snapping at him like that?

Either way, you wouldn’t know unless he told you or his behavior gave away his thoughts, like usual.

So you forced yourself to focus on the music instead, and found him playing a soft, sweet melody that spoke of intimate whispers, stolen glances and hushed conversations, his eyes closed and the corners of his mouth curved into the faintest smile.

The sight had you holding your breath, chest aching from the depth of emotion weaved into the music. When had he learned to play like that? Only yesterday, you’d had to bribe him with sweets and his pet’s cuteness to get anything decent out of him, the first sign of progress in weeks. And now he was at it by himself, playing like he didn’t need any more lessons?

The thought made you a little sad. Would he care to spend time with you after there was no more need to teach him?

As you watched on in mute awe, the piece came to an end and his eyes opened as the last note faded, alight with a triumphant kind of smugness. “So how was I, Master?”

Both his expression and the words caught you off guard. Had he been practicing just to impress you?

Rubbing the side of your neck, earlier discomfort forgotten, you slowly blinked at him. “That…was good. Well done.”

As if he was a puppy wagging its tail at being praised, he broke into a delighted smile. And then looked at you expectantly.

Your confused daze at the way his smile turned his face radiant morphed into an equally confused frown. “What?”

Without losing the smile, he cocked his head, giving you a meaningful look. “Don’t I…get a reward?”

That almost cracked you up. “Oh. Right.” At this unfamiliar, silly expression he wore, amusement cut through the shadows swathing your mood like a brilliant beam of light. “I didn’t get to buy or make any sweets today…”

His face fell at your words, and the pitiful pout he probably didn’t know he was making surprised you into a soft giggle.

“…BUT I still have a little something for you.” You set off to retrieve your purse that lay abandoned by the front door. “As for the actual reward, just tell me what dessert you want, and I’ll bring it next time.” You rummaged through your purse until you found the other items you’d bought at the convenience store earlier, then walked back to where he sat, waiting but unable to hide his curiosity. “There you go.”

He turned the short plastic bottle over in his hands, clearly not knowing what to do with himself or your offering. “What’s this?”

Again, his cluelessly innocent behavior punched right through your gloom, and you couldn’t hold back your smile. “Yogurt drink. I knew you’ve probably never had one. I grew up with those in my lunch boxes for school.” Handing him one of the miniature straws that came with it, you showed him how to poke it through the foil covering the top of the bottle.

When he raised it to his lips, but stopped with a skeptical look on his face to glance at you as if seeking reassurance, you nodded with an encouraging smile, taking a big sip from your own.

It was comical, watching this big man hold the tiny drink that was smaller than his palm, and carefully purse his lips around an even tinier straw. His eyebrows rose in astonishment when the flavor reached him, his widening eyes catching yours from over his drink.

You snickered quietly, leaning your elbow on top of the piano and resting your jaw on your palm as you watched him drink.

And drink. Until only air whistled through the straw noisily and his forehead crinkled in protest.

“I know, right. It’s always over too soon. I wish they came in bigger bottles than just these tiny ones.” You finished your own Yogurt in slow, deliberate sips, relishing the tangy creaminess of the drink that brought so many happy childhood memories back.

As Jumin examined the now empty bottle with child-like fascination, he licked his lips as if making sure not to miss a single drop of flavor. “If that was the case…I dare say I would become a regular customer.”

Was that his way of saying he liked it? You’d been afraid he might not be a fan, since he was used to more expensive tastes and this was just simple Yogurt. But you were glad that he didn’t seem to hate it.

“It’s nothing special, but at the same time it is.” You tried to explain the feeling it evoked in you, but feared your explanation might confuse him more than help him understand. “If that makes sense.” Scratching your head with a sheepish smile, you expected him to laugh at your sorry phrasing.

But to your surprise, he nodded, turning over the empty plastic bottle in his hands. “I agree. The flavor is nice, but not extraordinary. The memories that go with it are what makes it special.” When he glanced up, purposefully catching and holding your gaze, there was an unexpected warmth in his gray eyes that you could almost feel on your skin.

Heat singed your cheeks, making you duck your head as you broke the strangely intimate eye contact. Suddenly nervous, you stared down at your hands while fiddling with the empty bottle you still held on to.

What is that supposed to mean? His reaction earlier told you that he’d never had that Yogurt drink before, so what memories was he talking about? And what did that look he’d given you mean? And why had it set your face aflame with unexpected shyness?

You had no idea how to handle yourself—or him—at that moment, so when he rose and grabbed the bottle from your grip, you stayed stiffly frozen in place, hiding from him by keeping your eyes firmly fixed on your hands until he’d turned to toss the empty drink containers in the kitchen trash can.

Maybe you were just reading too much into it. Unless…

Unless he meant to say that the memories he made with you were what turned the Yogurt drink precious for him.

Don’t be stupid. Your inner voice embodied your doubts perfectly. You’ve barely known him a few weeks. That’s not even enough to call each other real friends over.

Great, now you were talking to yourself. You rolled your eyes in disgust.

And besides, this guy probably has hundreds of pretty, rich girls to choose from. Why would he care for a poor mouse like you?

Wow, rude. Even speaking to yourself, that was pretty harsh.

Upon feeling a wave of hysterical laughter swell inside you, the realization that you were starting to lose it hit you. With the emotional stress and anxiety piling up lately, it seemed like your need for a vacation was growing more and more dire…

By the time he returned from the kitchen, the rising hysteria and your embarrassment from before were under control.

Stealing tiny glances at him as he sat back down by the piano, you bit your bottom lip, fingers drumming a nervous staccato on the piano’s surface. “Hey…can I ask you something?”

Jumin’s hands glided up and down the keyboard in scales, making quiet but bright notes swirl in the air. Although he was putting in mere casual effort, more out of muscle memory than conscious movements, he still didn’t look up when he answered, absorbed in his playing. “Hm-hm.” On the heel of his reply, the scales transformed into the beginning tones of what you recognized as one of Franz Liszt’s “Liebesträume”, No. 3.

Dreams of Love.

The drumbeat of your fingers faltered, your intended question forgotten. As you fought not to let your thoughts show on your face in a self-conscious rush of heat, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d deliberately chosen that particular piece or if he’d just started playing the first thing that came to mind.

What if he was thinking of the same person as when he’d earlier given that perfect performance you had yet to reward? Not that it was any of your business…

When the languid, dreamy intro of the piece was over, your eyes went wide remembering what came next.

An incredibly challenging sequence of notes that wasn’t just fast cadence-wise, but required outstanding technical skill and exceptional dexterity, in both hands at the same time.

You knew that Jumin had a high degree of the former, but you’d never seen him play something with a tempo similar to this piece’s and therefore had no idea if he could pull it off. And that notwithstanding the difficulty he faced in imbuing emotion, something he’d only just begun to improve in.

So you waited, breath held, for the next passage to start, only to hear the music unfurl into a different melody altogether.

You knew how to play the rhythmic back and forth of soft notes he picked up instead, the romantic piece reminiscent of two people exchanging words of love under a blanket of soft rainfall one of your favorites to perform and listen to. (see Author's Note 2)

You watched on, enchanted by the spark of emotion stirring in Jumin’s eyes as the notes flowed from his fingers, no, from his heart, and filled the entire room with a dulcet warmth and just a hint of mystery. The secret of whispered sweet nothings and smoldering glances an observer would miss in the rush of raindrops obscuring the couple from the world.

His rendition struck the depths of your being, putting you in the same rapturous mood that the rare instances you’d been to a live piano concert did. You wanted to close your eyes to bask in the music, but if you did, you’d miss the effervescent play of emotion twirling in his gray eyes. So you leaned onto the piano, feeling the vibrations of the instrument in your bones, and enjoyed the performance and the view with half-lowered eyelids, a tiny smile and a dreamy look on your face.

You were so into it that it took your brain a moment to register the music ending. When it did, you surfaced from your state of bliss to find Jumin staring at you in the signature Vic-pose of a cocked head and curious eyes. “Well?”

“Huh?” Shaking off the mental haze as if awakening from a spell his music had put you under, you tried to remember what he was looking at you so expectantly for. Applause? Another reward? More praise? What did he want now!?

“Uhm…you can choose two desserts for next time…?” There. Happy? He had to be. Your student was exploiting you for sweets, making faster progress than you’d expected him to. You’d have to make a list now to keep track of what you still owed him.

Jumin’s quiet chuckle at your words put a confused frown on your face. “I won’t refuse that generous offer, but I was talking about your question. You meant to ask me something?”

Right. You’d been so enthralled by his playing, it had completely slipped your mind.

Unable to stop the flush of crimson heat streaking across your cheeks and singing your ears, you turned your face away in hopes of hiding your embarrassment. Once again, you’d made a fool out of yourself in front of him. He had totally seen the weird expression you’d made while watching him play, and now this.

Why had you bothered to come here again today?

Would you have rather missed him playing your favorite Passacaglia, though? Your inner voice was right. You were glad to have come today. His presence and music had succeeded in making you forget about yesterday’s ordeal and the enraging phone call, even if just as a temporary respite. And he’d granted you a short period of happiness, just by playing one of your favorite pieces for you, though unknowingly.

“Y/N?”

You whipped around again with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I completely forgot that I had a question for you, seeing you play like that. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

Giving a small nod, Jumin returned your smile. “A little bit. I think I’ve figured out how to merge my thoughts with my hand movements.”

“That’s good, very good. Once you can do that for all emotions, you’ll be an amazing pianist. You’ll surpass me in no time!” Despite the exaggerated cheer in your words, you were actually proud of him for getting the hang of it so fast. And still, you had to know…

“So…what were you thinking of when you were playing earlier and just now?” Holding your breath and feeling instant regret at having asked after all, you searched his face for signs of unease, just in case you’d overstepped your boundaries with such a question. “Oh, uhm…you don’t have to answer that if it’s too personal.”

Across from you, Jumin’s eyes lit up, completely against your expectations.

Was it not a past lover after all?

Closing the keyboard cover of the piano, he turned on the stool to fully face you. “It’s a little personal, but a certain someone once told me that’s acceptable among friends.” His teasing smirk had you rolling your eyes at how he once again used your own words against you. He was getting cheekier by the day…

“Naturally, I was thinking about the love of my life.”

Author's Note - 2) This is the piece I had in mind for what Jumin plays to “evade” the hard parts of the original melody he started with: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAIZxaToV2A

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

A nameless feeling of dread and something else you couldn't name stirred inside you at Jumin’s words, causing your gut to twist almost painfully. Somewhere in this undefinable cocktail of emotion holding you in a stupor, confusion made the space between your brows crease when he spoke on.

“I believe you know her.”

So it seemed he was in a relationship after all. And apparently you knew her? You had no idea who it could be. You knew no one else who was acquainted with him, let alone like that. Honestly, you didn’t even know what to do with that information. The thought of the awkward yet innocent Jumin who barely even understood how friendships worked, being with someone romantically…

But…why was it bothering you so much, when you called yourself his friend? Shouldn’t you be happy for him instead?

Just then, disrupting the strange chaos in your mind, Elizabeth The 3rd sashayed across the hardwood floor between you and Jumin, passing under the stool he sat on and rubbing against his pant-clad legs, tail gracefully raised and purr-engine on full power.

Smile widening, Jumin leaned down and scooped her up in his arms, cradling her like one would a human infant. “Perfect timing. It’s like she knows when I’m talking about her even if I don’t say her name.”

You blinked. Hold up. What!?

His smile turned into a full-blown grin at your slack-jawed expression. Glancing down, he tenderly tapped the cat’s pink nose with his fingertip. “Y/N, meet my perfect beauty, the love of my life.”

The first thing your stunned mind came up with was that he had to be joking. But when he didn’t add anything else, like the ‘Got you there didn’t I? You thought the love of my life was a cat? Hah!’ you expected, only maintaining the eye contact without his expression ever changing, it dawned on you that he had to be serious.

All at once, your state of stupefied shock dissolved. Since you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, you did both, laughing until tears streaked down your cheeks and your sides hurt from stitches. Even then, you kept laughing until all your hysterical bewilderment had dissipated and you found yourself rolling on the ground like people did in cartoons.

When you came to your senses, wiping at your wet face with your sleeve, you felt horrible for losing it like that in front of him. Sensing a pair of judging eyes on you, you peeked at Jumin expecting him to be offended at your outbreak, but found him observing with a mild smile on his face instead. Elizabeth The 3rd, still cradled in his arms like a baby, was the one with the judgy stare, flicking her tail with attitude and looking her nose down on you like she found you detestable.

Suddenly realizing the shape you were in, you rolled to your feet and hung your head in front of man and cat. “I’m so sorry, that was incredibly uncalled for. I just realized my own stupidity, when I myself have called my Victor ‘the furry love of my life’ so many times before…but hearing you say it surprised me so much, I lost control of myself. I really wasn’t expecting that kind of answer from you and that’s my only excuse. I didn’t mean it to seem like I’m making fun of you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to people thinking I’m crazy for loving my pet so much.” Jumin gave a soft shake of his head, his leisurely smile betraying the cynical awareness in his words.

A guarded look you recognized too well.

You hated that you might have unknowingly hurt him. “I-I don’t think that, I swear! I’m as crazy about my own cat!”

In more ways than one, Victor was a savior to you. He had found you in times you’d felt terribly out of place at home, freshly abandoned by your mother and not getting along with the only parent who remained. You had needed someone on your side, giving you unconditional love and support. So he’d shown up to soothe your loneliness and make you feel less useless, because the filthy, emaciated, injured stray kitty he’d been back then, he had needed you too.

So yes, you adored your little Vic with all of his mischief, and the hairballs puked onto your bed in the middle of the night, and the mess he made of your room when you weren’t paying attention to him every single minute of your day.

As someone who was in that place yourself, you would never judge anyone for 'loving their pet too much' or being more attached to an animal than any person. Because sometimes, pets were so much more in tune with your emotions and moods, and their presence so much more helpful and healing than many a human's.

There were things in the world, things inside your heart, that you could only share with a beloved pet and not even with the people you were closest with. Human beings had the tendency to form subconscious opinions and judgments over things, even those matters shared in confidence and trust. And sometimes, relationships changed because of that. From little shifts in the way a friend or relative, no matter how close, looked at or felt about you after hearing about your deepest struggles. Even if just within their minds, their perception of you changed. And sometimes their behavior mirrored that.

They couldn’t help it. It was human nature to judge, and most people were unaware of how deeply one's subconscious influenced their conduct towards others. Especially if they were never taught how to unlearn and correct these often harmful automatic responses.

But if you treat them well, pets are loyal and there for you, no matter what. Even without any words, they make their love felt and their support known. They know when something is wrong, and give comfort without being asked to. Sometimes, a single cat by your side can keep the darkness at bay more than ten people could.

You had experienced that, and you suspected that Jumin had, too.

“I know it wasn’t your intention to mock me.” Jumin’s words only made you feel a little less worse about yourself. “I may have only known you for a few weeks, but I’m quite certain of it by now. You’re not that kind of person.”

All at once, your shoulders dropped, the anxious tension keeping your muscles bunched easing. “What I’m trying to say is…I understand.” You tugged at a loose seam on your sleeve, more to give yourself a little time to decide how much you wanted to say than from restless fidgeting.

Glancing up, you found him watching you with the slightest tilt to his head, gray eyes unusually solemn.

Despite your prolonged silence, he didn’t speak, so you drew in a deep breath and hesitantly continued. “I know what it’s like to…rely on 'just' a pet rather than another person, be it by choice or circumstance. Other people don’t understand unless they experience it for themselves…and it surprised me to find out that you seem to have. So, I understand.”

Although you were making yourself vulnerable in front of Jumin, you felt neither embarrassed nor nervous. The unexpected difficulty you faced in putting your thoughts into words made it a little awkward, yet you were determined to overcome that. You didn’t know what demons haunted him, or what kind of painful moments had caused the unusually strong attachment to his cat…but you still wanted to help. You desperately wanted him to know that it was alright, and not to let other people’s ignorant words make him feel bitter for choosing his own coping methods.

Your voice trembled with the fierceness of that sentiment when you spoke again. “Don’t let anyone’s inconsiderate comments make you feel like you’re strange, or crazy. If this is how you’re surviving, and it’s not doing harm to anyone, then it’s okay to keep holding on like that until you learn to cope in a healthier way, or find someone to lean on. It’s okay.”

Something flashed in Jumin’s eyes, too fast for you to catch, but your instincts told you that your words had hit home. Yet all he did was blink, his gaze dropping to the white-haired feline in his arms. He regarded her for a long moment, tenderness in his touch as he rubbed her pointed ear.

Your heart hurt for the man who, even now, was hiding all the emotions inside him behind a blank face carefully controlled, and silence.

Then again, was that any different from the mask you’d lived with until now?

When Jumin cleared his throat softly, you found his eyes resting on you, as if he’d waited for you to meet them. When you did, biting your lip as your own nerves stretched taut a the prolonged tension, one corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

You expected him to crack a silly joke to break up the serious atmosphere, or worse, tell you that this level of personal was too much, even for friends. You thought he would distance himself, having decided that you’d overstepped your bounds speaking of something like that when he’d never asked you for advice. Prompted by his continued silence, your anxious mind bombarded you with a million and one ways this conversation could end, and none of them good, until you were ready to just get up and leave, to deal with this emotional mess another day. You could never tell what he was thinking when he closed himself off like that, after all.

“Thank you.”

With two simple words, he quelled the chaos of thoughts clamoring in your head.

“Oh…you’re welcome, I guess?” Peeking at him through your lashes, you couldn’t help but return the tiniest of smiles he was giving you.

But you felt the sincerity behind both it and his words. It put your agitated mind at ease.

“So…your cat inspires you to play a piece that reminds most other people of a lover?” You couldn’t help but poke fun at him a little.

To your surprise, his expression softened. “I have yet to find someone human who incites as much in me as she does.” He stroked a single finger up the strip of white fur above the cat’s nose, repeating the motion when Elizabeth The 3rd closed her eyes in utter bliss. “Seeing all the people who only approached my father and me for our money, I was content knowing she would never treat me according to my social status, and that was enough for me. I can’t even remember how my life was before her, before a childhood friend brought her into my life almost three years ago.”

Keeping quiet, you let him speak, bewitched by the fond smile his lips curved into with every further word. He hadn’t spoken about himself much since the two of you had decided to be friends, so you sure weren’t going to interrupt him in the rare times that he did.

“We’ve been together ever since. She’s the single best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I was always convinced that she would be the only woman in my life I’d allow close.”

Your grin widened in quiet amusement at the way he spoke of his cat like she was his literal girlfriend. Especially when he called her a ‘woman’. It was kind of adorable.

Jumin didn’t seem to take notice of your mirth. “At least I used to think that. Since getting to know you, I’ve come to realize that there are people out there who will stick around for who I am rather than for what I own.” He lifted his head, soft smile lighting up the depths of his eyes when he caught your gaze. “Maybe it’s not so bad to be friends with my maid after all, strict teacher that she turned out to be…”

You faked a gasp of indignation, putting a hand over your heart to be extra dramatic. “Just not so bad?! You wound me…”

Jumin’s reaction to your bad acting was a haughty glance, eyes sparkling with his own amusement. “I’ll give my full testimonial once we know your lessons pay off.”

You huffed out a breath at his cheekiness. “Maybe I shouldn't have introduced a reward system after all. Free dessert on top of the time you’re stealing from my busy days, and not even a single word of praise for my hard work? You’re heartless.”

You didn’t think much of it when he gently lowered the cat to the floor. Not even when he stepped towards you, did you sense any danger.

Until he towered in front of you, his chest a mere few inches away, and you felt the weight and warmth of his hand on your hair. “You’re doing very well, oh hard-working Piano Master. Your student couldn’t be happier to have you teaching him.”

With how close he was, and the way he was looking down at you from above, it took you a few seconds to realize he was petting your head, like he had done with Elizabeth The 3rd earlier.

“What are—…I’m not a damn cat!” Stumbling out from under his hand, you knew you’d gone bright red even before you felt the heat rise to your face. As you reached up to touch your hair, telling yourself it was only to check if he’d messed it up or not, you scowled at him from a safe distance away.

You’d been ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, considering his inexperience in casual human interaction. But seeing a hint of wickedness in his smile confirmed your suspicion that he’d done it on purpose.

The fiend was barely holding back a grin at your reaction. “You were just complaining about a lack of praise, but when I go out of my way to praise you, this is the thanks I get?”

Oh, he was clearly having fun messing with you, and you had no idea how to handle him when he was like that.

You'd already noticed earlier, but he seemed especially energetic and more playful than usual today. It was a little strange, considering it had taken him a while to even give you a genuine smile, and now he was out here cracking jokes and acting silly in front of you.

You wondered if he was feeling okay…

Keeping up your farce of a scowl, you picked up your purse on the way back to sit on the piano stool, ignoring that he stood right beside it. “If you’re going to waste my precious time and not play during your own lessons, then I am.”

Just as you dug your music book out of the depths of your purse, Jumin did another unexpected thing that was so unlike the sides of him he’d shown you so far.

He stepped closer and lowered himself onto the piano stool you were already seated on, forcing you to scoot aside to make room so neither of you would fall off.

Unable to ignore him any longer with the way his thigh pressed into yours and half of your butt hung suspended in the air, you gave an exasperated sigh. “What in god’s name are you doing?”

“Playing. Why take turns if we can just play at the same time?” With no further words, he started on a classical Mozart piece that was often played as a duet. When he was done with the intro and you still hadn’t made a move to join in, he turned his head to give you a pointed look full of expectation.

Rolling your eyes at him, you put your hands on the keys with a defeated sigh and jumped in where he was. Clumsy at first, and after a bit of trial and error to match up your tempos, the notes gradually smoothed out into a somewhat harmonious duet, filling the room with a melody in two voices that held the different nuances of emotion each pianist put into the mix.

It was strangely exhilarating to play the same piece with someone after all these years that just finding a piano for yourself had been a struggle. Your eyelids lowered as melancholy arose, reminding you of the last time you’d done that, with your father, before your family fell apart and your entire world turned on its head…

The entire length of the piece flowed from under four hands moving together, bringing you back the composure that Jumin’s strange behavior kept disrupting. And when the last tones reverberated in the space all around, you opened your eyes to Jumin looking at you from the side.

“Can I…ask you a question?” Yet again, he seemed in a more serious mood than before, the unusual playfulness gone from his face and voice.

You crossed your arms over your chest without the conscious decision to do so, and although you felt bad after he’d opened up to you earlier, wariness had you narrowing your eyes at his words. “That depends. What about?”

Would he dig into the topic of movie night after all?

As if sensing your thoughts, he gave a small shake of his head. “Don’t worry, even I can tell when something is a sore subject. I’m not asking about that. If my question does end up relating to it somehow, I understand if you prefer not to answer.”

The air of purposeful composure he was now exuding, his features schooled back into his familiar poker-face with only hints of emotion shining through, it made you wonder if his blithe and overly animated behavior before had been an act to cheer you up.

Warmth blossomed inside you, a delicate feeling of appreciation for this man who always surprised you with how considerate he was, and how he always seemed to know the right thing to say and do to make you feel better, despite the short time the two of you had been friends for.

Except for the times when you felt embarrassed around him. But you didn’t think he was aware of having that effect on you.

Next to you, Jumin cocked his head the slightest bit in silent question.

He probably had no idea how cute you found his rendition of Vic’s signature pose either, or he’d most likely stop doing it…

Feeling a smile rising, you gave in to it. “What do you want to know?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Remember the day we first met? When I arrived home after work to find a lowly maid playing her heart out on my expensive personal piano.”

Seeing his eyes twinkle with withheld laughter, you nonetheless gave his shoulder a halfhearted nudge in retaliation for the lame joke. “Get to the point, jokester.”

As if he’d failed to contain it, a smile tugged at his lips and brightened his voice on his next words. “I’m rather curious…what was on your mind when you were playing that day? You seemed very absorbed, and…incensed?”

Jumin couldn’t have known his question would upset you almost the same as asking about movie night.

Anger oozed back into your veins at being reminded of that day. The fact that Shin had just called to try and take advantage of you again a few hours ago made your renewed fury feel like it had never left since back then. “It’s a long story, and I can’t promise that I won’t curse while telling it.”

Though you didn’t dislike sitting so close to him—you didn’t dislike it at all, and that confounded you—you rose to your feet, filled by the need to move lest your negative emotions consumed the good mood Jumin had managed to put you in. You paced a little along the piano, like you usually did, until you had collected yourself enough to stop and cover the keys up, perching with your hips against the instrument just beside the stool Jumin remained seated on.

Curious now, Jumin's brows rose at both your words and your restless movements. He turned his body sideways on the stool and propped one leg over the other, almost casually resting his elbow on the keyboard cover. “I don’t mind if it’s long, or if you curse, as long as you don’t mind sharing it with me. I meant what I said earlier. Even if it’s unrelated, you don’t have to tell me if it upsets you. And I can tell it does.”

“It’s fine. I think I can let go of some of my anger if I talk about it with someone who’s not involved.”

His response was a slow nod. “Then, I’d be happy to listen.”

Despite the words of reassurance, you started restlessly bouncing your leg up and down as soon as you settled down, the subconscious habit giving away how much the topic stressed you out. “I think part of it was the release of touching a piano for the first time in months—your expensive instrument had been slowly seducing me for a while, after all. But what triggered the meltdown that day was something else…”

You told him of your short-lived 'relationship' with Shin Young, the guy’s obvious goal of getting physical from the start, and his final reaction in the form of the public tantrum he’d thrown when you rejected his pressuring advances once too many.

Although your intention had been to tell him of that day's events only, in accord with his question, you found yourself spilling everything that happened afterwards as well: the lingering aftereffects of how Shin defamed you on campus, the loss of your friends, your reconciliation with Nami on the day the exam results were released…the only thing you didn’t mention, because just thinking of it swept a fresh wave of rage through your mind, was Shin’s most recent phone call from just a few hours ago.

Jumin kept quiet the entire time, even when you resorted to some unsavory terms to put into words Shin’s pathetically wretched behavior and the visceral response that just hearing his name evoked in you since his public change of character.

When you were done, you felt lighter, less burdened. Despite the memories that resurfaced as you spoke, you were glad you'd decided to share the story with Jumin.

“Well? What do you think?” As you waited for him to say something, you periodically glanced over to try and read his reaction. While you’d talked, he had barely revealed anything that was going on inside his head aside from looking thoughtful, or the occasional frown creasing his forehead.

Now he leaned back on the stool and folded his hands together in his lap. “I like your friend. She sounds like a good person.”

You smiled when you thought of Nami and her flowers. “She is. So far, no one but her has spoken up, so I can’t tell yet if the others even intend to apologize or if it’s just going to be me and Nami from now on…which I wouldn’t mind, actually. The less shady people I associate with, the less of a chance there is for a betrayal like that to repeat.”

Jumin nodded. “As for Shin Young…you’re better off without him in your life.”

You shuddered with revulsion at hearing his name out of Jumin’s mouth. “I agree. I don’t know what I’ll do if he dares show his face in front of me again.” Now you just had to tell him that. As soon as he called you back, you’d make sure he knew to stay the fuck away from you from now on.

A snake like him didn’t deserve any second chances.

Jumin cleared his throat. “As infuriating as that was, it sounds like the perfect opportunity for a clean cut.”

You were sure your face had to be showing your confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Think of it this way…” He stretched out his legs, then crossed the opposite one on top of the other. His eyes sparked with mischief, and even before he opened his mouth, you knew his next words would bother you. “If you apply for the scholarship and get into the music college of your choice, you won’t run into him ever again.”

You groaned out your displeasure. Despite your gut feeling, you hadn't anticipated that he’d use this conversation to mention the damn scholarship yet again. “I should have known you’d bring this up again…”

To your surprise, he sighed as if fed up with you. “Why are you so adamant on fighting it? Right now, switching schools would solve more problems for you than it would create.” Going silent as if to let his words sink in, he searched your face for a long moment. “What are you so afraid of?”

You looked down at the monochrome pattern of the living room carpet, the one you’d had dry cleaned once after dirtying it. You needed to escape those perceptive eyes just as much as you required time to think about your answer.

It unnerved you, the way he seemed to have learned to read you so well in just a few weeks. He’d appeared so awkward and unversed in casual interactions at first that you thought he would need a lot longer to be comfortable around a virtual stranger. But the comment about your apparent lack of happy memories yesterday, the intensity he always seemed to watch and listen to you play with, and how he was able to read between the lines now even if you hadn’t outright said that something was bothering you…it showed disturbing insight on his part, and you didn’t know if you were comfortable with that.

“I’m just…not ready yet.” Biting your lip in an anxious reaction to your own distress, you tore a loose thread off your sleeve with more force than necessary. “I’m not prepared to deal with the loss of my dream, if it ends up failing.”

From the periphery of your vision, you saw that he hadn’t averted his eyes. Although you avoided looking at him, you felt his gaze on you, radiating a purposeful intensity that made your skin tingle with awareness. A feeling of foreboding gripped you even before his mouth opened again.

His next words, you suddenly realized, would hurt.

“I see…so after all the pains and the effort you underwent to fight his stifling hold on you, the doubts your father has been sowing for years have finally taken root after all.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Several days later, you found yourself at Nami’s house for a spontaneous sleepover, unable to shake the terrible dread Jumin’s words had left you with despite the time that had passed since then.

You were trying your best not to be a party pooper and to match Nami’s energy and excitement about spending the weekend at her place with fun activities and good food. Yet you still failed to keep your unsettled mind from wandering back to that day at Jumin's, and the ones that followed.

Despite your vehement denial of his statement and several indignant stuttering attempts to explain just why that wasn’t true, Jumin hadn’t seemed convinced of your sincerity at all. Instead of waiting for you to calm down, he’d gotten up, grabbed his jacket and walked out of the room with a clipped “It's late. I'll have Driver Kim take you home”.
True to what your intuition had told you beforehand, his words had hurt. What had hurt even more, however, was the wordless disappointment you’d sensed in him during the entire duration of the icily silent elevator ride as he escorted you down to the underground garage.

When you showed up to your lesson with him the following day, you had fully expected him to try and persuade you to go for the scholarship again. Hell, you’d even mentally prepared yourself for a discussion of the topic, like for debate club back in high school, when you used to neatly arrange all your arguments and counters in advance.

But yet again, Jumin’s behavior had gone against all your expectations. As if he’d grown tired of going up against your stubborn reluctance, he had never once brought it up during your next lesson, or the one after that. It was like he’d realized that all of his efforts were wasted.

Even worse than that, it felt like he’d given up on you.

The subtle shift in his behavior had wounded you more than you’d thought it would, but with it came the awareness that you didn’t like being iced out by Jumin, nor did you want him giving up on you.

You didn’t want him to, and you didn’t want to give up on yourself. You wanted to become strong enough to fight for two people. To overcome not only your father’s doubts, but your own as well. And to get to a point where gentle, yet painful words like Jumin’s, or harsh and unkind ones like your father’s, wouldn’t make you question your own decisions or their authenticity.

So you resolved to face your fears head-on, and looked forward to telling Jumin about that the next day, almost giddy with excitement and nervous determination. Though it wasn’t yet an immediate promise to apply for the scholarship—rather the firm resolve to sit down and properly think about what was holding you back from doing it—you wanted him to know you were done running away, and to ask him not to give up on you. And to tell him you needed a few days’ time to deal with it. After all, this inner conflict was something you’d been grappling with for years. You couldn’t very well settle it in a single day, when it had taken you two just to muster up the courage to decide on confronting the problem in the first place.

For the rest of the night, you’d basically been sitting on hot coals, unable to calm down until the bad aftertaste that Jumin’s words had left you with was neutralized, by assertively informing him that you weren’t going to stay passive any longer.

Unfortunately, your plans had been foiled by a single succinct text message from Jumin.

Away on business trip starting tomorrow. Lessons on hold until Tuesday, but piano is yours to use.

The wording had you snorting with amusement. It read like the telegrams people used to send back in the nineteen hundreds, before the telephone became accessible to the public and every written message consisted of as few words as possible to stay within the transmission limit.

Although you found it funny, it was a very Jumin thing to do. You already knew that, although he was getting better at face-to-face communication, he still struggled with casual messages, and never wrote more than needed to be said. Especially with emojis, you’d had to endlessly needle him to give them a try, and although he did use them occasionally, his texting style was obviously more sober and plain than your almost excessive use of emojis for a nuanced expression of your mood even in text messages.

So you had typed a short acknowledgement of his words and, fueled by a sudden spark of mischief, ended it with a “Thank you” and an emoji blowing a kiss. You had to somehow express your gratitude for his continued generosity, after all. Oh, how you would kill to see his face when he opened your reply…

The suspicious lack of a response when he usually made sure to always answer had you spending the next few days coming up with all sorts of imaginary scenarios, of the reactions he might have if you were to take your playful banter to the next level in person as well.

And like that, the rest of the week passed by uneventfully.

At home, you constantly walked on eggshells, the frigid atmosphere between you and your father making the apartment that was once a safe space feel like someone else’s home, and you like a guest who had overstayed their welcome. Poor Vic sensed it too, and mostly remained in your room, or stayed glued to your side whenever you ventured out for a short trip to the kitchen or bathroom. You didn’t know if it was that he didn’t want to leave you alone because he knew you didn’t feel safe there anymore, or if he was being that clingy because he was the one scared.

Despite the years that Victor had been living with you, your father had never warmed up to him, or rather to the idea of having a pet in the first place. He only tolerated the cat because he was yours, and you refused to give him up. If the time ever came for you to move out someday, it was an unspoken understanding that Vic would leave with you.

On campus, things had somewhat quieted down. It looked like people were starting to forget about all of the rumors, even after the negative attention and blame shifted from you to Shin Young. The entire matter was barely talked about anymore, which was likely due to the upcoming finals keeping everyone occupied and too tense to waste their time with things unrelated. Less than three weeks remained until the semester ended, and most students, not just the ones serious about their grades, were already starting to set up for exam prep in one way or another.

It also solved the mystery of why you never heard from Shin again after that one infuriating phone call he’d intended to continue later. It seemed that whatever his true motivation for kissing up to you like that had been, the changes on campus no longer made it necessary for him to resume his shady doings. Or maybe he had finally realized he should invest more time and energy into studying rather than caring about his reputation and status on campus.

Either way, you were finally rid of the headache of having that douchebag hovering around you again, and that was good, because you had other matters to focus on.

Since both Nami and you would be busy preparing for finals starting next week, your friend had suggested using this weekend as a last opportunity to have fun before the two of you would be consumed by the end-of-semester exam stress. So you’d baked an extra big batch of her favorite cookies—oatmeal raisin with chocolate-covered raisins, almonds AND chocolate chips, a custom-made creation you’d come up with for her birthday last year that she’d been obsessed with ever since—and dragged yourself, a bag of sleepover essentials, and the heavy box of treats to her cute little studio apartment on the other side of town.

The plan was simple: gorge yourselves on delivery food and homemade sweets, do each other’s nails and watch cheesy rom-com movies all weekend long. Or as Nami liked to call it: self-care.

As she cheerfully chattered away about the surprise her boyfriend of three years had come up with for their anniversary, all the while painting tiny, meticulous flower motifs onto your freshly manicured fingernails, you briefly contemplated telling her about the matter with Jumin just to hear her opinion on it.

You weren’t uncertain, you told yourself, just in need of some emotional support and reassurance that you were doing the right thing.

However, as soon as she finished recounting the romantic anniversary date and proceeded to explain her choice of your nail art design right after—azalea for luck in love and yellow roses for happiness, her own personal way of 'wishing for your single-ness to end', as she’d put it—you dismissed the idea, no matter how much you longed for mental support. In her current mood, you wouldn’t put it past her to misinterpret, or worse, intentionally misunderstand the relationship between you and Jumin, and start pestering you for 'juicy details', as she would say.

After the disaster with Shin, she’d been insistent that you allow her to set you up with some of her 'cute, single guy friends', which she supposedly had tons for you to choose from.

You seriously wondered how, given the timid introvert that she was outside of established long-term friendships. You’d seen her shy personality in action when it came to strangers. Considering she had an even harder time than you making friends, you constantly marveled at how she’d even snagged her current boyfriend. Because, according to her stories, she had been the one to ask him out first…

When Nami left to answer the door, no doubt the food you had ordered a while ago, you examined your new nails. Put together, the delicate purple and yellow flowers on a base of glittery white made for a surprisingly cute design, despite the hidden message your naive friend had snuck into her work. It reminded you of an early spring, when the first flowers bloomed before winter’s end, vibrant splotches of color painted onto a shimmering blanket of snow.

New beginnings, your inner voice whispered, a tentative hopefulness unfurling inside you like the blossoms of those early bloomers did, despite the layers of ice and snow weighing them down. You couldn’t help but feel like this was a sign of some sort, telling you to keep going in the direction you had chosen.

Here’s to leaving behind the harsh winter cold and growing towards the warmth of the sun.

You liked it, although thinking about this new meaning you had discovered for yourself made you a little emotional. Now all you had to do was not ruin Nami’s hard work as you dug into the mountain of stuffed, doughy, pillowy goodness the two of you had ordered, also known as the ultimate savory comfort food: Dumplings.

~~~

Several hours of food, face masks and romance flicks later, you handed Nami a tissue as you observed with astonished amusement how she teared up over the emotional reunion of a couple on-screen, yet again.

This was the third movie the two of you were watching that night, and she had somehow managed to cry during all three of them. After all the salty popcorn and sugary treats consumed, how wasn’t she completely dehydrated at this point?

Rolling your eyes in relief when the credits finally rolled, you rose from where you’d lain on the bed alongside Nami and started collecting the mess of crinkled candy wrappers and empty snack bowls scattered around your still sniffling friend. “Come on, that’s enough bittersweet love stories for today. Time for bed!”

Sometime in between the feasting and the movie viewings, Nami had casually informed you that she’d already planned all the activities for the coming two days to be spent together. Contrary to how you’d imagined the weekend would be after her use of the words 'relaxation' and 'stress relief', she did not intend to just stay at home and laze around. In fact, she had a whole agenda prepared, from things like going on a hike to 'enjoy the bright colors of autumn before it gets too cold to go out into nature', and having a picnic in the middle of said hike, to 'bask in the scenery on top of the mountain', to spending the entire Sunday shopping and having street food, then ending the night with a visit to the sauna.

As far as you were concerned, only the sauna part equaled what you’d had in mind for 'relaxation'. And running around spending money all day sounded like the exact opposite of 'stress relief' to you.

But since you couldn’t very well mess up Nami’s carefully constructed plans, and because you would still enjoy spending time with her even if it was while dragging your tired body up and down a damn mountain, you figured that instead of staying up all night talking, it would be better to turn in early so you’d at least get enough sleep for the demanding day ahead.

So the two of you tidied up the aftermath of your movie night, took turns in the tiny bathroom, and proceeded to set up the huge inflatable mattress Nami kept at the ready for when someone stayed over.

Since she lived a good distance away from her family, rarely a month passed that she didn’t have relatives visiting her from back home. Moving away for college was hard on both sides, after all, the one leaving, and the ones left behind.

Several layers of blankets and pillows completed the makeshift futon doubling for a bed in the middle of the cozy one-room apartment. As Nami’s actual bed was too small to fit two people, and she was stubbornly refusing to let you sleep on the floor by yourself, you ended up sharing the futon.

“Sleepovers should always end with everyone in the same bed, anyways,” Nami firmly stated as she plopped down beside you on the improvised bedding.

Although the mattress was on the thin side, the whole setup was surprisingly comfortable. And yet you lay awake for a long time, unable to quell the unrest of your mind, to stop the anxious thoughts churning in a ceaseless vortex.

In the dark and quiet home, the lights on faraway buildings flickered vivid and bright through the windows, dimming down the stars to mere pinpricks in the velvety black night sky. Classical music carried softly through the air like a languid breeze, befitting the hushed atmosphere. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

Muddled by sleepless fatigue, your brain didn’t immediately process the melody filling the previous silence, until Nami stirred beside you, raising her arm to blindly poke at your shoulder. Only her slurred “Your phone…” finally connected the dots in your mind.

Right. The Moonlight Sonata was your phone ringtone.

Reaching for said object, you squinted against the abrupt brightness and gave a soft groan when you read the displayed caller.

The one person you were trying to avoid at all cost. Not Shin.

Your mother.

Turning the troublesome device off, you sank back onto the pillows.

“…not answering that?” Next to you, Nami blinked one sleepy, half-opened eye at you.

“Nuh-uh.” You shook your head, eyes already falling shut. “Tell you…” A yawn interrupted you mid-sentence. “…tomorrow.”

“‘Kay.” Nami turned over and shifted around a bit before finally settling down. “Night.”

“Goodnight.”

~~~

On your way up the mountain the following noon, you brought Nami up-to-date about your resurfacing mother. She already knew the gist of your mommy issues from the few, vague times you had opened up about your past before, so there was no need for extensive explanation.

Which was convenient, since your sleep-deprived mind would have made that difficult.

By the time you took a water break halfway through the hike, Nami was fully informed and ready to relinquish her thoughts on the matter, along with the provisions bag with water bottles and pre-made lunch boxes you’d been taking turns carrying the entire way.

“I understand that she hurt you by completely walking out of your life, and that you probably have more resentment left for her than any remaining hint of love. So, I’m not going to tell you to hear her out, or even to give her a chance to come back—if that’s what she intends. BUT,” she raised a hand when you sluggishly nodded your approval of her insightful words from where you crouched on the ground in a sapless heap, signaling that she wasn’t done yet. “…if you’re going to stand by your decision to keep her out of your life, at least make sure you won’t regret it.”

Considering that you were squinting your eyes against the brightness of the sun contouring her from behind, like a high contrast painting, you weren’t sure if she took note of the frown her words put on your face. You contemplated their meaning as you watched the fuzzy outlines of your friend, now surrounded by a blinding halo of light, lift her water bottle for a generous swig. “So…how do I make sure?”

Nami handed you her bottle to put back in the bag and tightened her ponytail before dragging you to your feet. Together, you continued your path up the winding mountain trail encircled by the lush colors of fall, and what little greenery remained on the trees starting to lose their foliage.

“What I mean is…you refuse to revive your relationship with her now, because you’re not done being upset about her betrayal. Hell, you might never be. Many, many people see abandonment as the worst breach of trust possible, something that can’t be forgiven.” She paused to let two older ladies overtake from behind, shooting them an extra bright smile in response to the venomous glares and indignant mutterings directed at the two of you, something about ‘lazy youngsters’ slowing others down.

It made you grin.

For all of her shy and timid nature when it came to meeting new people her age, she could be surprisingly fierce to bullies on account of others. Completely at odds with her usual kindness, she also had the habit of swearing like a sailor when she got really mad, or drunk. It would never not be funny to you.

When the sputtering women had passed, Nami nonchalantly picked up the thread of conversation like she was been interrupted. “That’s why I said to make sure you won’t regret it later. You’re relying on the fact that there'll be other opportunities to reconcile later, on your terms instead of hers. But what if this is literally the only chance you’ll get for the rest of your life?”

Worrying your lip with your teeth as you mulled over how to respond, you tried not to let the ominous feeling her words instilled in you cloud your thoughts on the matter.

You had indeed intended to address the issue on your own terms, instead of going along with your mother’s whim and timing of return. No matter how much you resented her, you at least wanted closure, so you could finally conclude that chapter of your past that had filled your teenage days with more heartache than happy memories.

You were tired of holding onto this grudge that remained a constant poison in your life, despite the happiness you were slowly finding for yourself through Jumin’s help. So, you would add that to your list of things to confront, or at least stop running away from.

This festering wound of a daughter’s broken heart had to heal someday, after all.

The next time Nami spoke, she picked a topic more suitable to the time you were spending together, leaving you to brood over her question for the rest of the day.

~~~

Monday finally rolled around, and your fears about Nami’s planning proved true. Instead of providing relaxation and stress relief badly needed before an intense period of exam prep, the torturous weekend had succeeded in making your entire body, and your wallet hurt.

Solely your mind was a little more at ease than before, because the supposed 'self-care time' and Nami’s surprisingly wise advice had forced you to think about all the things you’d been avoiding.

It also made you realize that, even more than the piano you didn’t get to play all weekend, you missed your fun afternoons with Jumin. So, despite the upcoming finals, you decided not to cancel your lessons with him entirely, but to just take one or two nights a week off, and instead cut down on work to make time for your studies.

However, in spite of that resolution, you couldn’t get yourself to spend all of Monday in the library after class. You went grocery shopping instead, and got everything you needed to make one of your favorite baked goods, brown sugar and blueberry muffins.

Perhaps you did tend to use baking as a means to manage stress sometimes. The idea of studying all day when Jumin would be back tomorrow seemed like too much of an injustice. You could spend some of the time catching up on the rewards you owed him instead…

As a result, you were too excited to focus on your lectures on Tuesday, knowing that you’d get to see him again for your lessons that same afternoon. It was the thought of playing again that filled you with so much anticipation, you told yourself as you checked if the muffins were still safe and unscathed in the bag for what felt like the hundredth time. Nothing more than that.

In the end, you ran out of denial when you finally stood in front of the penthouse’s door and found you could no longer chalk up your racing heartbeat to the piano calling out to you.

Fine, maybe you had missed being around Jumin and his calming presence, especially after Nami’s perpetually energetic and hyper personality. Was that a crime!?

While punching in the code for the electric door lock, you ran a hand through your hair, oblivious to your own fidgety restlessness.

Although two more numbers remained, the door opened abruptly, making you jump back in fright.

You almost dropped the muffins, until you recognized Jumin standing in the doorway, looking a tad flustered.

“You’re here. Ah…hello.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he stepped back to let you in, unaware that he had nearly given you a heart attack.

“Hi…” Not knowing why your face felt hot all of a sudden, you entered and took off your coat while he closed the door behind you.

“So, uhm…how was the business trip?” As you took a seat on the sofa, you watched him disappear into the kitchen like he’d been waiting for you to arrive just to do that.

Why did it seem to you that he was nervous?

When he responded, still in the kitchen, his voice betrayed nothing of the tension you’d detected in him. “Fine, work-wise. I’ve been to Austria several times before, so this trip was nothing new.”

“Oh! Have you ever seen the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra in person?”

With its reputation among Europe’s most important destinations for classical music, Austria housed one of the finest orchestras in the world. It had been a lifelong dream of yours to see them perform in person one day.

This time, Jumin popped his head through the kitchen door to answer. “I have, more times than I can remember. It’s an experience I highly recommend.” His knowing smile was like salt in the wound of your envy.

You couldn’t help but pout. He was obviously enjoying it, making you feel envious over something that was such a big deal to you, yet a common occurrence to him.

Grumbling under your breath, you crossed your arms, refusing to say any more until he was in the same room, and not doing whatever he was doing over there in the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” he called out as if sensing your miserable mood. “I've brought you a souvenir.” A mere moment later, he walked out carrying a silver tray, a small gift bag dangling from his fingertips.

Although you didn’t want him to think you were bribable, his words nonetheless made you perk up.

And then he set down the tray, and your mouth watered at the sight in front of you.

Arranged on an elegant dessert plate was a whole cake covered in a temptingly glossy chocolate icing. Beside it on the tray sat a bowl of whipped cream, a dainty porcelain teapot, and two matching china cups with the same lovely dark blue pattern.

Overtaken by an astonished kind of elation, you gazed blankly at Jumin, who carefully placed the gift bag on the table by the tea service and seated himself next to you. “What’s all this?”

“This is a Sachertorte.” His gray eyes held a spark of anticipation when he reached out to pour the tea, earlier disquiet now carefully concealed behind an amiable smile. “It was apparently created in the eighteen-thirties, when Prince von Metternich, the state chancellor of Austria at the time, asked for a novel dessert creation to be made, to satisfy the palates of especially important guests he was hosting. Unfortunately, his kitchen chef was sick in bed that day, so the task was given to the chef’s sixteen year old apprentice, Franz Sacher. Although he was young, his creation pleased not only the chancellor’s guests, but went on to become the country’s most famous dessert, and a delicacy celebrated worldwide.”

After handing you a cup of fragrant tea, he cut the cake, making sure not to damage the decorative chocolate plates fashioned like wax seals and laid in a circle on top of the glossy pastry. Each of them was inscribed with the word Sacher, most likely a mark of authenticity.

Since you could barely restrain yourself from snatching up the plate he was setting in front of you, you instead focused on not dropping the expensive tea cup as you inhaled the steam rising from the golden liquid. Only after taking a sip of it and safely setting the fragile china back down, did you allow yourself to sedately reach for the cake.

Gleaming eyes followed your movements intently as you cut a small piece with a tiny dessert fork. “I believe it will earn your praise as well.”

You thought you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the flavor with the way Jumin was observing, but the first bite quickly made you forget that you were being watched with the same level of anticipation that Vic awaited his dinner with.

The two soft yet slightly dense layers of chocolate sponge cake barely needed chewing, a thin spreading of apricot jam in between. Although the fruity note from the jam went surprisingly well with the chocolate cake, in combination, it was almost too sweet. But then the icing melted on your tongue, coating your taste buds with the rich, slightly bitter taste of dark chocolate that cut through the sweetness like a much needed rain shower bringing reprieve from the cloying summer heat.

The cake alone was too sweet, and the icing alone too bitter. But both put together…

“It’s perfect.” Eyes gone wide at the genius composition of complementary flavors, you caught Jumin’s gaze to find him smirking.

“I knew you would like it.” He looked utterly pleased with himself.

You took a sip of tea, mainly to force yourself to act more civilized than you would if you were alone with that cake. Eager to taste more of this creation that, as you now knew, fully deserved its reputation, you reached for the fork, but were stopped by a smugly amused Jumin.

“Wait.” Chuckling softly, he grabbed the gift bag he’d brought out with the tray earlier and pushed it across the table towards you. “Open this first.”

Curiosity outweighed your raging sweet tooth. “What’s that?”

“Your souvenir.”

That made you frown. “I thought the cake was my souvenir.”

Jumin had the audacity to roll his eyes at you. “The cake was a mere taste. This is the real keepsake.” Tapping the gift bag, he pushed it even closer to you.

Licking your lips for the lingering chocolate flavor, you picked up the nondescript dark gray bag and shook its content out onto your hand. Out came a tumble of black and white crinkly wrapping paper, a small solid object hidden somewhere in its depth.

Although you were dying to know what it was, you glanced up at Jumin, only to snort with laughter at the face he was making.

He had the same expectant expression that Vic wore whenever he brought you the 'prey' he had captured after an arduous hunt. He would spend half an hour batting his favorite toy mouse around on the floor and sneaking up on it like he was some majestic tiger in the wild, leading up to the final dramatic pounce to incapacitate it. Then he’d carry it over to you in his mouth and drop the poor abused thing by your feet, swishing his tail around proudly and giving you this look full of expectation, as if to say ‘Go on, human. Accept my offering and give me your gratitude'.

For some reason, that was what Jumin’s expression reminded you of, and it seemed especially hilarious considering that he was waiting for you to unwrap his gift and show him your reaction.

Ignoring his raised eyebrow at your outbreak of amusement, you went back to fumbling with the wrapping, still giggling quietly to yourself—until you finally peeled the final layer of paper away, and a gasp escaped your throat at what it revealed.

A tiny grand piano sat on your palm, a glossy white, true to original instrument that even had a brand marking in gold etching on the front, right above the keyboard. It looked so real that, if it weren’t literally of a size fit for fairies, you would have tried to play it.

“It’s beautiful.” With almost reverent care, you stroked a single finger across the top of the tiny facsimile of one of your favorite things in the world.

“Open it.” He was looking at you with that strange intensity again.

Your forehead creased with confusion at his request, since the keys were already uncovered and the fallboard didn’t seem movable. When you tried the main lid, however, you found it had a hinge you could open it by. So you did, only to hear the crystal clear beginning notes of a familiar melody fill the air.

Schubert’s Serenade.

Your mouth fell open.

As if that wasn’t already amazing enough, your gift wasn’t just the tiny, detailed miniature model of a grand piano—it was also a music box.

All at once, you finally understood why he had asked about your favorite composer seemingly out of nowhere during your final lesson before his trip.

Covering your mouth with one hand, you glanced back and forth between Jumin and the delicate music box in awestruck silence.

Obviously delighted by your speechlessness, he handed you your cake with a big dollop of whipped cream and a smile he failed to hide as he reached for his own teacup afterwards.

“Thank you,” you mouthed at him, unable to put more than that into words right then, to let him know how much you loved it, and how grateful you were for this souvenir that ended up being so much more than you’d expected. So you tried to convey your feelings with your eyes, all the while hoping you wouldn’t start tearing up as you listened, entranced, to one of your favorite piano pieces by one of your favorite composers, playing the perfect background music to a cup of tea and a slice of Sachertorte.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

The ambient tunes of the music box made for an unexpectedly homey and mellow atmosphere, so that neither of you was in a hurry to bring your leisurely teatime to an end. You asked for more tea and were rewarded with anecdotal retellings of some of Jumin’s previous business trips, including several places in the world you had but dreamed of visiting yourself.

It made you admire and envy him equally. He was a mere few years older than you, and yet he’d seen so much more of the world and experienced so many things that were not just inconceivable to you, but seemed utterly out of your reach.

For the first time since becoming friends, it struck you that your world and Jumin’s appeared to be far removed from each other. The two of you stood on completely different rungs on the ladder of life—if it was even the same ladder at all.

When the last drop of tea was poured at last, Jumin surprised you by grasping your shoulders and gently steering you over to the piano, where he sat you down on the stool with the prompt to ‘warm up for the lesson’. Before you could point out that the lessons were for his sake, and therefore he should be the one warming up, he disappeared back into the kitchen with the dirty dishes and the rest of the cake.

Experience told you that you’d end up going home with that cake later. Whenever you had dinner together, Jumin always sent you home with the leftovers, like you were some poor, hungry kitten in need of feeding, and always came back asking for more.

Snorting at the thought, because Jumin most definitely seemed like the type to feed a stray cat his expensive leftovers, you shook your head to dispel the imaginary scenarios with Jumin that your mind seemed to get ever more invested in lately, and launched into a piece of music you’d been wanting to play all weekend.

Jumin didn't immediately return, so he must’ve decided to take care of the cleanup first. Only a few weeks ago, you would have insisted on giving him a hand, but you’d learned the hard way that, if you even offered to help when he didn’t ask you to, he’d just chase you out of the kitchen with a mortally offended scowl and an assertive ‘you are not my maid, right now’.

As you had come to realize, Jumin took the separation of professional and private life quite seriously.

You could have told him it was perfectly fine for friends to help each other out with things like that, that you felt like it was the least you could do considering your lessons were always at his place, and that he never let you pay or even just split the bill for any food you shared…but you ended up letting it go.

For a while now, you’d been having a sneaking suspicion. Every now and then, you would sense this disquiet in him, a certain apprehensiveness over the relationship the two of you shared. It was like he feared that it would come to an end someday, almost expected it, even.

It was his behavior at times that gave you that impression. The way he always made sure to be putting special effort into your friendship, as if he was worried he might not be doing enough, or that he would alienate you if he didn’t fulfill his part as a friend…

Truth was, you weren’t sure how to deal with it. You wanted to tell him that this was no business transaction, desperately wanted him to know that it was okay not to give a hundred percent of yourself all the time, as long as both sides did their best to give at least fifty. That one person couldn’t carry a relationship alone, platonic or not.

You wanted, no, needed him to understand that you weren’t going to stop being his friend and run if he stopped making all those little, attentive gestures for you and not accepting anything in return.

But something told you that words alone wouldn’t be enough to convince Jumin. So you would prove it to him with your actions instead. You’d earn his trust, and then you’d make him realize that he’d had yours for a long time now, and that this friendship wasn’t conditional to you, nor dependent on the energy he did or did not invest in it. You would let him know that it was okay to share the burden, that sometimes, even forty percent were enough, because people had good and bad days, and that you would gladly bring in the missing sixty, as long as he did the same for you when your day happened to be subpar.

You already knew he didn’t have many friends, and also that he didn’t really seem to know how close friendships worked. You couldn’t give him a clear-cut definition of what a friend was supposed to be, because you didn’t think there was one.

But what you could do, at least, was show him what it meant to be your friend.

Mind made up, you let the final notes of the piece that had turned more emotional along with your line of thoughts fade. You’d been at it for a while now, and besides, you had long realized the reason for Jumin’s convenient escape to the kitchen…

Sure enough, when you turned around, he leaned in the doorway, the familiar observer who was always there to watch your performance.

At this point, he couldn’t fool you anymore. You’d come to understand that he always pretended to be late to your lessons, or acted like you were early, just so he could stand behind the door and listen to you play in secret.

Just to give you time to play.

Because, save for the rare times that you demonstrated something for him to replicate, you barely got to touch the piano during your lessons with him. He was the one learning to improve his playing, after all.

His previous offer to you, to come by and use the instrument whenever you felt like it, was ongoing, but aside from your work as his maid, or when you were negligibly early for lessons, you didn’t like visiting his apartment when he wasn’t there. Without Jumin around, Elizabeth The 3rd’s aloofness always made you feel like you were trespassing…and the house was just too quiet, too empty without his presence.

Even filling it with music no longer made a difference in that.

The grand piano may have been what started everything—your transgression while working for Jumin, getting caught, and accepting this tentative friendship to teach him to play with emotion. Yet somewhere along the way, things had stopped being about doing whatever it took to have an outlet for the music inside you, and started being about something else.

He mattered now. Jumin. Because, in his own way, he understood your loneliness. Because he had given you the opportunity to play again. Because he cared for your music.

Music that, now, even his absence shaped to some extent.

You’d never been scared of losing your happiness before, because you had barely known any since the day the most important thing in your life was taken from you. And before that, when the most important person in your life had walked away.

Until you had run into your employer.

It hit you then, the truth you’d been trying to ignore for weeks even as it grew heavier, louder, pounding away at the back of your mind.

After eight years of surviving instead of living, what small measure of happiness you had managed to find…it depended entirely on Jumin.

Terrified that your eyes would betray that sudden awareness, you painstakingly avoided meeting his gaze as you beckoned him over. “Come on, we should get started before the sugar high wears off.”

You would have to tell him all the things you'd been saving for when you were face to face again later. You needed some time to regain a measure of composure first.

“As you probably recall, this is week two of 'playing positive emotion'. You've mastered channeling happiness last week. Today, we're looking at excitement.” While you waited for him to sit, you assumed your usual position against the piano's side.

It was a good place for you to be. Walking back and forth along the instrument's edge, you didn't have to constantly face him, and he couldn’t view your expression the entire time that you spoke.

“Many pieces incorporate elements of excitement. The notes climb higher to emphasize a brightening mood, or the music picks up in speed and rhythm to mimic a racing heart. Some melodies make you feel the anticipation thrumming in your blood, others, you have to invest your own unique brand of excitement in them so they become your own. Just like people, music has countless reasons to be excited, and each of those gives a different nuance to the sound.”

You smiled when you thought back to the way Jumin had yanked open the door instead of waiting for you to open it. His expectant face as you'd unwrapped your souvenir. It seemed like he'd almost missed your lessons together as much as you had.

Now, to determine if he could find an instance of such excitement that was strong enough to infuse his playing with…

Jumin listened intently, but didn't make a move even when you were done speaking. He appeared to be waiting for something else.

You blinked. “…Why don't you give it a try? Just play whatever comes to mind.”

With a decisive nod, he finally lowered his hands to the keys, and, throwing you one last, undefined glance that confused you even more, struck a melody that you recognized by its distinct French style.

Erik Satie's 'Je Te Veux'. An interesting choice.

The first impression the piece provided was definitely one of excitement. The first time you'd heard it, as you remembered, your mind had conjured up the imagery of barely hidden excitement and the springy steps of someone on the way to reunite with a friend, or lover.

But despite the overarching mood being joyful anticipation, there was a hidden note of something else there. An undercurrent of melancholy that, after a certain part of the melody, turned the piece into a nostalgic trip down memory lane.

No longer a joyous reunion, but the stroll through a past that wouldn't return.

The fond memories put a smile on your face and made your gait bounce recalling the excitement you used to feel on this familiar path. But underneath it all lay the subtle shadow of knowing that, for all the joy that used to be, there was no going back to that time. It didn't diminish the lighter notes of remembered happiness, but added an air of wistfulness to them that seemed especially prominent in Jumin’s rendition, despite the initially light theme. Particularly in the second half of the piece, the entire melody turned into a bittersweet experience under his hands.

So, yes, that definitely wouldn’t be your first choice for a piece about excitement. And the way he was playing it…

At least now you knew that Jumin wouldn't have any trouble bringing in negative emotions for the coming two weeks of your lessons.

As he played on, you grasped the opportunity to watch him for once, really study his unguarded expression while he was focused on feeling the keys under his fingers and making the notes brim with ambiguous emotion.

His eyes were closed and his face relaxed, except for a tiny crease between his brows that could have been due to either concentration or nostalgia. Even seated and absorbed as he was, his posture remained straight and proud, his shoulders stiff. Only his head moved, subtly swaying along with the music and nodding in time with the rhythm of his foot on the pedal.

Leaning against the piano in your usual spot, you rested your chin in your hand and simply watched him play. He’d come a long way since your first lesson together, and you could tell that he was making an effort to improve even now. Unusual choice or not, you couldn’t disrespect his performance by not enjoying it.

And enjoy you did, so that by the time the piece ended, you had long forgotten your resolve to avoid his gaze.

Jumin blinked his eyes open, caught yours, and gave the barest hint of a smile, one you couldn’t help but instantly return. “How was I?”

You straightened up from your position against the instrument. “I have nothing to correct, but…”

He raised his brows in a silent question when you let your words trail off.

Uncertain whether to continue or not, you bit your lip, smile fading. It wasn’t your intention to pry, especially since it could well be a touchy subject. “…I’m kind of curious. To me, this piece isn’t exclusively cheerful and excited.”

Still the most expressive part of his face, his gray eyes gave away the exact moment he realized the meaning behind your hesitant words. “Ah.” At the same time, his face softened, lips quirking into a strange, plaintive half-smile that filled you with the same feeling the melody he’d just finished playing had. “You want to know what memories inspired it?”

At your mute nod, he slowly closed the fallboard over the keys and did a quarter turn on the stool, so his body was facing towards you. Then he drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, like he had to steel himself for what was to come. “Up until a year and a half before you and I ran into each other for the first time, I used to be an active member of RFA, a private, small-scale organization founded by an old friend of mine, V, and his fiancée.”

His expression didn’t shift in the slightest, but although you couldn’t detect any visible sign of discomfort or unease in him, something in his words spawned a dull ache deep in your chest.

“I’ve mentioned him before, though briefly. He’s the one who brought Elizabeth The 3rd into my life.”

You vaguely recalled him mentioning that the feline had been given to him by a childhood friend, and wondered why he’d never spoken of him since.

Seeing you nod, Jumin picked up his narration. “This Fundraising Association that was named after V’s fiancée, Rika, had only one goal: the organization and execution of ‘parties’ meant to raise money for charity.” His eyes unfocused as he spoke, his empty gaze going right through you, as if he was mentally traveling back in time to successfully reconstruct his memories into words. Like he was reliving those moments one more time as he told you about them.

The ache in your chest intensified, along with the regret of making him speak of painful things. Guilt-ridden, you ducked your head, anxiously twisting and turning the hem of your shirt between your fingers.

Yet Jumin remained absorbed in his own distant world. Oblivious to your inner conflict, he continued. “Rika was the one who did the most important work, planning the events, contacting and inviting influential people from various social standings and fields of business. She invested considerable time and effort trying to stay on top of things, but she wasn’t only good at it—she loved what she did.”

You looked up when, barely noticeable, his voice softened on those words.

However, Jumin was still not back in the present with you. “But aside from Rika and V, who had more of a supporting role despite being one of the founders, there were five more members of RFA, a tight-knit group consisting of some of their acquaintances who each had their own part to play. They assisted with secondary tasks like providing ideas for the events, procuring guests to invite, and eventually overseeing those parties in person. I was—am—one of them, and you’ve met another person who is. Jaehee Kang, my assistant.”

His words brought to your mind the slender, short-haired brunette wearing glasses and an elegant yet formal skirt suit befitting her occupation. You had only met her once sometime in the earliest days of your friendship with Jumin, but those few minutes of being in her presence had left a lasting impression on you.

An impression that was difficult to reconcile with Jumin’s next words.

“Being that we worked together, the seven of us were in constant contact with each other. Our communication was frequent, and more casual than I was used to, or even comfortable with at first. Especially since we were essentially strangers to each other, regardless of the few of us who were acquainted from before. But over time, we grew closer and came to care about each other, and not just as a group with a common purpose.” Dipping his head, he absentmindedly began rubbing his fingertips over the shiny surface of the fallboard his arm rested on. “I dare say they were the first people in my life to go beyond simply being close acquaintances, and becoming what I’d go as far as to call…friends.”

He paused when Elizabeth The 3rd approached to hop up onto his lap and settle herself in what she made look like a comfortable position across his thighs.

For the first time since he’d started recounting the past, you saw a change in Jumin’s expression. The corners of his lips rose a little higher as he scratched the cat’s chin, half-smile seeming more genuine now, and less suffused with that strange melancholy that seemed to weigh down on him.

You watched him take a few seconds to pet her with deliberate, almost languid care, as if he was grounding himself in the feeling of her soft fur under his hands. Then he tipped his head back slightly to glance at you, and although his smile held, you couldn’t tell if the dimness of his eyes was a consequence of merely the shadows clouding his face, or those clinging to his soul.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “The bond I shared with the RFA members and my time ‘working’ with them were two of the few things most precious to me. Despite my difficulty to express my feelings even then, the final stages of planning those fundraiser parties and the actual days we held the events always brought enormous anticipation and excitement with them. So much that, for me, it was well worth the trouble of spending time and effort on something other than my work as C&R’s director.”

So that must have been the happy aspect behind his earlier performance. You could imagine him reliving those joyful days of friendship and the excitement of being part of a bigger project, working for a good cause.

What remained now was the part overshadowing that, the story of how it all ended.

The frown creasing his forehead told you that he wasn’t looking forward to speaking about it.

You couldn’t blame him. Some demons were better left in the past, where they couldn’t hurt you as much as summoning them back into the present would. But although you long regretted having asked him to elaborate, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him now. You knew from experience that speaking about things that burdened your soul was better than keeping them bottled up inside you. To you, it always felt like trying to close a valve that had sprung open from the escalating pressure of too many things contained behind it, for too long.

So, unless he decided that it was too hard to talk about it after all, you wouldn’t try to stop him.

Which didn’t mean that you felt any better about yourself for making him do this. Still, all you could do was chew on your bottom lip as you restlessly searched his face for the subtlest hint of something, anything that would enlighten you to the thoughts he once again kept to himself.

Instead you had to watch it all fade from his expression, the faint delight and the tiny traces of comfort his brief interaction with Elizabeth The 3rd had left behind.

“Roughly a year and a half ago, Rika attempted suicide.”

It was like, with the unsettling words that whispered past his lips, any semblance of cheer or lightheartedness flowed out of his body. With an abruptness that startled you, his shoulders slumped, head dropping as he drew in a ragged breath that made your lungs ache.

“I—we—thought it was sudden, but according to V, she had a history of depression and mental health issues, and even went to therapy for a while.” Anguish and a diffuse confusion colored his voice, like he still couldn’t understand how he never noticed Rika’s struggles despite how close they’d been. “That day, he found her just in time. He took her to the hospital for treatment, and they kept her under observation for a few days, to make sure she wouldn’t try anything again.” The words came at a rapid pace now, almost like he was in a frenzy to let them all pour out.

Like the valve keeping all of it contained had finally given way under the pressure.

“When she was discharged, V took her to his place to keep an eye on her. He couldn’t bear to leave her by herself again, after what he’d seen her try to do. A few weeks in, he thought she was getting better…until he found her in his kitchen, knife in hand and each of her limbs covered in more bleeding cuts than unbroken skin.”

A pause to catch his breath that was escalating in time with his story.

Since his head remained lowered, you were unable to see his face, but that might have been for the better. The way his voice grew thinner, threatening to crack, and the palpable agony you could feel coming off of him in waves already had you clenching your fists so hard, your fingernails dug painfully into your palms.

Teeth gritted, you wrestled back the increasing urge to stop him, hug him, do anything to end his pain or at least offer some consolation. To soothe those scabbed wounds you had so thoughtlessly asked him to rip open in front of you.

But all you could do was sit there and helplessly watch him suffer.

“V stopped her that day, but told me afterwards that she refused to go back to the hospital no matter how he pleaded with her. He…he even asked me to come over to try talking to her the next day.” A shudder ran through Jumin’s body, muscles bunched up tight enough that it looked like he was hurting all over.

“I went, and upon arriving, wished I hadn’t.” His voice was so low now, so feeble, you had to strain to hear the next part.

“I found him in the bathroom. The door wasn’t locked, but something heavy blocked it from the other side. When I finally forced my way in…he lay there, covered in blood, kitchen knife sticking out of his gut.”

Your insides twisted from shock at his revelation. Then something else followed, a wave of compassion so strong that tears pricked your eyes, for this man who'd had to discover his own friend like that.

“He’d been like that for a while, but he wasn’t gone yet. He even recognized me. It was like he was waiting for me to come hear his last words before he left.”

Tears cascaded down your face by then, silent but for the voice in your soul screaming at you to hold him.

And still you couldn’t move, couldn’t do it. Because you knew how razor-thin the difference between compassion and pity was to people who didn’t want to accept one, and didn’t know how to accept the other.

Jumin was trembling so hard now that it worried you, despite your own emotional outbreak clouding your thoughts. Seeing him like that, so beside himself and haunted by the horror of his past when he was usually the very embodiment of self-control and composure…it shook you to the core just as it had you aching and suffering along with him.

But even then, he kept on speaking. “In his final moments, V uttered the following words: ‘Trying to take the knife from her…accident…my fault, not hers…’”

As you remained frozen in place, Elizabeth The 3rd managed what you longed to do. Obviously sensitive to his distress, she rose onto her hind legs on his thigh, propped her front paws on his shoulder, and nuzzled her face against his, all the while purring loudly.

After a few seconds of silence, you finally heard a heavy sigh filter through from somewhere behind the fur hiding his face. Finally, his hand rose and he held her to himself, rubbing his face back against her.

Then his bitter chuckle filled the air, loaded with so much conflicting emotion that you were helpless to react.

“Even after she did that to him, he still didn’t want her to be the villain.” A broken whisper. “I always knew he loved her more than she did him.”

Your heart shattered. Your resolve to keep your distance followed.

Rising, you bridged the two feet of space separating you and him. No more hesitation slowed your movements as you slid your hand into his hair to pull his head against your chest.

You paid no attention to the cat leaping away with a sound of protest for interrupting her own comforting cuddles.

Jumin went stiff in your grip, until you began stroking his hair with soft, featherlight touches that had you shedding fresh tears.

Then he kind of collapsed towards you, turning his face into your chest and leaning the side of his body into your hold. You adjusted your grasp on him, cradling his shoulder with one arm to gather him even closer, but he didn’t move after that.

Just leaned on you, trusting you to keep him upright.

You held him like that for a long time, just lending him strength with your comfort, and letting him know with your touch that he wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

You didn’t know how much time passed before Jumin stirred. It could have been minutes, or a whole hour that you’d been holding him, but for as long as he remained in your arms, the flow of time itself seemed to have stopped around the two of you.

You didn’t mind. It felt good doing something you had always wished someone else would have been there to do for you in your darkest moments.

As he straightened up on the stool, you loosened your hold and hesitantly stepped back. Instead of listening to your resurfacing embarrassment and returning to your earlier position by the piano, you perched on the very edge of the stool and squeezed his hand to let him know you were there despite the physical distance separating you once again.

It felt unfamiliar, and you could have sworn you saw a tinge of pink high on his cheekbones right before he turned his head as if to avoid your eyes, but you didn’t allow any awkwardness to taint the moment.

This was about friends being there for each other. There was no room for embarrassment when it came to healing broken hearts, no matter what their cause was.

Color slowly returned to his face. Finally calm enough for the tension in his shoulders to ease, he cleared his throat softly.

It seemed like, despite everything, he still intended to continue his story.

You didn’t stop him. Just held onto his hand tighter. Let him know he wasn’t facing the past on his own.

“Rika has been missing since then. No one knows where she's disappeared to, or if she’s even alive. The investigation team in charge claimed that she may have well ended it after all, considering the ‘unstable’ state she’d been in at the time of V’s…death.”

Although he visibly struggled with that particular word, relief flooded you upon seeing that his eyes appeared clearer now, less burdened by shadows and pain than before.

Now you saw a gentle gray sea that was gradually settling back down into its usual unperturbed state after a terrible storm had torn through and whipped the calm waves into a frothing frenzy.

“We tried to go on after that, to keep RFA alive. But we quickly realized it was impossible without Rika. And with V gone, we couldn’t even access her files to pick up on her work where she left off.” His fingers flexed against your hand, but he didn’t pull away.

Surprising you again.

“Over time, my interaction with the other members decreased until, at some point, I stopped going into the chatroom completely. I don’t think any of us meant for it to happen, but it felt like V and Rika had been the glue to hold us all together, and without them we just…drifted apart.” His voice was lighter now, almost airy compared to before, but your ears that were so attuned to him still picked up on the unceasing hurt he was trying to hide.

He missed them, his friends. He missed them so much, he was trying to make himself believe that being without them didn’t make him sad.

The quiet, hoarse words that followed on the heel of that realization proved your intuition right.

“I haven’t spoken to any of them in months now.”

Heart clenching at his tone, you squeezed his hand again to try and ease his pain. “I’m sure they miss the old times too.” You wanted to say more, but telling him that they were just one message or phone call away felt wrong.

Of course it was difficult to reconnect when the most recent memories of their shared time, the images freshest in his mind, were of blood and pain…and betrayal. Even if Jumin did succeed in restoring their previous relationship, every new moment spent together would forever be overshadowed by the loss of those two who were once the very heart of the group, and remain tainted by the darkness that had led to their absence.

You wouldn’t cheapen the emotional battle they’d fought so far, or dismiss the pain that still awaited them on their way to healing from that trauma, with empty words of reassurance. Jumin and the others had to be going through the same struggles, fearing to revive their friendship because things would never again be the same as before tragedy hit.

So you refrained from telling him how easy it was to reach out to them and go back to the old times. Instead, you offered an encouraging smile and words that you hoped would somewhat relieve the pressure and guilt he was subconsciously burdening himself with.

“Sometimes, sharing the grief is easier than trying to bear it on your own—especially if it’s with someone who understands your pain.” You felt like he needed the reminder that it was okay to ask for help when he was having a hard time, and equally alright to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of people who cared about you. And…

“You’re most likely not the only one who wished things would go back to how they used to be.”

Those words seemed to succeed in cheering him up a little. The next time he met your eyes, his were almost back to how they looked before you’d made him speak of this terribly dark topic, the usually radiant, curious gray now sober and solemn. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Withdrawing your hands from around his, you shrugged off his words of gratitude with a lighthearted grin and a playful nudge to the shoulder. “I don’t know who taught you about friendship, but I keep telling you it’s natural for friends to be there for each other.” You couldn’t help your sudden impulse to be silly and mischievous with him, so you went for a cheeky wink to accompany your next words. “So no need to thank me…just maybe be ready to beat up some bad guys for me one of these days.”

That statement elicited a low chuckle that appeared startled out of him, judging by the strange, almost sheepish expression he made when he cleared his throat right after. “I prefer a more…civilized means of dealing with trouble, but I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

His sudden change in demeanor had you so distracted, you didn’t even notice that he was ribbing you.

Seeing Jumin smile again after the crushing melancholy and sadness of his narration, it filled you with so much relief that the painful knot in your chest dissolved like chocolate melting on a hot stove.

For a few long moments, you just watched him, intrigued by the way his entire face radiated delight, his expression brightening along with his mood.

And you realized that you wanted to see him smile more, laugh more. He was always so serious and composed, carefully filtering and refining both his features and behavior because something had taught him to internalize his emotions in order to protect himself. Because someone had made him feel that being vulnerable meant setting yourself up for pain and suffering.

He’d been hurt so badly, he had found no escape but to withdraw deeply into himself and close off his heart from the world, yet he still had the capacity to become someone else’s courage and support.

He amazed you.

Jumin might see his difficulty to express emotion as a weakness, or a flaw that made him defective as a human being, but you had told him before that, sometimes, surviving meant sacrificing a part of yourself to keep the rest alive and breathing. It was okay, no, necessary, to be selfish if it was all you could do to cope, because surviving required you to be your own highest priority.

But at this point, it wasn’t just survival anymore if he was capable of helping someone else survive too.

“You know,” you began quietly, propping your chin on your palm as if in absentminded contemplation. “You’re already making it up to me with every day that we spend together.” The muted light coming through the ceiling-height window front behind him drew your gaze, scrambling your brain for a moment, before you glanced back at his

Only to see wide gray eyes staring at you from a pale face that wasn’t normally that expressive.

Confusion trickled through your preoccupied mind, keeping you from processing what was wrong about the window view your eyes had gotten caught on. Slowly, you blinked at him. “What’s wrong?”

For the first time since you'd met him on that fateful day, when your will had crumbled in the face of his magnificent grand piano, Jumin looked thoroughly flustered, his cheeks tinged visibly pink. “What…did you just say?”

“What?” You frowned, the words spoken through great distraction already forgotten. “What did I say?”

Then, finally your brain processed what had thrown you off about the windows.

The sky outside was dark. Not the darkening blue gray of dusk streaked with lighter shades that should have been the sky's hue this time of day. It was pitch black, only broken by the ceaseless twinkling of stars.

Forgetting all about Jumin’s peculiar reaction, you jumped to your feet, frantically searching around for your purse. “What time is it?”

Behind you, Jumin awakened from his stunned stupor, glancing down at his wristwatch. “Almost nine.”

You groaned at seeing the multiple messages and missed calls, finally having dug your phone out of the bag you’d found discarded under the piano stool. “Crap. I’ll be late.”

Bewilderment evident on his face, Jumin watched you flit around and gather your belongings. “Is…everything alright?”

The music box, your coat, the bag with the muffins you still hadn’t given him. Dashing into the kitchen, you deposited the pastries on the counter and hurried back out to pull on your coat. “I’m late to a late-night study session with my friend. I was going to tell you today, that finals are coming up in three weeks and I’ll be a little busier studying for them.”

Jumin followed you to the door, watching with a mixture of puzzled amusement and morbid fascination how you clumsily hopped around on one leg, trying to slip on your shoe one-handed.

“Which means I have to dial back our lessons for one or two days a week. I’ll tell you the rest when I’m here tomorrow, gotta leave now!”

Jumin, looking lost and a little helpless in his confusion, cleared his throat. “Let me call Driver Kim for you. Hold on a minute…”

Shaking your head while bouncing on one foot almost cost you your balance. “No need! It’s still early, so I’ll be fine going alone. Don’t trouble yourself, or Mr. Kim!”

Although you’d been determined to ditch the leftovers this time, he disappeared for a bare five seconds while you fumbled with your second shoe and returned with a paper bag in his hand, the contents of which looked suspiciously like the outlines of a cake. “Take this, at least.”

With a roll of your eyes, you conceded, too pressed for time to argue. Shoes finally wrestled into submission, you hitched your purse onto your shoulder after one last glance inside to make sure everything was there, grabbed the bag from him, and yanked open the door. “Thanks for today, for the cake and the souvenir. I loved it!“ Stepping into the hallway, you speed-walked to the elevator and hit the call button.

Jumin stuck his head out through the door behind you, watching you fidget, impatiently waiting for the car to arrive.

When it finally did, you hurried inside and hit the zero button repeatedly. “Oh, I left some muffins in the kitchen. Try them and make sure to tell me what you think!”

Finally, the elevator responded. Acting on impulse, you blew Jumin a kiss through the closing door, waving goodbye with your free hand. “Goodnight! Love you! See you tomorrow!”

You didn’t get to see his expression anymore before the door slid shut.

~~~

On the bus ride over, you got a phone call from Nami asking to postpone the study session until tomorrow afternoon. Her younger brother had unexpectedly shown up and would be spending the night at her place, having run away from home after a fight with their parents.

“Typical rebellious teenager phase,” she explained wryly, sounding apologetic despite the strained laugh that preceded her words. “Just come by earlier tomorrow, and we’ll spend the whole afternoon studying.”

Although you’d been prepared to skip one or two of your daily sessions with Jumin in favor of studying, it vexed you to have to cancel tomorrow’s lesson after your time with him had already been cut short today.

With a heavy sigh, you changed buses to go home instead, and texted him to let him know about the change of plans.

He responded almost immediately. I see.

Then, Won’t see each other for two days, I’m afraid. Important dinner Thursday night.

Your heart sank. His message made you so miserable, you couldn’t even muster a smile at his usual quirky texting style, or the pouty emoji added at the end.

More days apart, right after he’d returned from his business trip, too. This way, you wouldn’t even get to tell him about your decision until Friday…

Had you known it would come to this, you would have just said it before leaving. You’d already been almost an hour late before Nami canceled, a few more minutes wouldn’t have made a big difference.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you briefly considered simply telling him over text, or even giving him a quick call right then.

Your phone vibrating with an incoming text stole your chance to do either.

Call me when you arrive home, followed by a winking smiley face.

Huh. Maybe he had something to say to you as well?

That thought kept you occupied the entire way home, until you were finally in your room, dialing Jumin’s number first thing after topping off a hangry Victor’s food bowl.

He answered on the first ring. “You’re home?”

You rolled your eyes and plopped down on your desk chair. “Yes. Didn’t you tell me to call when I’m home?”

“I did.” He sounded unfazed in his reply, but you couldn’t tell if he was just completely oblivious to your sarcasm, or deliberately ignoring it.

Lazily spinning in the chair, you glared in warning at a Vic who was up to no good again. Food devoured in record speed, he was now sneaking up on your dangling legs like your sock-clad feet were irresistible prey to his inner hunting cat. “So, what’s up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you got home okay, since I couldn’t have my driver take you. I’m glad you made it home safely.”

You blinked. “That’s all?” You really had to talk to him about using the proper emojis in his messages…

“Yes, that’s all I wanted. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Wait! Jumin, wait.” Before you’d consciously decided to, you were already calling out to him.

A moment of loaded silence, like you’d caught him off-guard. “…Yes?”

“Argh!” A startled yelp escaped you when tiny teeth and claws pricked your skin out of nowhere.

Spurred on by your raised voice, or maybe because you’d been ignoring him, Victor, the tiny tyrant, had commenced his attack on your legs and was now gnawing away at your ankle like it was a piece of buttered corn on the cob.

You dropped the phone, reaching out with both hands to dislodge him without getting scratched up in the process. “Stop it, you little demon!”

All at once, Vic let go of your leg and hopped out of your reach on his hind legs. Combined with his pupils being so huge, not even a hint of his usual blue-grey irises was visible, and the way he had his ears flattened like he was a plane about to take off, he looked the part of the crazed kitty.

Folding your legs under you on the safety of the chair, you watched him race around the room like some invisible creature was chasing him, before he dashed out through the ajar door and you heard something fall over in the hallway.

You bent down to pick up your phone, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. You really didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over his crazy antics.

“Y/N? Are you there? Y/N!” Jumin’s voice resounded from the speaker, more than a little alarmed. He must have repeatedly called your name after you’d dropped the phone.

“I’m here. Sorry, my cat was having a moment…” Breathless from your battle with Victor, you leaned back in the chair. You couldn’t help but wonder if Elizabeth The 3rd had those episodes too. She seemed too well-behaved, too…dignified, to act the fool like Vic had the habit of doing.

“Your…cat?” Confusion and a tad of disbelief colored Jumin’s voice, solidifying your suspicion that his pet was too dapper to do things like that.

“Yep. He gets the crazies sometimes.”

Silence on the other end, like he didn’t know what to do with that information. “…You had something to say?”

Classic Jumin move. If you don’t know how to handle something, just pretend it didn't happen.

Snorting with amusement, you reached for your purse to dig your music book out of it. Leafing through the pages until you found the piece Jumin had inspired you to compose, you picked up a pen, drumming the edge of the paper with it almost nervously. “Yeah. I…I have something to tell you on Friday.”

There. That was a compromise between not telling him on the phone and not exactly letting the matter wait until Friday.

“I understand.” He went quiet for a second, and you, for some reason tense with impatience, waited for him to say more.

“I’m looking forward to our lesson on Friday. Goodnight, Y/N.”

A sudden wave of affection for him made your lips bloom into a soft smile. “Goodnight, Jumin.”

It seemed like these late night phone calls might be becoming a habit.

~~~

Another day of classes passed by uneventfully, and the afternoon was spent studying at Nami’s. Despite buying lots of trail mix and sugary drinks from the convenience store on your way there, the hours dragged on and on, seemingly unending.

By the time Nami called it a day, neither of you was looking forward to the next study date, being cooped up in the apartment poring over notes and textbooks again. To your immeasurable relief, Nami suggested going to a coffee shop instead, hoping that a change of environment would bring about a boost in productivity.

So on Thursday, you found yourself in the cozy corner booth of a small café near campus, a steady supply of caffeine and snacks on hand to fuel your brains with. The atmosphere was light, more relaxed, so that studying there didn’t feel like some form of mental torture you were willingly subjecting yourselves to.

Everything was going well, Nami and you were making decent progress cramming your study notes into your heads, even productivity levels were higher than the night before. Until your phone rang and you stepped outside to answer, your mind so swamped with economic models and the different equations to calculate risk capital that you didn’t stop to think about who might be trying to reach you.

“Am I speaking to Y/N?” The voice of a man, deep and unfamiliar. For some reason, you heard relief in the way he spoke your name.

You frowned. “Yes. Who is this…?”

In contrast to before, his next words were friendly, but cautious. “This is Johan Lee…your stepfather.”

For one terrible second, the blood froze in your veins, before white-hot, effervescent anger exploded under your skin. How dare that woman make someone else call, to trick you into answering the phone?

“Wait, please! Y/N, don’t hang up!” The hint of genuine despair in his voice was the only thing keeping you from throwing your sim card in the trash right then and buying a new one.

When you didn’t respond, fingers clenching around the phone you still held to your ear despite your inner turmoil, you heard him take a deep, shaky breath.

“I know you hate your mother. And I know speaking to her—or me—is probably the last thing on your mind after what she did to you. So I wanted to let you know that it’s not her who’s been trying to reach you—it was me.” The words came in rapid succession, like he was afraid you’d hang up if he didn’t state his intentions fast enough.

Kicking a rust-colored leaf on the ground, you steeled your heart just in case he would resort to manipulation tactics after all. “Go on.”

The faceless man who called himself your stepfather gave a sigh of relief. “I’ve been trying to contact you, because I need to talk to you. Your mother doesn’t know about this. I’m asking you to hear me out, not for her sake, or even mine, but for your half-sisters.”

A blend of contradictory emotions kept you from responding, your ability to speak momentarily lost.

The part of his statement about your mother not knowing…you should have been happy about that, since you were trying to avoid her anyways. Yet for some reason, bitter disappointment filled you after hearing it hadn’t been her, that she wasn’t even interested in reconnecting with you after all.

Then, was the ‘talk’ your dad had supposedly had with her just a ruse he’d come up with to make you call her?

Internally fuming, you filed your suspicions away for later and forced your mind back to the matter at hand. “I’m listening.”

A sharp intake of air, like he'd been holding his breath waiting for your response. “Not…not like this. Can we meet somewhere? Please.” His plea sounded feeble, almost pitiful. Like he was placing all his hopes on this conversation with you.

Gritting your teeth, you wrestled down the soft part of you that wanted to comfort a literal stranger, just from sensing the invisible waves of emotional pain rolling off him through the phone.

You no longer thought he was trying to manipulate you. He seemed too…desperate to be playing games or trying to screw you over. No one's acting was that convincing.

“Please.”

Sighing, you rolled out your shoulders to ease the stiffness in your neck and back. “Listen. I’m in the middle of studying for finals right now, so the next few days are bad timing. I might have time next weekend. I’ll call you back to confirm before Friday. Same number, right?”

Like that, he had a loose promise that he’d get to tell you whatever had driven him to contact you behind his wife’s back, and you had enough time to reconsider if you didn’t feel up to hearing him out after all.

“Thank you.”

Those two words had no business making you feel as bad as they did as you hung up.

Afterwards, you rejoined a Nami who was getting restless without you. “There you are!”

Giving her a weak smile, you sat and reached for the book you’d been going through before the interruption.

The painful sting you continued to feel after the phone call confirmed Nami’s theory from the weekend hike, that deep down, you didn’t actually want to uphold this radio silence with your mother forever. Just end it on your own terms.

It seemed like now, you had no more grounds to wish for a reunion, on your terms, or hers.

Half an hour later, Nami tossed her pen on the table in frustration. “This is the seventh time you’ve made the same mistake. Just what was this call about? You haven’t been able to focus ever since you came back inside.”

Ducking your head, you tried to appease her with a sheepish smile that came out looking more guilty than not. “Sorry. More drama. You know how my life has been recently…”

Since she already knew about your mother, you decided to fill her in on the rest too. You needed to hear a neutral opinion on this mess, to help you decide whether you were doing the right thing.

When you were done explaining, she took a sip of her triple chocolate mocha, appearing deep in thought. “So…are you actually going to meet him, or was that just a ruse to get rid of him and make yourself feel better about it?”

“I…I might really meet him.” You heaved a troubled sigh, reaching for your own coffee only to find it empty. Although you were starting to get a headache from all the caffeine and too much uninterrupted staring at texts and business models, you waved the waitress over to order another cup.

Nami didn't prod when you went silent. Instead she waited until your order came and you'd taken a sip of the piping hot beverage.

You didn't even feel it burn your tongue.

“He sounded pretty desperate, and to be honest…I am curious. I want to know what's going on that made him call me, and behind her back at that. And okay, a part of me is hurt too, that she wasn't the one trying to contact me.” A grating chuckle that left a more bitter taste in your mouth than the unsweetened espresso had. “I guess that means I still care after all. How messed up does that make me?”

Chin propped on her palm, Nami flicked a pen between her fingers as she considered your words. “It doesn't mean that you're messed up, just that you're a better person than her, if she really has let go of everything concerning you and your past life together.”

Sullen, you tapped a single fingernail against the rim of your coffee cup. “I don’t know about that…”

The silence that followed held all the somber gloom of a cloud layer darkening a previously sunny day.

Downing the rest of her chocolate-y coffee concoction in one go, Nami lightly smacked her flat hand onto the table before putting down the empty glass. “Since it doesn’t look like you have any more capacity for economics today, I know just the thing to cheer you up.” A meaningful smirk, her eyebrows wiggling enthusiastically. “We’re going to Karaoke!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

The moment the two of you stepped foot in the Karaoke place, you fixed Nami with a scowl that had her shrinking back, expression shifting from dejected to guilt-ridden, to finally settle on pleading. “I didn’t know he’d be here, I swear!”

Without dropping the accusatory mien, you crowded her into a corner just by the door before any of the people inside would spot you.

The same people who’d acted like you were the biggest sensation on campus just a few weeks ago, after stabbing you in the back.

“So you knew the others would be?” You couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed.

Nami fidgeted around with her bag nervously, obviously to escape from the piercing intensity of your glare. “Sora messaged me earlier, when you were outside on the phone. She said she wanted to talk to you, to apologize. And she sounded pretty anxious…” Chewing on her bottom lip, she finally looked up. ”But I thought that if someone else was here with her, it would only be a few girls from our group, not our entire economics class. And I sure as hell didn’t know he was coming!”

Upon seeing no change in your glower, Nami puffed up her cheeks with exasperation. “Come on, you can’t seriously believe I’d bring you here knowing that crappy Shin was coming! I promise you, I didn’t know.” She held up her pinky finger, wiggling it invitingly when you didn’t budge. “Pinky promise!”

With a roll of your eyes, you allowed your friend to link your fingers together, but not without a heavy sigh to punctuate your reluctant defeat. “Fine. I believe you. Now, can we get out of here? Please?” Before it was too late?

But once again, luck didn’t seem inclined to help you out.

Although the two of you had been whispering by the door, you suddenly felt your back tingle uncomfortably. Like someone was staring at you from behind.

And then Nami’s eyes flashed darkly to a point just above your shoulder, confirming your suspicions.

Please, for the love of god, don’t let it be Shin.

The flat distaste dulling her usually vibrant eyes gave you your answer even before a heavy arm snaked around your shoulders, pressing down on you like dead weight.

“Ladies,” he drawled, like there had never been any bad blood or betrayal between you. “Would you care to join the party? Come on, don’t leave us hanging~!” Without giving you a chance to respond, Shin crushed you to his side, proceeding to steer you towards one of the big private party rooms.

Just then, you couldn’t help but feel like the entire world was conspiring against you.

Going stiff when you found yourself unable to shake off his grip that was a little too tight, you nevertheless refused to let go of Nami, dragging her along by the wrist.

Suspicion had started creeping into your mind the moment Shin practically pounced on the two of you by the entrance. But as soon as you crossed the threshold, the situation appeared clearer. The room wasn’t overly full, but enough unfamiliar people lounged around the sofas and food-laden tables that it seemed more like an open department party than just your economics classmates. Music blared in the background, both from the Karaoke machine mounted on the wall and from portable speakers someone must have brought to play music on.

Sora and several other girls you knew from campus sat in a booth against the back wall of the room, but some boys you didn’t recognize sat on both open sides of the bench, effectively shutting them in. The girls’ expressions ranged from annoyed to mildly upset, but when Sora looked up and saw you being led in, stuck under Shin’s arm, naked fear flashed in her eyes.

Yet no one else seemed to notice the strange atmosphere this side of the room. On second glance, you didn’t see anyone looking in this direction. Like they were consciously avoiding glancing over. It was almost as if they knew what was going on…but were deliberately turning a blind eye.

At Shin’s silent nod, the boys made way on one side for you and Nami to scoot into the booth beside the girls.

Say what now?

You dug in your heels and refused to budge when Shin tried to tug you over there, to where he and his lackeys were keeping the girls of your class herded in. If they thought you’d let them corner you like that as well, they were sorely mistaken.

You glanced back at Nami to gauge if she was as unsettled by the whole thing as you were, and turned just in time to see one of the nameless boys crudely push her to sit on the padded bench.

Shooting him a defiant glare, she stayed put on the edge, not allowing him to to trap her behind the table with the other girls.

To your surprise, none of the guys tried to push you or Nami any more. Instead, Shin withdrew his arm from around your shoulders and turned to cross to the other side of the room. “Just getting you ladies something to drink,” were his parting words, said with a smugness that told you you wouldn’t be getting out of here that easily, even if no one stuck around to keep you trapped in a booth.

And you sure as hell weren’t touching the drinks they’d be bringing back either.

The guard dogs all followed him except for one who stepped outside the room where you and Nami had entered, his outline remaining visible through the blurred glass door.

With a sigh of relief, the girls eased out from behind the table as soon as Shin and his entourage were out of sight.

Your decision to try the door ended with a bunch of hostile gazes turning towards you the moment you touched the handle. You pretended to give up and returned to Nami and the girls.

Sora came straight towards you, tears glistening in her kohl-rimmed eyes and smudging her pretty makeup. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t hate me. I swear to you, I didn’t have a choice!”

As your terrible suspicion about this whole situation grew stronger, you grabbed the distraught girl by the shoulders and sat her down on one of the stools on the open side of the table. “Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

The girl started outright sobbing, her face blotchy and red as she sniffled and wiped at her nose. “Shin, he…he made me call you here…He said if I didn’t do it…if I didn’t do it, he would expose me.”

You looked up to meet Nami's eyes. “Is this about, uh, Shin’s new…business idea?”

“I saw you in the hallway the other day,” Nami blurted out, gaze going back to the crying girl.

One of the girls with Sora stepped closer, looking around nervously as she spoke. “She rejected him that day, but he wouldn’t let off.” Sticking by her friend’s side, she began gently rubbing her back.

“…I slept with him for the exam solutions.” Quiet words, a weak declaration that was broken by soft gasps as Sora tried to catch her breath through the sobs shaking her. “But whatever he gave me wasn’t the real deal. I failed the damn exam.”

You exchanged another tight look with Nami. Judging by how she didn’t look at all surprised, she had to have had the same thought as you.

Of course Shin wouldn’t hold his end of the bargain. How else would he get rid of the rumors? He couldn’t very well do the exact thing the rumors said and still try to stop people from talking the truth…

“Did he say why he wants me here?” You had a few ideas about that, and none of the options involved anything you’d be ready to participate in.

Sora sniffled, using the handkerchief her friend had handed her to dab at her eyes with futile caution.

Much like the night, her makeup was already beyond saving.

“H-he said he…he wanted to resolve a misunderstanding…”

As expected. He was once again using people like pawns, just to save his own reputation.

Breathing past the fury building in your chest, you patted Sora’s shoulder and deliberately lowered your voice to mask the husky anger choking you. “It’s alright, I don’t blame you. It’s better that you did what he wanted you to. The bastard can be unpredictable when things don’t go his way.”

Once again, your eyes met Nami’s. At her terse nod, you broke away from the group to exchange your thoughts with her in private.

“He’s definitely planning to make a scene.” Contrary to you, she didn’t even bother hiding her rage, her clenched fists trembling from how upset she was.

You squeezed her arm in a silent warning to stay calm. “I know. We have to turn it around, end this once and for all.” Although you didn’t let your doubts show, you weren’t yet sure about how to achieve that. But you knew that you had to do something.

For some reason, Jumin’s words came to mind as you contemplated what to do. “Right now, switching schools would solve more problems for you than it would create.”

He'd been right. And you had decided to apply for the scholarship. But you couldn’t just run away by yourself and leave everyone else stuck in this sticky situation.

Nami may not have much to do with Shin anymore, but Sora…the other girls he might prey on…you couldn’t just leave them to endure this with no way out. Especially considering the whole scandal with him had originated from your ill-advised and impetuous decision to date him…

So you would aim for closure. Finish the final exams. Wrap up this school term just in case. And most important of all, you would resolve this mess and make sure Shin wouldn’t hurt or exploit anyone else after this.

Squeezing the bridge of your nose to ease the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind your eyes, you mentally ran through your options.

If Shin got too brave with the backup he’d brought, matters might become too messy to extract yourself and the girls safely. And while he was merely acting the bully right now, and hadn’t shown much of an inclination to resort to violence yet—not counting his attempt to coerce Sora to sleep with him, which Nami had witnessed in the hallway that day—something told you that things might still get ugly, especially if alcohol was in the picture.

Before you could decide what to do, Nami nudged you in the side and pointed to where said bully and his lackeys were returning with tall cocktail glasses in hand.

Out of time to come up with a plan, you grabbed Nami’s wrist and dragged her back towards Sora’s group, trusting your gut feeling. “Just follow my lead,” you whispered in her ear, before signaling for the other girl to gather around. “Listen up, girls, I have a plan.” Not. “But there’s no time to walk you through it.” Lies. “So just trust me and play along. Take a seat by the edge of the table, don’t let them crowd you in again. And whatever you do, do not drink what they’re about to give you.”

The fact that Shin had gathered you all here…you, the ex-girlfriend who had ended up not being the prudish bitch he’d portrayed you to be, along with Sora, the latest victim of his predatory schemes to cheat girls into his bed—and, though unknowingly, Nami as the sole witness to his harassment of said victim on campus…he was way too smug not to have something up his sleeve to keep this situation from escalating. Especially considering the crowd of extra people who seemed to be an audience deliberately assembled to observe what was about to happen.

The girls nodded, shifting in their seats and glancing around nervously as they saw the group of guys returning. You and Nami sat as well, keeping the anxious Sora and her friends shielded behind your backs. The two of you would be at the front as you faced whatever Shin had planned to further mess up your day.

As soon as they reached the table, Shin’s companions placed down the trays full of cocktails and shot glasses. Upon seeing the girls sitting at the outside edge of the table now, no longer contained in the tight booth, they exchanged strange, almost nervous glances, looking to Shin as if waiting for orders on the matter.

They should have never left us alone if they ever hoped to keep a revolt from happening…

You had decided to just wing it, but the very sight of one of the boys pulling a certain tray of drinks over to themselves, away from the rest of the glasses they’d brought for the girls, made a dark, vindictive fury ignite in your veins once again.

Shin was oblivious to his lackeys’ dilemma or the wrath seething inside you. Too busy sidling up to you with a slimy grin, he pressed an especially colorful looking cocktail garnished with a mini umbrella into your hands. “I brought you your favorite drink.”

Like hell you did…

You didn’t even like alcohol. Your favorite drink was anything that didn’t make you unable to control your emotions, and unaware of what was going on around you. That he didn’t know was yet again testament to how little attention and effort he’d invested into your short-lived relationship, beyond his goal to get into your pants.

Tightly clutching the tall glass in your hand just to contain the urge to pour it over his head, you gave a nod and forced the corners of your lips to curve upwards. “Thank you.”

But he didn’t turn away, his gaze on you growing sharper, holding a gleam you didn’t like at all as he pointed at the drink he’d handed you. “You’re not going to try it?” Fully convinced that he had you fooled about his foul intentions, he licked his lips and sent you a saucy wink. “You don’t want to miss out. It’s really good.”

It took everything in you not to cringe away from him. I bet. If you want to spend the next few hours senseless and being taken advantage of…

Although you wanted nothing more than to shove him away and leave this place right now, you glanced over at your best friend, found her staring at you with a mixture of confused curiosity and barely concealed agitation.

“I think I’ll have some later.” You gave Nami a smile, worried that your expression would appear too fake if you didn’t somehow make it more authentic, like by looking at someone you were actually happy to see. It helped that she was the subject of your next statement. “Nami and I just had like 10 espresso shots at the café.”

When the anticipation in Shin’s eyes dimmed a little, you once again reminded yourself not to touch any of the stuff he or his friends would offer you today. You hoped the girls also remembered not to accept anything.

“Hm…as long as you promise me to try it sometime today. I think you’ll love this special mix.” Again, he was trying to be cheeky with you, leaning closer to nudge your shoulder with his as if he wasn’t casually talking about drugging you and your friends.

You rolled your eyes to hide the disgust and murderous rage he was so good at evoking in you. “Sure, whatever.”

To your surprise, he didn’t press and only motioned for his entourage to sit down as well. They all scooted into the empty booth awkwardly, the space too narrow for them to maneuver properly.

“Sooo…” Nudging him back, you put every last ounce of acting skill you possessed into appearing relaxed and like you were having fun with friends. “Is no one going to sing? What are we here for if not for that?”

At Shin’s nod, two of the boys squeezed back out from behind the table and headed to the now silent karaoke machine. “Suho and Yun are going for it. The rest of us should just hang back here and…talk. Until they’re done. We can take turns after that.”

Once again, you were unsettled by the look in his eyes when he said that.

Shin glanced over his shoulder almost surreptitiously, but you caught the movement from the corner of your eye and sensed more than saw the crowd creeping closer, as if they were a swarm of insects about to descend on everyone seated at the table with you.

It seemed like the show was about to begin.

“So, Y/N…” The way he drew out your name sent a new wave of disgust coursing through you.

You fought the shudder, willing your body not to give away how badly you wanted to move away from him.

“Sora here had some interesting things to say about me the other day. I was thinking that you, as my past girlfriend, would be able to clear up whatever misconception has been spreading about me, before it gets out of hand.”

Finally, he was getting to the point.

Raising your eyebrows and not even needing to fake your astonishment at his unvarnished words, you let out an affected gasp. “Oh? What kind of crazy wild, baseless rumors about you are circulating now?”

It honestly amazed you that he thought you’d take his side after everything that had happened so far. Had he forgotten all the bullshit he’d spread about you, to taint your name on campus, after you’d refused to let him have at your body?

Acting like he had never actually had a fault in any of this.

Face crumpling with displeasure, he scooted closer as if to confide in you, sneakily putting a hand on your thigh. “It’s terrible. They’re painting me out to be some pig who treats girls like prostitutes, and pays for their ‘services’ with answer sheets for our department’s exams. You know, since my brother teaches some of our classes.”

Having tensed up the moment he’d touched your leg, it took considerable control not to smack away his hand and scramble away from him. Just endure this, you told yourself, even as you couldn’t help but squirm in your seat a little. Just a little longer…

At the same time, the anger kept bubbling up inside you, further stoked by his words that underlined only what he himself saw his actions as.

Prostitutes? Paying for their services? Maybe if you didn’t treat them as such, no one would be spreading rumors about what you’ve been doing.

What you didn’t understand was just what he was trying to achieve by laying everything out in the open like that. Was he counting on Sora’s report of their faulty ‘deal’ to be proof enough of his innocence just because he hadn’t held up his side of the bargain?

Seeing the bystanders shuffle even closer, you composed yourself for what was to come.

With a confused frown, you cocked your head and touched a hand to Shin’s that still lay on your leg. Rather than letting him grope you like that, you would swallow your pride and hold onto his hand to keep it from slipping somewhere it didn’t belong. “And whatever could have made them think that?”

Now his face reddened, as if his nasty temper was finally seeping through the facade of the victim he’d been playing until then. He revealed his true face at the same time that the music increased in volume, causing him to lean closer to almost yell in your ear for you to hear. His breath, suffused with the stench of alcohol, hit the side of your face in hot, humid puffs of air.

You were proud of the poker face you maintained on the surface while your insides shriveled with repulsion.

“That bitch, Sora.” His eyes flashed across the table to the object of his anger, said girl shrinking back just from his glare.

Although touching him threatened to turn your stomach, you squeezed his hand just to get his attention off of her and back to you.

It worked. He glanced back, seemingly appeased by your touch. But though it took the edge off his temper, it didn’t keep him from sneering as he continued speaking. “She went and told everyone that I used her, just because she couldn’t take being called a bad lay.” Again, the depths of his eyes flashed with ire, but he didn’t turn to stare Sora down again. Instead, his thumb began drawing circles on the back of your hand.

It seemed that he was satisfied with you as an audience, at least for the time being.

Besides, you had to give it to him, he was a better actor than you’d initially given him credit for. Which wasn't much either way.

“The dumb bitch failed the exam and started spreading around that I tricked her and gave her the wrong solutions in exchange for letting me fuck her.” When he shifted even closer, his lips brushed your ear, sending the wrong kind of tingles over your skin.

The vulgar way in which he was expressing himself was bad enough already, but the intimate contact almost pushed you to your limit. You desperately tried not to recoil, staying put through sheer willpower.

“But with that mediocre performance she gave in bed, the pot just wasn’t sweet enough to warrant my best goods.” Words whispered under his breath, just low enough not to go beyond your hearing.

Shock had you frozen stiff for a second, speechless at his brazenness to admit to the truth of those rumors for only you to hear.

Then he leaned back and, with a jaunty grin and a taunting glance over at Sora, announced for everyone to hear: “Like I need to pay them to get girls into my bed.”

As if on command, the crowd surrounding your table erupted into laughter. The sound barely filtered through the static in your head, still reeling as you were from Shin’s covert confession.

Just what kind of game was he playing? What use was it to him, telling you the truth when the start of the conversation had sounded more like he was trying to convince you of his innocence?

Scanning your surroundings for Nami, you saw your livid friend staring at the people laughing maniacally all around the table. Her eyes gave away how stupefied she was by so many people ridiculing a person they didn’t even know, at the push of a button.

Shielded between her friends, Sora had her face buried against another girl’s shoulder to escape the jeers.

Although your ears still rang from the collective laughter, you knew you had to do something now, before one of the girls tried to act and the situation got out of hand.

Internally bracing for what was to come, yet entirely unprepared, you watched your own hand reach for the cocktail glass you’d set aside earlier. Drops of condensation coated your lips the next moment, a sharp contrast against the anxious heat constricting around your throat, and the drumming heartbeat pounding everywhere in your body.

After a deep breath to calm your nerves, you drew in a mouthful of the multicolored drink, barely keeping from grimacing at the bitter taste of it.

As expected. You hadn’t thought that Shin would sink that low. The fact that you could taste it meant whatever drug he had procured, it was so grossly overdosed that it wouldn’t need long to take effect.

Which meant you had to hurry.

Making sure not to swallow, you turned back to Shin, ready to execute your improvised emergency plan and get the hell out of here at any cost. You grasped the collar of his shirt, yanked him close, then pressed your mouth to his.

And proceeded to give him a taste of his own medicine.

When you’d fed him the entire mouthful of spiked cocktail, you spat and wiped at your face in disgust, not knowing whether it was because of the revolting kiss or the lingering bitterness of the drug you’d exposed yourself to. Through the feverish haze in your mind, you caught a glimpse of a wide-eyed Nami half standing, half seated, as if she'd started getting to her feet before shock paralyzed her. Then you saw Shin sway and finally collapse with a thud that shook the bench you still sat on.

For a few heavy seconds, dead silence reigned.

Then you rose with the drink still in hand, stepped over Shin’s limp body, and thrust the more than half-full glass out at the observing crowd. “I don’t know what the hell he told all of you to get you to come here and play the role of his willing witnesses. But whatever he made you believe about him being a good guy? It’s a lie.”

Ignoring the unpleasant pinprick sensation on your tongue, like the inside of your mouth was starting to go numb, you shook the cocktail glass at them. You barely even registered, or cared, that its contents sloshed over your fingers and dripped to the ground and onto your shoes. “He did this. He and his friends, accomplices, whatever, brought us these roofie'd drinks with the hopes of neatly resolving his little reputation issue by telling even more lies than he already has up until now. God knows what they intended to do to us in the process, after knocking us out.”

Alarm registered on the faces of Shin’s lackeys first, even as an unsure confusion dominated most of the bystanders’ expressions. But your words seemed enough to at least spook those boys who’d helped Shin contain Sora and her friends until your arrival, because one after the other, they squeezed out from the booth they were jammed in and scrambled out the door, almost running you over in their frenzy to flee the scene before anyone could hold them accountable.

They didn’t even stop to take their unconscious boss with them. Guess whatever deal they'd made with him wasn't good enough to justify helping him out after his plan had gone down the drain.

“But let me tell you guys the truth about Shin Young.” You beckoned Sora over, and Nami stepped forward to help the trembling girl to your side.

Ignoring Nami's worried gaze when a sudden bout of dizziness made you lurch on your feet a little, you put a hand on Sora's shoulder, telling yourself it was to help her feel calmer, and not to steady yourself. “The rumors are true. He's running a ‘business’ on campus, exchanging exam answer sheets for sex. This girl here made a mistake and fell victim to his scam, but instead of keeping his word, he gave her a fake file to make her fail, just so he could claim there's no truth to the recent rumors about him. Just now, he stupidly admitted the truth to me, thinking I'd help him out after all the bullshit rumors he tried to bury me under just a few weeks ago blew up in his face instead.”

You saw a few people nod and put their heads together, a swell of murmurs filling the quiet room. It seemed like some of them still remembered the scandal about Shin’s most recent ex and his claims that you’d been dating him just to take advantage of him and his professor brother.

This time, you tugged Nami to the front, with great difficulty. Your limbs were beginning to feel diffusely like foreign attachments instead of parts of your body. “She saw him trying to force himself on Sora in the economics building a while ago.”

Although you knew just how much Nami hated being the center of attention, she squared her shoulders and nodded, standing firm under all the shocked gazes pinned on her. “It’s true. I did what I could at the time to make him leave her alone. I think the reason why he cheated her out of the real answer sheets was because he’d been coming onto her for weeks, and she kept rejecting him. So he decided to pay her back for that.”

You leaned heavily on the nearest chair when your knees buckled, a heavy numbness descending, gradually blanketing your mind.

Despite the pressure in your head, and the way it was getting harder moving your tongue to speak, you forced yourself to continue “Either that…or he doesn’t actually have the exam answers. He might just be pretending he does…because his older brother teaches in the economics department.”

Drawing in a shaky breath to clear the black spots dancing in your vision, you strained to get the last few words out before what little quantity you’d had of the potent drink overwhelmed your consciousness after all. “So spread the word. Stay away from Shin Young, he doesn’t play fair. Don’t go making deals with the lying, conniving bastard in hopes to ace your finals, because it won’t be worth it and, rather than good grades and more time to party instead of studying, it’s more likely to end in tears, defamation, and possibly some STDs.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 14

The hours after your speech exposing Shin at the Karaoke went by in a blurred haze. You remembered Sora and Nami half dragging, half carrying you out of there and into a taxi, which Nami rode with you to her place. Once there, she barely managed to haul you up the stairs and into her apartment without sending the two of you tumbling, your near paralyzed body and lifeless limbs too much for your shorter friend to shoulder by herself.

By the time she dropped you on her bed, she was red-faced and panting from the effort, her hair tousled from hooking your arm behind her neck to support you. “Shit. What the hell kind of overpowered drug did they try to dose us with, if just a taste of it knocked him out cold and less than a sip did this to you?”

Your body refused to obey your command and your mind was so muddled, you didn’t even think about turning towards her as she spoke. But as mad as she sounded, maybe it was better that you couldn’t see her expression…

Fighting against the fog that threatened to make your awareness slip, you mumbled something, an unintelligible sound you yourself failed to decipher once it slipped past your lips.

“I can’t tell what you’re saying, babe, but you better tell your dad you’re crashing here so he doesn’t worry.” Nami's hands brushed over your body, shifting you to check all your pockets for your phone.

Your fingers, however, refused to close around the device when she turned you over on your side and pressed it into your hands.

Nami caught it before it could slide off the bed. Finally, you could see her face. Fury flashed in her dark irises like lightning in an inky, starless night sky. “I’m going to kill the bastard.”

The vivid anger in her eyes sent a trickle of unease through your jumbled mind. You’d forgotten how scary she could be when something made her truly mad. Or maybe you were just so out of it that she appeared extra frightening to you, through the bolts of light and color flashing through your vision like a kaleidoscope gone crazy.

With much effort, you made your next words somewhat understandable. “You text him…spontaneous cram sleepover.” Or at least you hoped they were. The blood rushing in your ears made it hard to tell if you’d succeeded.

Nami nodded and unlocked your phone using your fingerprint. “Done. Now get some rest. Hopefully by tomorrow the stuff will be out of your system.”

Not even bothering with a reply, you closed your eyes and let the swirling waves of dizziness sweep you unconscious.

~~~

When sunlight painted the inside of your eyelids a bright red to wake you, the next morning greeted you with a pounding headache. Together with the nasty taste in your mouth and your queasy stomach making worrying sounds, it felt like the worst hangover you’d ever had.

Reason #37249 why I don’t like drinking… Then…why had you drunk again?

Your disorientation further intensified as you pushed yourself up with a groan. Fighting a dizzying bout of nausea to look around, you found yourself in a bed that wasn’t your own.

Was that…Nami’s place?

Scooting off the bed, you staggered over to the bathroom, your entire body sore and throbbing like you’d been used as a punching bag. You spent ten terrible minutes retching and choking over the toilet bowl until your stomach’s content from the previous day resurfaced in full.

At least you felt better afterwards. The cold water you splashed on your face was as welcome as the sound of the door lock releasing, because with Nami’s arrival you would hopefully get answers.

“Y/N? You’re up?”

You peered out through the bathroom door in time to watch Nami drop two plastic bags on the floor with a thump and rush over to give you an anxious hug.

“Thank God you’re okay. You slept like the dead and I couldn’t get you to wake up. I was starting to get worried!”

Wincing when her exclamation sent what felt like invisible nails poking through your throbbing head, you patted her back awkwardly. “I’m alive, even though I don’t feel like I am. But what the hell happened?”

Her guarded expression when she pulled back told you it was bad.

Your heart sank. “Nami. What did I do?” Dragging yourself over to her cute vintage paisley sofa, you took a seat. You were feeling better now, but standing for too long still made you a little dizzy.

A troubled frown replaced the alarm on her face. “You don’t remember at all?”

You went to shake your head and stopped, unwilling to make the stupid headache worse. “Not really. I remember we went to the karaoke and that…Sora? Was Sora there?” You glanced up at her for confirmation and got a silent nod in return. “And some of the other girls from class. Everything else is all fuzzy.” You rubbed over the creases between your eyebrows, wishing you could smooth out the folds crinkling your mind as easily.

Nami clicked her tongue and plopped down on one of the chairs by the tiny kitchen table. “Quite possibly the most badass thing you’ve ever done, and you don’t remember? I sure as hell hope this isn’t permanent. Or else I’m kicking that bastard’s butt…”

For some reason, your unbalanced mind went right past the ‘badass’ part and jumped straight to Jumin. “Huh? What does Jumin have to do with this, and why do you want to kick his butt?”

Visibly taken aback, she blinked once, twice. “Who the hell—…oh.” For some reason, she looked upset when she spoke next. “Don’t tell me you finally got into that game that everyone’s been talking about after all. Girl, you have no time for that while your unhinged ex-boyfriend is trying to ruin yours and every other girl’s lives in our department. And especially not after I made you promise that, if you ended up being tempted to try it, you’d at least wait so we can start it together!”

Oh, so that’s what she was mad about.

Doing your best to keep a straight face, you made sure to watch her intently when you answered. “I did not get into any games without you. But…why would you know the character’s name if you kept saying you ‘refuse to jump on board with the trends’…unless you started playing the game already?”

At least she had the decency to turn a nice crimson shade upon being caught. “I-I was just…checking it out to see what all the hype was about…”

Unable to hold in your laughter, you missed your chance to evade the tissue box she threw it at you in speechless indignation. It hit your shoulder and bounced off, the pathetic hit somehow making you laugh even harder.

Through the tears in your eyes, you glimpsed a huffy Nami stomping towards you.

But already, she was losing the fight against her own amusement. She was succumbing to the giggles herself by the time she reached you. “You butt. Why was it necessary to put me on the spot like that, huh?” Plopping down on the sofa beside you, she picked up the tissues and batted at your shoulder with it halfheartedly. “Besides, technically I never promised to wait for you!”

You swiftly took the item from her before she could go violent again, rolling your eyes at her dramatics. “I know, I was teasing you. I don’t care if you play it without me. You know I don’t care for that stuff.”

Although you realized, too late, that this might make her ask about Jumin again, you couldn’t take those words back now.

Fortunately, she seemed too distracted to prod you about that. She gazed at you for a long moment, no more laughter in her eyes now. “So you don’t remember what happened with Shin?”

Instant tension shot through your body. “Shin…?” He’d been there too? Was that why you felt so out of it? Had he forced you to drink?

But you knew yourself. You wouldn’t let even him push you that far.

“Tell me what happened.” You couldn’t keep the pleading tone from your voice. You had to know. You hated having this fuzzy-edged hole in your memories.

“You kissed him,” Nami blurted out, and chaos exploded in your mind.

—WHAT!?

Anxiety swelled in your chest. Tangible, like warm air expanding a balloon, it made you frantic to shake off this terrible, suffocating feeling her words elicited. The uncertainty stemming from your own unreliable mind superseded the incredulity that should have been the main reaction to this ridiculous picture she was painting of the night before.

“Don't you mean that he kissed me?”

Nami shook her head, but a quiet anger simmered in her eyes.

Again, fear spiked. Not of Nami, but of the unknown situation you had gotten yourself into. Just what had happened last night for your timid, peace-loving friend to react like that?

“No, you did it to him. But…it wasn’t a kiss.”

“Huh?” Already confused as you were, you couldn’t follow anymore. “I kissed Shin, but it wasn’t a kiss?”

Next to you, Nami shook her head first, then nodded vigorously, then shook her head again. At this point she looked just as confused as you felt.

“Wait! Let me explain from the top.” As she recounted last night’s incident, trying to provide as much detail as possible, the words found their place in your head, like puzzle pieces fitting into the gap of their respective shape. By the end of it, you were pretty sure you could remember most of these things again.

Like the non-kiss you’d given Shin. Nami was right. It had been more of a transfusion than a kiss.

And you didn’t regret it for a moment.

You just didn’t know if you would call it ‘badass’, rather than just plain desperate. Back then, it had seemed like the only way out, and you’d taken it.

Well, it had worked, hadn’t it?

“What are you gonna do now?” Nami was chewing on her bottom lip as she asked this. She seemed to continuously share your anxiousness over the entire situation.

With a deep sigh, you rubbed at your eyes. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to see how things on campus are first, after yesterday’s drama.”

That reminded you. Today was Friday, so you had classes to go to.

You glanced up at a Nami who had gone silent in contemplation. “What time is it? Don’t we have to leave soon?”

“Oh. The first class was canceled, it seems like Professor Young is sick. So we don’t have to be there until twelve. It’s just past ten now. We can still eat before we go.”

Because going to the cafeteria on a single class day wasn’t a common thing. Most students preferred to eat at home beforehand, or just go back home for lunch afterwards.

“Good thing you woke up, or I would have had to go by myself.” Nami’s playful smile faded too soon. “You were really out of it yesterday. I’m glad you’re alright now.”

Touched by the genuine concern you’d seen in her eyes earlier and again now, you reached out to squeeze her hand. “Me too. I’m sorry for making you worry.” You didn’t like it when the light went out in her eyes like that. “And thank you for bringing me here and covering for me. My dad would have freaked out, had I stayed away all night without letting him know where I was.”

Nami scooted closer and put her head on your shoulder. “You know what I think of your dad, so I’m not going to say anything. But you…you were really cool yesterday. I doubt that anyone will try to mess with you from now on.” A soft giggle, the vibration of her laughter shaking your shoulder where she leaned on you. “They’d be too afraid you’d knock them out in front of a whole crowd and expose their entire life’s worth of lies to everyone while they lay in a senseless heap by your feet.” Another giggle, her silly amusement making your own lips curve upwards.

“And then you’d say things about them like ‘sleeping with this idiot is going to give you nothing but tears and STDs.’” She snorted with laughter. “You single-handedly ended the man’s chances of ever having a love life during what’s left of his university years. He’s going to graduate with a heavy case of blue balls.”

This time, you couldn’t hold back and cracked up along with her, laughing until tears came once again. And when, during a break to catch your breaths, Nami held out the tissue box—the one she’d used as a projectile earlier—so you could dry your laughter-induced tears, the two of you erupted into another fit and didn’t stop for a while.

~~~

The atmosphere on campus wasn’t what you’d expected it to be. Everywhere you went, even outside the economics faculty, other students, some you didn’t even know, greeted you with nods, smiles, and thumbs-up signs.

By the time class had ended and you were walking to the library with Nami for more studying, you still weren’t used to the weird feeling being this notorious gave you.

But the weirdest thing was that Shin hadn’t shown up to class.

You suppressed a grin at the idea that he might still be lying abandoned and unconscious in the same spot at the Karaoke place.

Well, probably not. They couldn’t very well just close up for the day with a blacked out customer still on the ground…

But it was still fun thinking about it.

He’s probably sleeping off the freaking drug somewhere. Because, if you had barely woken in time for class, he'd probably just slept right through it.

Although the thought of a Shin-less day made you happy, you knew the storm would hit sooner rather than later. The way you had exposed all of his shady dealings on campus, and how everyone seemed to know about it already…there was no way he would let it slide. No doubt, you would have to brace yourself for what was to come.

But for the moment, it was fine to enjoy the calm before the storm…right?

While Nami went ahead to secure a table in the library study rooms, you swung around the corner of the building to do your part of vending machine snack duty—only to find yourself faced with the storm head-on.

Unprepared, unexpected, and all by yourself.

Arms crossed, he leaned against the vending machine, looking like some huge beast had chewed him up and spat him back out mere minutes ago. He was sickly pale, as if he hadn’t slept in a week. Deep, dark, half-moon bruises sat under his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled and stained—the same ones you remembered seeing him in at the karaoke place—his hair disheveled but squished flat on one side, where he must have laid on it all night.

Yet the look in his eyes didn’t quite match the storm cloud-y look of the rest of him. In fact…he was smiling. And it wasn’t the nasty kind of smile you would expect.

For some reason, he smiled like he was genuinely happy to see you.

And that made you more uneasy than if he had come at you with malicious intent blazing in his eyes.

“I was hoping to catch you alone.”

Clearly. The fact that he’d known you were coming to the vending machines meant he had to have been watching you and Nami for a while. Long enough to know your plans for the library and ambush you there.

There went your dream of a Shin-less, drama-free day.

“Shin. What a surprise to see you here.” You tried to keep your tone neutral, and not subconsciously infuse all the contempt and disgust you had for him into your words. You wanted nothing more than to turn on your heel and flee into the building full of people, snacks be damned. But since you had no idea what made him this happy to be around you, you had to go about this—getting rid of him, shaking him off, whatever—very carefully.

Because what if he was acting like that because he actually didn’t remember anything?

Shin had ingested more of the weird drug than you, and you had already awoken from it borderline amnesiac. If he skipped class and only showed up to talk to you, of course he wouldn’t have noticed the ongoing mood on campus, or seen any of his elusive lackeys from yesterday giving him a wide berth now, to avoid complicity by association.

So what if truly no one had told him what was going on?

You would have to make sure not to give anything away while carefully prodding him for the extent of his knowledge.

Ahead of you, Shin was grimacing at your words, shaking a handful of coins in his palm. “Yeah, with this monster of a headache, I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for you. We must have drunk a lot yesterday…” Almost casually, he slotted money into the nearest vending machine and tossed you the can of cold-brew coffee it spat out.

You barely caught it, taken off-guard as you were. And glanced at him with the certainty that a bunch of question marks had to be bouncing all over your face. “You…don’t remember?” You took a cautious step closer, watching his body language in case he would try something after all.

But, appearing completely relaxed, he shook his head, sticking one hand in his pant pocket while running the other through his mess of a bed head. “Not really. I only remember…”

He paused to throw you a look that made everything in you recoil, with sparkling eyes and all.

Suddenly, you knew what he was going to say, even before he said it.

Oh god. Please, don’t let it be that.

“…that you kissed me.”

Although you’d expected it, it still left you speechless for a few moments.

A few moments that he apparently used in preparation of what to say next. “I knew you weren’t completely over me. You kept acting like it, but I saw right through that little pretense of yours. I’m glad I didn’t give up on you even after we broke up. You and me, we suit each other. We fit together. We’re so similar…”

“Shin.” You didn’t like where this was going at all.

But he kept talking, the sparks in his eyes growing brighter with enthusiasm…or maybe the first hints of madness he was outwardly showing at last.

“Everyone keeps talking shit about me, making me out to be some campus pimp or whatever. But you…” His voice took on an almost pleading tone now, and along with the look in his eyes, it sent slivers of alarm racing through you when he stopped closer.

“Shin…” You moved backwards, away from him one step at a time. Slowly, like he was a wild animal you were trying not to set off.

But he wasn’t listening. “You know I never tried anything like that with you, back when we were a thing. You can tell everyone that the rumors aren’t true…and when we’re finally back together, they’ll believe it even more.” Still looking a little crazed, he reached out a hand towards you. “I’ll do whatever you want this time. I’ll even wait for you to be ready for me. I won’t push you like last time.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

At this point, you weren’t sure you knew what his goals were anymore. Was he trying to get you to help him prove his false innocence…or was he asking you to go out with him again?

You didn’t know which option was worse.

But most importantly…had he forgotten his bold confession to you yesterday as well? He wouldn’t be genuinely asking for your help in clearing his name if he still remembered having made that uncalculated move.

But why, why of all things that had transpired, why did he have to remember the non-kiss, and read so much more into it than there was?

Fighting the urge to smack your own forehead in frustration, or maybe just smack some sense into him, you fixed him with a hard stare instead. “Shin.”

“Yes?” You hated the breathless anticipation ringing in that single word, and the way he stared at your lips like he was fantasizing about being kissed again.

Sadly, you had no more of the tranquilizer drink on hand to knock him out with. So you had to do it another way.

“We’re not getting back together. And I’m not helping you fix your reputation, because it’s already in shambles. Everyone but you knows what happened yesterday. You’re beyond saving now.” You lunged forward to press the unopened coffee can back into his hands and immediately turned around, retreating with hasty steps. “Don’t approach me again.”

But even then, he didn’t seem to have processed anything after the first few words of your announcement. “Awh, come on now. Don’t be like that~~”

Although he called after you, you didn’t hear or sense him moving to follow. That was good enough for the moment.

Picking up your pace, you slipped into the buzzing safety of the library building and rejoined your waiting friend.

~~~

When you showed up at Jumin’s place that afternoon, badly needing the reprieve from studying and from the million other things whirring around in your head like noisy cogwheels, you weren’t expecting to find him already seated at the piano.

He played a slow-paced, somber melody that barely faltered when you entered, and never changed its tempo even when he looked up to greet you with a mute nod.

“Hey, you.” You waved at him as you dropped your bag and coat on the sofa, feeling a smile coming on just from being near him again. Twinges of pain still throbbed behind your temples occasionally, and you were tired to the point that Jumin’s sofa looked temptingly comfortable. But already, you felt like it was getting easier to breathe thanks to his presence, your lungs expanding past the strange tightness that had been constricting your chest since your stepfather’s phone call yesterday.

“Don’t tell me you’re practicing ahead of schedule again. You know we’re not doing negative emotions until next week.”

This time, Jumin withdrew his hands from the keyboard like he’d been waiting for a chance to let the music die. The soft notes cut off in an abrupt manner, making the ensuing silence seem harsher than normal.

“I was just…playing what suits the mood.” He turned to you, his eyes dark and without his usual smile as he watched you approach him and the instrument he had so crudely abandoned.

Slowing down in hesitation, you searched his face for a hint of why he was acting like the two of you had never grown past the curt responses and tight-lipped demeanor of the initial weeks. But the poker face he hadn’t let you see in a while was back in full swing.

You tried your best not to let the change in him affect your good mood over getting to spend time with him again as you took your usual place by the piano’s edge. From there, you handed him one of two yogurt drinks you’d picked up on the way, and poked the straw into your own. “So…how was yesterday’s business dinner?”

Placing the tiny plastic bottle on the closed fallboard in front of him, he sighed deeply. “Actually, it was my…” He trailed off, as if unsatisfied with the way he’d begun the sentence. “It was dinner with my father.”

You went quiet at his words.

Jumin hadn’t talked about his family with you before, and considering that he seemed to be in a bad mood or upset over something, you decided that now wasn’t the best time to ask.

“I see.” You’d let him be the one to determine how the conversation would progress. To stay on this topic, or opt to talk about something else entirely.

He did neither. And soon the thick silence spreading between the two of you put the ball back in your court.

You cleared your throat, wishing back the Jumin who would smile and crack silly jokes to lighten the mood. “I…uh… I took some time to think about what you said the other day. You know, about the scholarship.”

His only response was to cock his head the slightest bit, like he was silently telling you to continue.

You squared your shoulders, but couldn’t stop your gaze from drifting off to the side as you spoke. “You were right. I realized how stupid it is to let my fears keep me from seizing an opportunity I might never again get in life. I can always choose a different way if things end up going wrong, but I can never turn back time if I let this chance pass by without even trying my luck in the first place.”

Movement in front of you, then a single long finger filled your vision, nearly making you cross-eyed as you followed it to the tip of your nose.

You barely had time to even processed the boop, feeling distinctly like he’d forgotten himself and was treating you like he did Elizabeth The 3rd again, before the corners of his mouth lift into the tiniest smile.

It was like the dense, impenetrable cloud layer had finally broken up, letting the smallest sliver of sunshine filter through.

After the depressing gloom from before, it was blinding.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’re finally basing your decisions on reason and not letting your fears control you.”

You’d been about to show him your claws for treating you like a cat again, but the unexpected, long-awaited smile took the wind right out of your sails. It left you with a burning face instead, and the beginnings of a sheepish grin you failed to suppress. “Thanks…”

You sipped at your yogurt, watching him finally poke the straw into his. “I’m probably not doing it right away, though. I still want to finish this term no matter what, so I might as well wait with the application until after finals.”

Jumin frowned with the tiny straw in his mouth. He swallowed a couple more times before licking his lips to finally speak. “Why not just apply now? The document processing will most likely take a while, and if you’re lucky, they might still accept you for this next term, instead of making you wait until the new year.”

As you finished the rest of your drink, you took some time to mull over his words.

It couldn’t hurt to look into it and check what documents needed to be submitted, so you could at least start gathering everything necessary for the application. You had done it before and should still have the required documents, but double-checking wouldn’t hurt. Maybe they had changed their conditions since the last time you’d tried over two years ago…

“Fine, I’ll look it up today. But, you’re helping me in case I’m missing any of the documents.” Faking the attitude, you gave him a look from narrowed eyes and an upturned nose.

“I am your loyal and devoted slave.” He smiled as he said it, lightening the worry you’d felt earlier.

But the distinct feeling that something was wrong remained, and even grew stronger.

For the first time since you’d started instructing him, the lesson dragged on, lacking its usual atmosphere of lighthearted fun and unconstrained togetherness. Instead, like a heavy layer of snow weighing on a field of fragile flowers, Jumin’s strangely muted mood blanketed the evening, only leaving behind ambivalent silence, and the uneasy feeling in your heart.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 15

After that clusterfuck of a day, all you wanted to do was crawl into bed with your cat and not resurface for a whole week.

Sadly, and although it was finally the weekend, you had places to be the next day. Another full day of studying with Nami, and hopefully a better lesson with Jumin than today’s had been. You’d be taking a day off from studying Sunday, and with another five days of classes waiting to ambush you come Monday, there went the week you felt was needed to recover from those two disastrous days you had just been through.

But, hiding from the world under your covers with Vic’s soothing purrs and precious body heat keeping you company, things already seemed a little less terrible.
Despite what you’d told Jumin, you ended up leaving your research into the scholarship applications for the next day. Not even your dad could have stood in your way when you’d followed the overwhelming urge to withdraw into yourself and gone straight to bed after arriving home that night.

The now familiar sight of his tightly closed bedroom and office door added to the stifling mass of recent worries making it hard for you to breathe. He’d never given you the silent treatment for that long before. Up until now, every time you’d fought about the topic of your future, the tensions between the two of you had dissolved by themselves at some point.

Things had always gone back to normal again after a few days.

But not this time.

Nearly two weeks since that movie night and the unpleasant turn it had taken, and he was still giving you the cold shoulder and doing his best to avoid you. Hell, you hadn’t even seen his face in three days.

Doubts began to creep into your mind, slowly chipping away at the sliver of confidence and courage that sharing your decision with Jumin had given you. Was it really worth it, driving a permanent wedge between yourself and your father just to have a shot at your dream career?

Fortunately, even those depressing thoughts weren’t enough to keep your exhausted body and mind from succumbing to the healing embrace of sleep. The only thing interrupting your slumber was your own brain, throwing some disturbing scenes at you.

Of how Jumin, your prodigious student who’d made so much progress not just in his piano lessons but in his interactions with you as a fellow human being, as friends, reverted back to a version of himself even worse than the one he’d been when you had first met him.

Gone was the soft-spoken, witty and sometimes downright cheeky individual he’d grown to be after becoming your friend. In his place stood a cold, curt and robotic man whose poker face distorted into a mask of derision as he mocked you for your foolish career choices. “You’re delusional,” he spat, an icy chill invading your veins when, for one terrifying second, his face went blank, his features melting and reshaping into different yet equally familiar ones.

Suddenly, it was your father standing there beside your desk, the blood vessels in his neck protruding as he shouted his anger out at you. “I’m not going to stick around and watch it all go down in flames.”

Paralyzed from fear and frozen in place where you stood across from him, the nightmare kept you unable to move a single muscle. You helplessly watched his hand close around the tiny, piano-shaped music box on your desk.

Jumin’s gift to you, a memento proving that you meant something to him, that he’d thought of you, even while away traveling. Next to your music book, it was quite possibly the most important item in your room.

When he picked it up, your father’s big hand dwarfed the fragile object, the miniature replica fashioned after your favorite instrument. He fumbled with it for a bit until he figured out how to open it, how to make the little invisible wheel turn.

Like a morbid soundtrack to accompany the scene of your nightmare, Schubert’s Serenade filled the air.

Although your chest hurt and tears pricked your eyes, you looked away, tried to tune out the sound of your favorite piece. You couldn’t stand the sight of it in his grasp, or the way its music seemed to sound different in his presence. Like it was wrong for Jumin’s gift to be under your father’s control.

As if he might taint it with the anger inside him.

But because you were so intent on not listening, not looking, you didn’t realize that the notes were off, sounding contorted and harsh, as if his fury had already seeped into the music box and changed the way it sounded…until vague movement had you snapping your head back towards him.

As if in slow motion, you saw your dad’s arm draw back as he took aim and hurled the music box at the wall next to you.

“NO!”

You jerked awake with the echoes of your scream still ringing in your ears. As you tried to catch your breath and calm your racing heart, you didn’t even notice you’d startled Victor off the bed until he chirped at you from the floor, his cocked head and the way the sound pitched higher towards the end making it sound like a concerned question.

“I’m fine,” you rasped, rubbing a hand over your sweat-damp face and trying to shake off the residual dread still coiled around your body like invisible fingers. Like the nightmare wasn’t willing to relinquish its grasp on you just yet. Pushing back the covers, you climbed out of bed and padded over to your desk. Your heart was still pounding, but you breathed a little easier when you saw the tiny piano standing among your other precious things, the glossy white of it glinting in the faint moonlight filtering through a crack in the curtains.

Your shoulders slumped with relief. It was fine. Undamaged and untouched, in the same spot you’d left it the day before, the last time you’d listened to its quiet music before going to sleep.

Reaching out a trembling hand, you lifted the tiny piano cover, breath held until the first soft notes started playing in the dim silence of the room. Only then—after you’d made sure it still sounded the same and not like the terrible, distorted version in your nightmare—did the tension and lingering panic fall off of you entirely. Knees going weak, you let yourself sink into the desk chair and closed your eyes, breathing deeply as you allowed the beautiful tune to soothe your frayed nerves.

Only when the entire sequence of soft piano music had finished playing and the box was silent again, did you open your eyes. Though you were much calmer than before, you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon, the images from the dream still too vivid in your mind. So you clicked on the desk light and fished out your music book instead, thumbing through the pages until you found where you’d last left off.

It had been a while since you’d worked on your latest piece anyways. Studying and then the recent waves of drama had kept you too preoccupied to do any composing for a few days now. Since you had no intention of going back to sleep, you figured now was a good time to continue weaving the piece of music that continued demanding Jumin as your muse.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you visualized the beautiful grand piano in said muse’s apartment and ‘played’ the unfinished notes on your mental instrument, your fingers moving in the air as if dancing over the keys of a real one. When you reached the end of what you had so far, the empty pages ahead looked lonely and cold without any loping notes filling the staves or messy annotations scribbled on the margins. You grabbed a pen and went to work putting to paper what inspiration your most recent interactions with Jumin had procured within you.

Reflecting on the entire past week, you barely had to think for the notes to flow onto the paper as ink, flowing like the music did in your head as you continued to envision how it would sound, how it was supposed to sound, once you’d get the chance to test it out on Jumin’s piano tomorrow. You became so absorbed in what you were crafting, the planned out melody now dipping towards more heart-wrenching emotions, that you didn’t realize how much time passed until birdsong disturbed your mute concentration.

Startled, you lifted your gaze to find the soft light of dawn announcing the start of a new day, where before a strip of cool moonlight had illuminated the hushed night-time silence of your room. You rubbed at your burning, blurring eyes before looking again, thinking your tired mind was playing tricks on you.

It wasn’t. The white sections of your curtains—irregularly patterned, black and white panels of fabric reminiscent of a monochrome keyboard, a subtle rebellion against your father’s anti-piano policy during the early days of your quarrel—had turned a soft pink from the early morning sun backlighting them, giving your room a certain sleepy charm you hadn’t seen for a long time.

You glanced at your desk-top clock, a grey cat head with an analogue display inset into its two round eyes. Just past 6am. Fighting a yawn, you shuffled towards the brightening windows, a dozy Victor following you on silent paws. You pulled one of the curtains back slightly and leaned against the windowsill, eyes drawn to the evanescent spectacle of pink and orange still visible in the patches of horizon you glimpsed behind the tall apartment buildings and skyscrapers making up most of the view from your room.

With a weary sigh, you reached out to pet your purring cat when he settled on the ledge by your shoulder as if to bask in the view with you. The muted play of colors had the two of you so transfixed that, at some point, you found yourself with your chin resting on your folded arms, just staring at the brightening heavens.

How long had it been since you’d last experienced a sunrise like that? It must have been years. You hadn’t habitually woken this early since your high school days, which, in hindsight, seemed carefree and uncomplicated compared to your life now, despite the dark time you’d gone through after your mother had left the family…

You were unaware for how long you and Vic stayed that way, watching the world slowly lose its morning blush until the sky was painted an—for October—uncharacteristic, cloudless blue shot through with golden rays of sunlight that was sure to draw out homebodies and nature lovers alike.

A sudden sound in the hallway outside your room startled both Vic and you, drawing your attention away from the dazzling sky, and your thoughts from the magical sight you’d just observed.

It was Saturday morning. Why was he awake already?

The weekends were usually the only days your father slept in late, because he tended to avoid scheduling work for those days, preferring the option to spend time with you instead. That he was up early shattered your tentative hopes of some quality time with him, to maybe talk things out, so you could go back to how things were before the ugly argument.

You slipped out of your room to find him in the kitchen, transferring a premade lunch box from the fridge to his big messenger bag that sat open on the counter.

Already heavy, your heart sank further as you watched him pack a bunch of snacks from the pantry. Two bottles of water followed.

“Are you…going somewhere?” Perching on one of the tall stools lining the kitchen counter, you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. Almost scared of what you might see on his face, you hesitated to look at him even when he turned back with an affirmative grunt.

But he didn’t say anything beyond that, so you chanced a peek when he was finally facing towards you.

He didn’t even glance at you. And a mere moment later, he turned away anew, wordlessly grabbed his bag and marched straight out the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him.

It felt like a punch to the gut. Fighting tears, you stared mutely at the closed door, feeling all kinds of terrible things as your mind finally caught up with reality.

The reason why you hadn’t seen him in days, why your interactions had become so scarce as of late…was because he’d been deliberately avoiding you. And it didn’t seem like he planned to stop anytime soon.

It was Victor who snapped you out of your emotionally wounded daze. Having hopped onto the counter next to you, you caught him pawing at something that lay where your father’s bag had stood a minute ago.

A yellow post-it note.

You shooed the cat off the counter and grabbed the sticky scrap of paper.

Two lines were scribbled on it in your father’s neat, compact handwriting:
Will be gone for the weekend.
Back Sunday night. Don’t wait for me.

Anger flared inside you, overshadowing even the dull pain of your bruised heart over the missing ‘Be good. Love you, Dad’ he normally ended his notes with. Always.

So he couldn’t even deign to tell you something as mundane as that in person? Did he think you’d change your mind about the things you loved if he bullied you, or switched his approach to ignoring you until you became desperate enough to try to gain back his favor?

Well, he couldn’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to talk to you again.

And you’d be damned if you cracked before he did.

Your anger and sudden determination not to let his childish behavior ruin your chances at happiness took the edge off the hurt, but your chest continued to sting and your eyes to burn as you headed back to your room and turned on your computer, settling down to finally do the research you’d promised Jumin to do yesterday. Half an hour later, you were done digitally applying for two different music schools’ scholarship programs, and had a list of documents you were missing for a third and fourth college application.

For the first time in a while, some of the stress pressing down on your shoulders like a weight too heavy seemed to lift. This was the right thing to do, you suddenly realized, sharing a look with Vic, who was grooming himself by your side and chose that moment to pause and blink at you slowly. As if he knew exactly what was going on in your head and bestowed his approval, firmly affirming your thoughts with an unusually serious look in his grey-blue eyes.

Should your father actually decide to cut contact with you over doing what made you happy and trying to find your place in life, that was on him. You couldn’t let his behavior limit you anymore. You wouldn’t go on living your life according to his whim when his opinions on your life as well as the way he acted towards you were based on skewed principles.

Content with your decision, and feeling the tiniest bit better than before, you strode into the kitchen with your emotional support cat on your heels and yanked open the fridge. You reached for the eggs and a whole stick of butter. A pack of flour hit the counter next, followed by brown sugar, cocoa powder, and a whole bag of chocolate chips to be sacrificed for your plans.

You broke into your personal chocolate stash too, feeling like you needed more chocolate than that to overcome this situation. Armed with three different types of chocolate, you got to work making the chewiest, chunkiest, most chocolate-y treats to ever grace your taste buds.

You thought baking would make you feel better, like it always did. But by the end of it, you felt just as weary and low-spirited, with the only difference being the batch of triple chocolate chunk cookies which you now had to cheer you up.

With a sigh, you took up the phone and canceled your study plans with Nami, convinced that you needed a day off from everything and everyone to get your head back in the game. You already hadn’t been able to focus after yesterday’s bombshell of a call from your stepfather. With your current frame of mind, going into a study session with Nami was bound to end up a waste of time for the both of you…

Still, weekend or not, you couldn’t just stay home all day in that mood.

You packed about half of the still warm cookies into two containers and rummaged through the kitchen drawers for the stack of post-its your father had used for his message. Ten minutes later, you were dressed, Victor was munching his breakfast, and the note was firmly attached to the cookie box sitting inside your bag as you closed the door behind you.

The trip across town to Jumin’s apartment flew by faster than usual. Funny how it always felt like forever any other time when you were looking forward to going there.

But this time, all you did was let yourself in, just long enough to leave the cookies and the note on top of the lonely-looking, closed grand piano after making sure no one but Elizabeth The 3rd caught you doing it, and exiting the place again as fast as you could.

You felt bad stealing in and out like some kind of reverse thief, not even checking if Jumin was home at all. But you were doing it this way precisely to avoid running into him or personally having to tell him you wouldn’t show up to your lesson with him today. In your current mood, you’d be lousy company if he did happen to be back to his old jaunty self, the invaluable friend he’d grown to be in the past weeks. And if he didn’t…you couldn’t do your duty of cheering him up if you were barely holding yourself together.

Or at least that was your excuse.

Only now did your body seem to realize you had a sleepless night behind you. Exhaustion had you stumbling more than walking to the nearest convenience store, where you stocked up on a selection of stuffed rice balls and canned coffee to go with your sleep-deprivation and the freshly-baked, homemade supply of chocolate and sugar you had brought for yourself.

You had considered studying by yourself to avoid wasting precious time, but the mere thought of touching a textbook or your study notes gave you the urge to reenact the grand finale of your nightmare with them.

Instead, you and your provisions boarded the bus that would take you to your favorite park by the river. Being out and about was already lifting your spirits a little, so you would stay outside, under the gentle autumn sun and the azure sky, and let some of your favorite things soothe the unrest in your soul.

Your phone rang as you walked through the bustling park. Your improving mood was momentarily hampered upon discovering that Mr. Dickhead was trying to reach you once again. With a frustrated groan, you turned off your cell phone and stuffed it deep inside your bag so you wouldn’t be tempted to reach for it again, for whatever reason.

Today, for this period of time you took for yourself, you would stay disconnected.

Settling down on your usual bench by the water, you donned your headphones and shuffled your favorite playlist, just letting the music trickle through your mind like a lazy stream bubbling along in its river bed as the hours passed. When you got hungry, you munched on the food you’d brought. When you grew bored of the tranquil water view, you turned and people-watched until you didn’t feel as detached from the world anymore. Coffee counteracted your tiredness, and the sugar and chocolate helped recharge your physical battery in the same way that taking the day off for some alone time refreshed your mind.

The cookies had turned out even better than you thought. The edges were crispy, the center soft and chewy, and the milk chocolate chips created a nice balance of sweetness between the little, creamy bits of white chocolate and the slightly bitter dark chocolate chunks from your hidden stash.

Must have been the secret ingredients: brown sugar, stress, and misery.

Snorting at your misplaced humor, you finished off your cookie and downed the rest of your coffee. You didn’t know it was correlation or coincidence, but too many times so far, the things you baked while under stress ended up tasting better than the stuff you took your time and leisure to make. Then again, the stuff you’d baked for Jumin had all turned out decent so far. So maybe it was just your imagination after all?

When you noticed an elderly couple with walking sticks approaching your bench, you packed up your stuff and moved into the waning shadow of a nearby tree. The grass was soft and cool under your hands as you lay down, staring up at the fuzzy clouds starting to form in the sky now that temperatures were dropping with the impending sunset.

The sun had disappeared behind some buildings, leaving only diffuse-looking light and soft shadows, their edges blurring with each passing minute.

By the time the dazzling display of color that was the sunset fizzled out and the world turned into shades of black and gray, the park was empty but for some water birds bobbing on the river’s surface, and the stray cats lurking at the shore in hopes of an early evening snack.

Stretching to loosen up your body stiff from laying in the grass, you took off your headphones and collected your things. The park lamps guided you through the darkness and back out onto the street, at the same time that the music of the world around you and the hushed sounds of the night slowly brought your drifting mind back to reality.

The feelings you’d been avoiding returned as soon as you were back home, faced with your father’s closed door. Life didn’t take a break for anyone, but already, the things that bothered you were starting to lose their power to get under your skin. After the day that you’d had, your mask wasn’t just mended and your armor fortified. You had regained a piece of yourself that the recent events had carved out of you like a sculptor’s mistake, chipping too much off of the block of stone waiting to be hewn into something beautiful.

But now, this time you’d taken to recover had given you a second chance, and you would make the most of it. To build yourself up again after being broken down one time too many.

This was as close as you’d get to running away from your troubles and worries. And for now, it had to be enough.

~~~

The next day brought with it the awareness that you’d forgotten to turn your phone back on the night before.

As you sat having breakfast to the sounds of Victor licking out his plate after inhaling its contents in record time, you remembered to check in with Nami to confirm that your mid-day study date was still happening. So you went to retrieve your phone from your room, where it was still buried at the bottom of your bag, and returned to find Victor stealing a piece of fried egg from your plate.

“That’s my food, you insatiable beast! You’ve had your breakfast already.” You plopped down in your chair, shooing him away when he tried to swipe another morsel off your plate. Just so he wouldn’t be tempted again, you scarfed down the rest of your own breakfast in a hurry, all the while glaring at the cat now perched on the opposite corner of the table, innocent blue-gray eyes looking anywhere but in your direction.

“Yeah, yeah, drop the act. I know your true face.” You took your plate to the sink and washed it while waiting for your phone to start up, then almost dropped the dish from your soapy hands when your ringtone blared through the kitchen with no warning.

Grumbling, you rinsed and dried your hands and stomped over to check caller ID. If it was Shin again, you’d give him an earful this time. If subtle wasn’t cutting it with him, you’d be sure to make him understand this time.

But the nameless number displayed wasn’t one you knew. Blinking at Vic, who stared back at you curiously, you answered. “Hello?”

“Is this Y/N?” An unfamiliar but pleasant voice, a woman who was clearly used to phone communication.

“Yes. Who am I speaking to?” You propped yourself against the kitchen counter, reaching out to casually wipe some cat hairs off the otherwise pristine stone surface.

“My name is Jina Seo. I am the dean of Gongsang School of Music.”

Your breath caught. Gongsang was one of the two colleges you had applied to yesterday. How in the hell were you getting a call already?

“We have received your application,” Ms. Seo continued after clearing her throat.

The way her tone changed towards the last few words filled you with a nervous kind of tension. That’s how people sounded when they were about to deliver bad news, no?

“Unfortunately, the application period for this month’s audition date ended just this past Friday.”

You closed your eyes in silent defeat, already praying that the other three applications would be more successful. How did you not check the time periods before hitting send? And to think you’d been late by just a single day too…

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Ms. Seo resumed. “You are, however, quite lucky that I happened to drop by the office and see your application today. As it is, we have an empty spot from a premature cancellation. As long as this next audition day is not too short notice for you, I would like to invite you to our school this coming Tuesday, to demonstrate your talent and skill to our judges.”

Your knees buckled abruptly. You found yourself on the floor the next second, shock making your heart thump wildly in your chest. You almost missed the rest of her announcement through the deafening rush of blood in your ears.

”I will send you the relevant information through email, if you think you can make it.”

Ten minutes later, you still sat there, clutching the phone in your hand as you tried to process what had just happened. Your phone pinged to notify you of a new email. It contained details about the audition date, time and location. For requirements, Ms. Seo had added a personal note: ‘As we presume a certain knowledge of musical theory, and especially classics, you will be asked to play one of two classical pieces selected by the audition judges, and may then offer a second performance of your own choice.’

Seeing it black on white like that, the fact that this was really happening finally hit you. Missed the deadline by a day. But for some reason I still made it in? I have an audition!?

“I have an audition,” you gasped out loud, only now feeling the rasp of a tiny sandpaper tongue on your skin.

Victor, who lay by your knees grooming himself, had apparently decided that you needed a bath too. He cocked his head at your words, blinking up slowly at you before giving your tingling hand a gentle nip. You scratched his ears, feeling a smile taking over your face. A smile that felt like it would hold for the entire day.

Your phone ringing again ruined the moment. What now?

But to your relief, it was still not Shin calling. “Jumin?”

“Y/N! Thank God you finally answered.”

You blinked down at your cat, back to thoroughly cleaning himself. “You tried to call me before?”

A deep breath, like he had to draw in air to calm himself. “Yes. Many times.” His voice shook a little, so slightly you almost missed it. “Since I couldn’t reach you yesterday, and your note said you weren’t feeling good…I thought something had happened to you.”

Oh. The feeling of guilt his words evoked had you chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry about that. My phone was off yesterday and I forgot to turn it back on until just a few minutes ago. I’m fine, nothing happened, I just…forgot.”

A moment of silence. Then, “I see.”

You grimaced. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

The two of you lapsed into silence that was just a little awkward.

Ah, you’d forgotten how delightful talking on the phone with Jumin was.

Then both of you spoke at the same time.
“Uh, anyways…”
“Are you coming over today?”

You laughed stiffly and, in the same moment, heard his soft chuckle echo through the phone.

“Yes, I am. Can’t wait for our lesson today. We have some catching up to do.”

No response. He was probably nodding and once again forgot you couldn’t see him.

“Oh! I did some research yesterday and managed to send in a few applications already. I have news about that matter, too. But you’ll have to wait until later to hear that.” You wanted to see his face when you told him about your first audition.

Renewed anticipation made your skin pebble with goosebumps, excitement bursting in your blood like bubbles in a fizzy drink. You still couldn’t believe this was happening.

“That’s a very effective cliffhanger. Are you trying to make me suffer?”

You laughed at his aggrieved tone, feeling your heart lighten too. He sounded like he was himself again. Could this day get any better? “Maybe. It’s no fun if I tell you everything now.” Once again, you wished you were face to face so you could stick your tongue out at him and see how he’d react to your teasing in person.

But all you could do was be patient until you’d be able to meet him in the afternoon.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N. And I’m looking forward to hearing your news later. It has to be something good, if I can nearly feel your smile through the phone.”

Your smile faltered for a second, before growing even wider. How was it that he could make your heart jump like that with just a few words? And just a couple of months ago, he’d barely even known how to smile himself, let alone make someone else smile…

“See you later, Jumin.”

And the smile he’d given you held, through your Sunday cleaning of your room, your productive study session with Nami, and all the way until the moment you finally stood in front of his door.

A door that stood ajar, with the tempting smell of food and soft piano music greeting you even before you entered.

Your eyes fluttered shut on a deep breath as you took in the style of playing you’d come to recognize even without seeing the pianist with your own eyes. A realization hit you right then, making your hand freeze in mid-air even as you reached out to push the door open.

When did coming here, to Jumin’s place, start feeling more like coming home than returning to your own apartment did?

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 16

Jumin was expecting you with a homemade dinner of pasta and—for the first time since the two of you had taken to dining together—a bottle of wine waiting to be opened.

Your strange feeling of being home intensified by the minute.

Although he’d been leisurely playing away on the piano just before your arrival, he stood to help you out of your coat the moment you stepped through the door. Taking your hand, he tugged you to the kitchen, to the prepared dining table.

He sat you down in one of the chairs, then took an apron off a hook beside the fridge.

You watched him struggle with the ties at the back, feeling equal parts amusement and the urge to help him.

But the moment you tried to get off the chair, he was there, his hands on your shoulders pushing you back into your seat. “No. You always bring me homemade sweets, and you said you weren’t feeling well yesterday, so just stay put and let me do the work this time. Let me do this for you.”

Blinking, you gave a mute nod and observed how he proceeded to throw a handful of pine nuts into a pan to roast, while retrieving a tray with two juicy looking steaks from the oven.

The meat was cooked to perfection, the sight making your mouth water as he sliced it into thin pieces to drape over the two mounds of creamy looking green pesto pasta already plated on the table. You could sense his anticipation from the way he was basically vibrating, his hands trembling when he topped the dishes with the roasted pine nuts and a drizzle of olive oil. Several fresh basil leaves for garnish completed the masterpiece.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

Jumin pulled a silly face on his way to put the apron back where it belonged, checking to make sure the stove and oven were off before returning with a corkscrew for the wine.

So unexpectedly, he was showing you yet another facet of himself you hadn’t known before. You couldn’t help but like this domestic side of him. The way he’d been waiting for you, to take care of you, still worried about how you’d been yesterday. Even going so far as to cook for you personally…

Almost like…a housewife.

You bit the inside of your cheeks to keep the amusing effect of your own thoughts from showing on your face.

“I…don’t.” Embarrassed Jumin was outright adorable, scratching his neck as he reached for the wine bottle with a sheepish smile. “Boiling pasta is really hard to mess up, even as a beginner. The pesto is from a purveyor of gourmet goods that supplies the most exclusive Italian restaurant in town. And…I spent all of yesterday trying to learn how to make the perfect steak. I must have wasted a week’s worth of veal, though Elizabeth The 3rd got a decent feast out of it.”

“Aww.” You didn’t know what to say to that. He had once again surprised you into a mental blackout. Just how did he keep doing that?

”That’s so sweet of you, but you really didn’t have to do that for me. I’m sure you had work to do yesterday…” You felt bad for having occupied his time like that, but touched at the same time because he’d done all that just to cheer you up. Were you really worth all that effort to him?

Finally, he took a seat across from you, pouring a glass of deep red wine first for you, then for himself. “You’re more important than work.”

How can he just say that with a straight face!?

You reached for your glass, more to hide your flaming cheeks than to drink, but the surprisingly alluring scent wafting up from inside it made you forget your embarrassment.

You disliked alcohol because of the way it messed with your head, and because, to you, it was a waste of money. In your experience, few people drank it for its taste, and being drunk was by far not the only way you could think of to make parties fun.

But knowing Jumin’s expensive tastes, this was probably some old, vintage wine that your humble taste buds would never get the chance to taste again.

So you tipped the glass and took a careful sip.

The slightly acidic liquid had a dry but heady mouthfeel and a tart fruitiness that, to your surprise, held faint berry notes you didn’t notice at first. The aftertaste of mellow bitterness left a pleasant, tingling numbness on your tongue, along with the desire for more.

You forced yourself to put the glass down before you could down it in one go, licking the remnants of its taste from your lips instead.

This was vastly different from the cheap boxed wine Nami had made you try once, at a college party during your first semester together. With that taste, you almost understood why rich people drank wine at every opportunity. It couldn’t hurt to have a glass or two of that stuff. After all, you couldn’t very well let it go to waste, or worse, let Jumin drink the entire bottle by himself, right?

Across from you, Jumin’s eyes twinkled as if he knew what was going on in your head. Soft smile smoothing out the sharp edges of his poker face, he raised his own glass in a toast. “Bon appetit.”

The two of you dug in. Between the perfectly al dente pasta, the juicy, buttery soft steak, and the divine pesto that was a nutty, creamy and herby symphony of flavor, two epiphanies hit you at the same time.

First, Jumin had to be a ridiculously fast learner when it came to cooking to have whipped up a perfect meal like that, and second, he had ridiculously good taste when it came to foreign delicacies, like this green pesto or the wine.

You didn’t know which of the two realizations bothered you more.

When the food was eaten and the plates were cleared—again, by a Jumin who refused to let you lift a finger to help—he poured you another glass and took out the cookies you’d brought by yesterday, urging you to munch on one while he did the dishes.

Like a proper housewife, your brain insisted again.

You let one of the still soft, chewy chocolate disks melt in your mouth while you waited for him to finish rinsing the dinnerware.

He did, then grabbed a dish towel and turned around to face you while meticulously drying the plates and cutlery by hand.

“Soooo…” Hoping there was no chocolate stuck in your teeth, you returned the soft smile that was his response to your drawl. You just couldn’t stay silent anymore. You had to share the happy news with him. “I did some applying yesterday like I promised, and was surprised by a phone call this morning. It was totally unexpected, I didn’t think anything would be happening this fast, especially since I decided to at least finish this semester of my business major either way, but I guess I just didn’t think far enough ahead to realize it doesn’t have to be weeks or months before I heard from them.” You realized you were rambling, face heated from nerves and embarrassment both, and forced yourself to stop.

Jumin merely waited in silence for you to continue, but his eyes gleamed with a quiet pride he couldn’t hide.

It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Seeing how happy he seemed for your sake, you failed to hold back your excitement any longer. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction to this. You just blurted it out all at once. “I have my first audition this Tuesday!”

His face fell with a suddenness that startled you. “Y/N, I…”

You’d never seen that kind of anguish in his expression before, nor such despair fill his eyes with no warning. Your heart beat wildly in your chest as your mind raced to identify the cause of his distress.

What could possibly be bad enough to call forth an emotional reaction that intense, from the same Jumin who had only recently learned to show emotion in the first place?

Lips pressed together into a thin, bloodless line, he turned to set the final piece of cutlery down before he finally voiced what was on his mind. “I can’t be at your audition.”

You blinked, a little startled but pleasantly surprised that he’d planned to come. You hadn’t even mentioned it would be an audition open for a public audience yet, or that you’d contemplated performing the piece your friendship with him had inspired you to compose.

But, more than a little heated now, he carried on speaking.

Before you could express your relief at the silly reason for his behavior that had made you worry like that, or put into words that it was fine if he couldn’t come, because whatever needed his attention on Tuesday was most likely more important than a mere friend’s college audition.

“I was hoping to be there for you, to support you like friends do, especially since your dad is not coming. But with the timing of things…now I can’t even do that. I’ve never despised having to go on a business trip as much as I do now.” He turned and slapped the dish towel onto the counter with more force than you’d ever seen him do something with. That alone told you that the entire thing bothered him more than he was letting on, even though this was the first time he seemed to be having trouble hiding his emotions for once.

Touched by his fierce willingness to be a good friend and the intensity of his disappointment that he wouldn’t get to, you felt your lower lip start to tremble. That comment about your dad in particular hit so close to home, you had to rapidly blink to keep the tears at bay.

“It’s okay,” you said when you trusted your voice not to wobble under the unexpected onslaught of emotion. “I appreciate it—…I appreciate you so much, and that you were ready to come cheer me on. But I know you’ll be there in spirit, so I’ll be fine even if you can’t come in person. For that, work takes priority anyways.”

“Not over you,” you heard him grumble under his breath, clearly still upset, judging by the fact that he didn’t bother turning back around to face you.

But those three words, the ones he had carelessly muttered in halfhearted complaint about the situation, oblivious to what it would sound like to say them out loud…

They meant everything to you.

Taking care not to make a sound as you slid out of your chair, you approached him from behind. Pushing aside all hesitation, you decided for once to just follow your heart.

You slid your arms around his waist and held on with all the affection you had for this wonderful, misunderstood man who had unexpectedly become your closest ally. “Thank you.” It was a mere breath of words, but they held the entire mess of emotions overwhelming your mind and body right then.

Jumin stiffened up at your touch. But before he even had the time to consciously decide his next action, his hands slipped down and covered yours that were clasped at his front, all on their own.

And stayed there, just holding on to you.

Only then did his brain seem to catch up. A shudder shook his body, before the tension in his muscles dissolved and he slowly relaxed against you. “I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for, but I guess I need to do it more often if this is the reward it gets me.”

A hushed yet mischievous declaration that startled you into a quiet laugh, muffled from the way you had your face pressed against his back.

“I didn’t take you for a little spoon, Jumin Han.”

In the middle of drawing invisible patterns on the back of your hands, his fingers suddenly stilled. “A…what?”

You didn’t have to face him to know his head was tilted in innocent confusion, bearing the most adorable clueless expression.

“Never mind.” You kept forgetting he wasn’t used to jokes of that kind, because he’d never had someone to exchange that kind of casual, playful banter with.

Since he wasn’t stirring, seemingly content to remain in the hug, you decided you wouldn’t be the one to move first.

“Hey, Jumin…”

“Hm?”

You contemplated telling him about your stepfather’s call, which was still weighing heavily on your mind, but since he didn’t know anything about the situation with your mother, you decided not to spring any more of your depressing issues on him now. Not when he might still be affected by whatever had him in a bad mood these past few days.

And maybe you weren’t ready yet to face this new problem yourself. You wouldn’t have to make a decision until finals were over, after all.

So you went with a more neutral topic instead—even though the idea of not getting to see him for a few days, again, already hurt to think about. “Where’s the business trip taking you this time?”

“Osaka, Japan.” Laughter in his voice, like he couldn’t stop himself from teasing you. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back a souvenir this time as well.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling your lips kick up into a smile. “That’s not why I’m asking.”

Silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the sound of his breathing, amplified as it was with your ear against his back.

“How…how long will you be gone for?”

Jumin surprised you by twisting around in your arms without breaking your clasp. Leaning back against the counter, he peered down at you, appearing not to notice the way your entire face lit up a translucent pink at the sudden vicinity to his.

“Hm. I think this is even better than being hugged from the back. I like that I get to see your face like this.”

At this point, said face radiated so much embarrassed heat, you could probably fry an egg on it if you tried. All by itself, your gaze skittered away from his, dark eyes focused on you with an intensity that felt like he had forgotten there was a whole world around to look at, apart from you.

“Uh, do we still have wine left? I’m feeling a little parched…” Letting go of his waist, though reluctantly, you tried to keep your nerves together while withdrawing back to the table and avoiding even his general direction as you checked the bottle’s contents. There was a tiny bit left, barely enough for half a glass, and you gulped it all down straight from the bottle.

Thank god, Jumin was too, well, Jumin, to notice how weird you were acting.

“The trip is two days. The plane is scheduled for Monday morning, and the return flight is Tuesday evening. At eleven pm.” A deep sigh that made you feel better because it meant he didn’t like this any more than you did.

It didn’t help with your embarrassment, though.

“If only it were a few hours earlier…”

“It’s fine,” you reaffirmed, carrying the empty glasses to the sink at a safe distance from him, to give yourself some time to calm down. “It’s just two days. That’s not as bad as last time, right?”

Another sigh, his brows crinkling in this way they always did when he was upset or when something bothered him.

You’d seen enough of that last week. What more was there now?

Jumin sat down at the table and reached for one of the cookies still on the plate. But instead of eating it, he began methodically breaking it into smaller pieces, clearly abusing the poor thing as an outlet for his frustration. “Three. I’ll be back from the business trip Tuesday night, but…my father’s birthday is on Wednesday. He usually reserves most of the day for celebrations. So…no lesson on Wednesday either.”

There was enough reluctance in his voice to betray that it wasn’t just the delay in lessons that upset him. He didn’t sound too thrilled about his father’s birthday either.

“Do you…not get along with your dad?” It was your turn to perch by the sink while he stayed seated, effectively mirroring the way things had been before the impromptu back hug.

But even though you were several feet away from him now, you still saw his jaw set at your question. Right then, you happened to remember that this past week, he had started acting weird right after dinner with his father.

Shoot. Sensitive topic. Time to backpedal! “You know what, never mind. We should start the lesson for today before it gets too late to do anything.”

As abrupt as the topic change was, it earned you nothing but a mute nod from him.

The two of you soon moved to the living room, where Jumin took up playing a piece you were deeply familiar with. Spring, from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, was a fitting choice for what was supposed to be the last day of your ‘positive emotions’ week. You didn’t know, however, if it was your question about his father, or if the remnants of his bad mood from the days before had returned all by themselves, clinging onto him like a viscous shadow that dulled his usual vigor.

You had already experienced the way Jumin’s mood could influence his performance on the piano during the previous lesson. But today, it was even worse.

His rendition of Spring was…wintry. The tune that should have been springy and lively was flat, almost cold in its lack of emotional depth. He was clearly struggling with bringing the notes to life. His hands flexed, his fingers moved nimbly, doing an impressive job with the fast and dextrous rhythm needed for this piece. But there was no heart behind it.

And then he played a particular progression of notes, off-key, making your mind cry out in protest at the careless distortion of the familiar melody.

“Wait, Jumin. Hold on for a moment.”

He stopped, with a sigh so frustrated you could sense his disappointment even before you saw the scowl darkening his expression. “This is useless. There’s no—I’m unable to concentrate. I can’t…I can’t do this today.” He rose, almost knocking the stool over with the abrupt force of his movements, and strode past you before you could do more than jump up yourself.

“Jumin!” His sudden breakout startled you—he had never lost his composure like that in front of you, after all—and worried you at the same time. “Jumin, wait!” You hurried after him, only for him to stop on the threshold to his bedroom, his back to you and his hand a bloodless fist around the door knob.

Halting a few feet away, you gave him some space. “Jumin…?”

He didn’t turn, but the faintest tremor, barely noticeable, shook his shoulders. “I will call Driver Kim to take you home.”

The sound of the door shutting held more finality than the closing notes of an elegy.

Biting your lip, you contemplated what to do. It wasn’t that late yet, so you had no problem going home by yourself.

But you didn’t want to. It felt wrong to go, to leave him alone in this agitated state you’d never seen him in and honestly had no clue how to handle. He was locking you out, shutting himself off in more ways than just by physically retreating to his own space.

He wasn’t talking to you. You couldn’t ask him about it, because what if it upset him even more? The only thing you could do was give him space but show him that you continued to support him from afar.

Determined, you stepped closer and raised your hand to knock, only to press your palm flat to the door instead. Knocking felt wrong too. “Jumin…?” You called out quietly, willing him to listen, to at least allow you to stay and be his ally, even if just from a distance. “Would you mind if I stayed for a bit to practice for my audition?”

Silence on the other side. Then… ”Be my guest.”

Your knees went weak from relief, but at the same time his words evoked a different response in you. You knew it was just a manner of speech, that he was only using it because it was an appropriate, if formal, response to your request. But his inadvertent choice of words triggered your anxiousness of something, anything, happening to cause the two of you to grow apart.

His changing behavior these past few days had first raised this fear in you. Ironically, it reminded you of the time when you'd thought Jumin's obvious worry was ungrounded, about him not putting in enough effort to make your friendship work.

And it still was. As things stood, you didn't think either of you would knowingly act in a way that would damage how things were between you. To you, this relationship was precious enough to do anything to protect it. And you had always thought, or rather hoped, that Jumin felt the same way.

Yet the more important he became to you, the stronger your concern grew, about something going wrong somewhere, somehow.

You didn't want to lose him. Not when he was among the few people you genuinely enjoyed spending time with. Not when he was the one who had brought you out of surviving and back to living. Not when, after eight long, lonely years, he'd been the one to fill the depressing silence of your existence with music again.

His unconditional support these past few weeks had done wonders for your confidence in yourself and changed your entire approach to life. You had needed that.

Nami was your best friend, and you could share many things with her that you couldn’t with most other people. But the reason you hadn’t told her of your plans to change your career path yet, or about your upcoming audition, was simple.

Nami held on to this sense of responsibility she felt she had as the eldest daughter, which manifested in her readiness to compromise on her own happiness in order to fulfill her parents’ expectations of her. Sure, her dream of running her own flower shop kind of overlapped with their wish for her to be a successful business person, making things easier for her too. But you knew her well enough to understand that, were she in your place, she would most likely not hesitate to sacrifice her chance at happiness, at doing the thing she loved most, if it meant her father was content with her decisions and proud of her as his daughter.

But you…you were different. You lacked Nami’s altruistic magnanimity, her generosity and kindness, and her willingness to make others happy before thinking about her own desires and needs. Especially when it concerned someone else’s judgment and expectations of your own life.

You envied her sometimes, for the easy, love-filled childhood that had shaped her into this big-hearted and selfless person that she was now, and the good relationship between her and her parents that allowed her to make sacrifices for their sake and still remain true to herself and content with how her life was going to be.

Maybe that made her a better person than you. But you weren’t bitter enough to hate her for it. Yet?

Preoccupied with your inner musings, you found your distracted subconscious had steered you back to the piano waiting in the living room. You sat, caressing the monochrome keys Jumin had left exposed in his hasty retreat. For some reason, your thoughts went back to how it all began. Your fingers moved all by themselves, coaxing the beginning notes of Chopin’s Nocturne out of the instrument. Even though it didn’t quite fit the mood of the passionate, melancholic piece, a smile tugged at your lips as you reminisced about the day this exact piece had spilled out of you like a storm, right after you’d succumbed to the temptation of the—back then—nameless Jumin’s grand piano.

Only to get caught by the mysterious apartment owner and spend a week stressed out and dreading to be fired for your transgression.

After the Nocturne, the room filled with the familiar notes of Liszt’s “Liebesträume” No. 3, the piece Jumin had chosen during one of your early lessons together. Your favorite Passacaglia followed, much as it had that day Jumin had played it for you.

And then came Schubert’s Serenade, and with it the memory of Jumin gifting you the tiny music box in the shape of a piano.

By the time the melody in the air changed again, slowly turning into the composition that was your own and Jumin’s at the same time, your closed eyes burned with the strength of your emotions for him.

You played the entire piece from memory, and found even the new addition from yesterday had already taken root in your head. Only the end part was still missing.

But today, you felt ready to complete it. After all these weeks, you finally knew what the ending had to sound like.

Scrambling to get your music book from your bag, you opened it to the last page of sheet music you had for the piece so far, and poured the rhythm of your racing heart onto paper.

It didn’t take you long. Somehow, you knew exactly where each note went, by how much the tempo changed. The mood and voice of the melody shifted in a way that had pangs of doubt filling you at first, until your heart assured you that it had to be like this.

It had to.

And playing the completed piece for the first time solidified this awareness in your heart and mind.

From the first progression, the piece mirrored Jumin’s journey of opening up about his emotions and learning to express himself through music. The beginning notes were flat, lifeless, meant to provoke shock and confusion in anyone listening. Only with that starting point could you appreciate what came after.

A series of melodies symbolizing his growth, the musical manifestation of different emotions slowly coming to life inside him. Excitement, grief, joy, melancholy. Every part of him he had shown to you and learned to own by doing that.

The melody seemed incomplete and shallow at first. But with every new emotion discovered, a layer of heart, of soul, was added.

Until everything came together in a storm of emotion so vivid and vibrant, it made your own soul tremble in response.

The storm became softer towards the end, growing quieter on notes mimicking good-natured teasing, laughter, and sunshine-filled smiles until it faded completely.

Then came the ending that had a piece of your own heart and soul in it.

A new voice roused the piece from the brief silence of its break. Two octaves higher than the main melody, the new voice was clearly female, a romantic cantabile full of sweet memories and heartrending tenderness, sharing the opposite perspective of said journey. It brought an airy melodiousness into the piece, after the exhilarating wildness of the emotional storm.

But the soft melody changed soon, growing into a crescendo, peaking in a passionate outburst of emotion that just as soon faded into a quiet, whispering pace, the soft uttering of intimate secrets.

Like…a confession.

Your heart beat wildly at that part, like it was celebrating something, rejoicing that the truth was finally out. That, at last, the mind realized what the heart had long known.

From there, in unconditional acceptance, the whispered confession intertwined with the returning storm of Jumin’s emotional awakening, before the duet-like harmony grew ever softer, eventually dying away completely.

When it was over, you just sat there, trying to catch your breath and calm the alternating shivers of hot and cold buzzing through your body like electric currents.

It was perfect. The piece perfectly embodied Jumin’s journey. And it perfectly expressed the mess of emotions raging in your own heart like a storm you hadn’t been able to recognize or express until now.

A wordless confession you could never think to make if he stood in front of you.

Of all the music you had composed so far, this was the best, and you might never be able to make anything like it again.

On the heels of that euphoric realization and your own emotional awakening finishing the piece had given you, a crazy idea sprouted in your head.

Slowly, sluggishly, you drew two vertical lines on the staves behind the final notes of your melody, then closed the music book and stuffed it in your purse. You felt like a stringless puppet as you put on your jacket, shouldered your bag, and walked over to Jumin’s bedroom door with quiet, wooden steps.

This time, you knocked.

“Yes?” Jumin sounded distracted, but not tired or sleepy. It seemed like he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

You drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for letting me stay. I’m about to go home now…but I have a question first.”

“You can go ahead and come in, if you like.”

You made no move to open the door. “I’m fine out here. It’s just a quick question before I leave. I wouldn’t want to disturb your rest.”

A loaded pause. “…very well. Your question?”

You bit your lip. “Can you, uhm…hear the piano from in there when someone’s playing it?”

This time, he replied right away. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

You felt a wave of heat creep up your neck and along your cheekbones and couldn’t help but feel glad for the closed door concealing you from his sight.

That meant he had heard your little musical trip down memory lane…and what had come after. You found yourself wondering if he’d understood the hidden message behind it. With how clueless he was, probably not.

Did that relieve you or upset you? You didn’t know.

Shaking those thoughts off, you focused on the present. “Then this just now was my private performance to you, to make up for the audition you’re missing. You’re…you’re the first one to hear this completed piece.”

A long moment of silence that made you wish you could see his face. This was as bad as talking to him on the phone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.

”I am honored to be the first you show this composition to.” His voice was low and solemn, the words spoken with deliberate slowness and infused with something that was almost…reverence. “It’s lovely. I’m almost jealous of whoever acted as your muse for it.” His quiet, awkward chuckle told you he was trying to crack a joke, possibly to make up for earlier.

But he might as well have jabbed you with a taser. That would have had a less shocking effect on your brain than those words he’d said had.

Oblivious as he was to your mental chaos, he must have taken your silence the wrong way, thinking that you just didn’t find his attempt at a joke funny. “I apologize for making you come over for nothing today. Y/N, I…” A soft sigh whispered through the closed door, a hollow breath of air holding a thousand unspoken words.

“Driver Kim is waiting downstairs to take you home. Goodnight, Y/N.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Monday passed with no notable incidents, aside from catching Shin conspicuously lurking about wherever you went on campus.

He never approached, though, seeing that Nami was glued to your side like the vicious guard dog she had declared herself to be after you’d filled her in about your last encounter by the vending machines. She made sure not to leave you by yourself, and you were glad to have her around, because after the weekend you’d had, you could really do without coming face to face with that psycho again.

You couldn’t deal with Shin’s bullshit now. You had other things to focus on.

As you and Nami sat together in a café studying yet again, you contemplated how to tell her that you wouldn’t be there for the study group she had arranged with Sora and some other girls for tomorrow afternoon.

Telling her about the audition now didn’t seem like a good idea. First of all, you didn’t want to jinx yourself one day before, and second…you felt it wasn’t the best idea to tell her about your plans to change majors, until your decision and the formalities that came with your application and the pending outcome of your audition were set in stone. What use was it to get her all worked up about it if the applications happened to fall through, and you ended up just staying in business school after all?

And you knew she’d be upset. Starting over at a different college didn’t mean you would never see each other again. You would obviously keep hanging out and still stay friends. But you knew she’d take it hard anyways, since she wasn’t as close with anyone else in your major as she was with you…

So after you finished studying and the two of you were just about to part ways at the bus station, you touched a cautious hand to her shoulder to get her attention. “Nami. I can’t make tomorrow’s study group.”

She stopped in her tracks, eyes going wide as she whipped around so abruptly that the long end of her ponytail smacked you in the face. “What? Why not? You said you’d give Sora a chance to make up with you!”

You rolled your eyes at her frantic reaction. “It’s not that. I didn’t change my mind about Sora, I know by now she was intimidated by Shin to do that." A sigh whispered past your lips. "I…have an appointment, for something I have to take care of tomorrow. And I need you to trust me on this, but I can’t tell you about it yet.”

Nami's hands dropped from her hips in what you recognized as the beginnings of her attack stance, and you relaxed a little when you saw her expression soften. “Fine. I’m letting you off the hook this time, but you better tell me what all this is about as soon as you can.”

Giving her a weak smile in response, you nodded dutifully. “I will.”

Side by side, the two of you continued strolling towards the bus that would take Nami home.

“Hey,Y/N?”

You glanced over at your friend and found she wore an unusually serious and somber expression. “Hm?”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, making you fully turn towards her, unsettled.

Now what’s got her so anxious? Isn’t she supposed to be the stable one in this friendship? Ignoring how your inner voice had picked the worst possible moment to try for a joke, if it even was one, you cocked your head at your friend in question.

Nami finally met your eyes. “You…you’re not in trouble, are you?” Her nostrils flared and her lower lip trembled, like she was teetering on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Fear and something else whispered through her dark eyes like swathes of fog dimming the day’s brightness.

Worried. She was worried for you.

“Because if there’s anything going on, you know I’ll have your back. That one time with Shin was a stupid, stupid mistake I’m not repeating. Whatever it is now, I’ll be there for you and ready to beat whoever or whatever it is up with my purse like an old lady.” The fog dissipated, and fierce protectiveness took its place between one heartbeat and the next. Although the latter part of the sentence was meant to be funny, her eyes glittered with a steely determination that made you feel safe, would have made you feel safe even if a whole group of robbers were to surround the two of you then and there.

You didn’t doubt her words. Her support and sentiment were as real as the tears pricking at your eyes from hearing them. And they made your guilt about possibly leaving her behind, by herself, in business school even worse.

Drawing her into an impromptu hug, because seeing your timid, good-natured, soft friend turn into an Amazon on your behalf threatened to make the tears well over, you bent your head to her shoulder and held on.

She returned the hug with just as much spirit, her grip on you firm and hearty and sheltering despite the height difference between the two of you. And she wasn’t the first to let go.

When you finally pulled away, you saw her dash at her eyes, and wiped your own face surreptitiously, before putting on your brightest smile for her. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, but…I’m not in trouble. Although I appreciate the thought, you can rest assured, because there’s no need to sacrifice your purse. I know your boyfriend gifted you that expensive thing.”

She gave a startled, teary giggle, and the two of you succumbed to laughter that had the both of you crying tears of a different kind.

Later, when you were on your own bus home, you realized that this was the second time in twenty-four hours that someone’s words had made you tear up and end up in a hug. Either your period was nearing…or you’d just happened to luck out for once, and found some really good friends.

Different social classes, college transfer, whatever else there was to overcome, you’d make sure to hold onto them for life.

~~~

Tuesday afternoon, you were just getting ready for the audition, deciding what to wear as you did your hair, when your phone pinged with an incoming message. From Jumin. It read ‘I know you won’t need it, but good luck.’ and had a single red rose emoji attached.

The smile his little note put on your face held, until you stood outside the audition hall in the upscale main building of Gongsang School of Music, and the wide double doors made from solid carved wood swung open.

Chilled by the crisp autumn weather, you spent half an hour in one of the adjoining rooms warming up your hands on a smaller piano. But now that the real thing was approaching, you were starting to feel the mental pressure.

Taking a deep, albeit shaky breath to calm your nerves, you stepped inside. As you strode along the rows of chairs arranged to face the huge stage upfront like the stands in an opera house, you saw a mature woman dressed in a formal, bordeaux-red pantsuit coming towards you. Her elegant, dignified aura was intimidating at first, but a warm smile lit up her austere face as soon as she saw you, softening the sharp angles bared by her severe gray chignon, and revealing deep laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

That put you at ease. After all, if she was capable of laughter, she couldn’t be too much of a dragon, no matter her appearance, right?

She met you with outstretched hands, her grip warm and firm as she shook yours, and her eyes sparkling despite the majority of the light coming from behind her. “You must be Y/N. Welcome, welcome. We talked on the phone. Jina Seo, the dean of this humble institution.”

She accompanied you to the front of the hall, where six people sat in the first row of chairs, pads of scribbled over paper and coffee mugs in front of them. One by one, Ms. Seo introduced you to them. They all turned out to be teachers and instructors at the college, in charge of different musical subjects, now taking over the function of judges for the auditions. Among them, three were obviously younger than the rest, and although they gave you curious looks, it wasn’t anything like the buzz of whispers and stolen glances at you coming from the others.

They almost acted like…they knew you.

“We are all very excited for your performance today. Your father was one of our best students, a very promising musician with so much potential. Naturally, everyone who knew him in his youth and helped shape his raw talent into the faceted diamond it later became, can’t help but wonder if you as his daughter, and obviously his protégé, are, well…a prodigy just like him.”

Mentally frozen in place by her unexpected words, you didn’t realize you’d taken a step back until your shoe caught on the bottom step leading up the stage, and you teetered on one leg for a terrifying moment before regaining your balance.

Your father…had been a student here?

Gongsang…Gongsang…Gongsang School of Music.

You blinked. How could you have forgotten?

Five years ago, fresh out of high school, you had secretly applied for scholarships at several music colleges in town, including Gongsang. But because, at the time, you’d still been a minor at seventeen, with a bare few months left until your eighteenth birthday, the school had contacted your father for confirmation of your application as your legal guardian, and received a big, fat NO from him in response.

And you had earned yourself the first big shit storm of your life on the topic of your impossible and unapproved of career in music.

And now you’d unknowingly applied to the same college again and not even realized it was also the school your father had studied in.

Apparently that very connection had been behind the acceptance of your late application, and the judges’ reaction about your audition right now. You didn’t know whether you should be relieved, or terrified.

After a few minutes of stiff small talk and awkward smiles, you were handed a folder and asked to take over the grand piano waiting on stage. Ms. Seo explained that there would be two stages to clear. The first, as her email had said, required you to play two classical pieces predetermined by the judges. Since this stage depended on sight reading, you’d get fifteen minutes to prepare yourself for each piece by studying the sheet music provided. You had to play straight off of the pages, and not freely, otherwise you’d have been notified in advance what pieces to practice and perfect for the audition.

In contrast to that, the second stage was an opportunity for you to show off your skills with a piece of your choosing, as a free performance or with your own sheet music.

One of the judges spoke up after Ms. Seo’s explanation of the second stage, the one you remembered to be in charge of the classical theory department. You were unable to match any of the names Ms. Seo had given you during introductions to the judges’ faces anymore, your nerves too strained at that point.

“Most applicants choose modern pieces, to showcase their adeptness and command over different styles and periods of music,” the gracious, elderly lady with the stark white hair added. “But you may also just play another classic, if you happen to have a favorite one you would like us to hear in your personal style.” The meaningful look in her eyes told you this was her preference, veiled as a useful piece of advice.

That didn’t surprise you, considering the subject she taught.

“Be adventurous,” one of the younger two male teachers then interjected with an encouraging smile that made you feel less nervous about your own composition being your pick for the second stage.

You planned to be. You just feared that it might be too adventurous by these people’s standards…

The first task brought a smile to your face. Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 in C sharp minor. It seemed too good of a coincidence to be true, but you were just glad you’d practiced it only yesterday.

You tried not to let their continued hushed conversation and the obvious feeling of being watched distract you during your prep time for the first piece. Tuning everything out but the pages in front of you and the instrument waiting to sing under your hands, you examined the piece’s musical notation, visual instructions for mood, tempo, and the like, and tried to attune yourself to the way they expected you to play it.

When you finally filled the air with music, channeling all the emotions necessary to play the piece the way it was meant to, you were glad for the sheet music keeping you from looking over at the judges. You kept your focus until the familiar piece’s final, bittersweet notes echoed through the big hall, and the natural reverb enhanced by the room’s cavernous architecture roused you from your trance with a smile.

Playing in Jumin’s penthouse was perfect, and the slight echo from the high ceiling made for the cozy and comfortable equivalent to off-key, passionate singing in the shower. But this…

Being on this huge stage felt right, like everything you’d done in your life had been leading up to this point in time, with you performing in front of dozens of seat rows waiting to be filled. A grand audience you could share your soul with, to connect countless hearts with each other and hopefully brighten up their day through your music. It felt like that was what you were meant to be doing.

The feeling persisted through the second piece they asked of you, your rendition of Mozart’s Sonata No. 5 in G major, Movement I. Where the first pick had been to assess your emotional commitment and experience with the music, this one obviously served to test your technical skills, as well as your aptitude to adapt yourself to the sophistication of its different moods.

The piece was fast-paced and springy, requiring a high level of dexterity and rhythmic flexibility in both hands to keep up with the melody’s unique cadence. But what added to the challenge were the shifts to mellow, more tender parts in between, alternating with the rest of the lively tune.

You lost yourself in the lovely, playful atmosphere of it, your fingers skipping and bouncing over the keys all by themselves. The task was meant to be demanding, but you were deeply familiar with Mozart, since your father was a big proponent of his style and always made sure to use his compositions in his lessons. You’d gotten accustomed to playing his pieces up and down over the years, even after your formal lessons ended with your father’s career change.

So this was more than doable for you. You breezed right through it, and met several judges’ approving nods after the music had faded.

And when it was time for the final stage, your trusty music book sitting in the rack over the keyboard to guide you, you launched into it with a lightness around your heart and the knowledge of Jumin's unconditional support, giving you the confidence and assurance that you could do anything.

You were unable to stop yourself from sneaking a peek this time. The shocked faces and raised eyebrows over the—to them—unfamiliar beginning notes of your personal composition spoke volumes, but this was how things were supposed to be, and you knew that you had the power to win them over with this creation coming from your very heart and soul, and Jumin as your muse.

When it was over, you closed the fallboard with a whispered ‘Thank you’ to this instrument that was helping you on your way to realize your dreams, stepped to the edge of the stage, and gave the perplexed-looking, speechless judges a small bow.

The younger teacher who had earlier encouraged you to be adventurous was the first one to recover. “What an unexpected performance.” He blinked as if shaking off the remnants of a daze. “I believe I’m not familiar with this piece. Would you kindly enlighten us about its title and composer?”

Your smile was wide and so real, it made the spotlights flooding the stage with warmth feel cool in contrast. “Composed by Y/N, this piece is called ‘Heart’s Awakening’.”

~~~

When Wednesday rolled around, you were just starting to come off the mental high the audition had left you in.

After the shocked silence following your announcement of the piece’s details, you’d been ushered outside to clear the room for the next applicant with the promise that you’d be contacted about your audition outcome within the week.

You should have been nervous, especially considering their indecipherable reaction and the strange looks they were giving each other on your way out, but what filled you was a joyful and carefree serenity, and the inexplicable sense that everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to be, like some kind of message from the universe, like cosmic reassurance had taken over the chaos in your mind.

But you were still yourself enough to remember Jumin’s dad’s birthday. As you sat in the lecture hall next to Nami the next morning, listening to your professor drone on about finance strategies and counting down the final minutes of your class, you wondered if it would be appropriate to send him an encouraging message, like the one he’d sent you before the audition. You even had ‘Happy birthday to your dad, have fun at the festivities’ typed into your phone already, with a kiss emoji behind it, but ended up erasing it all.

It felt wrong to send him that after you’d seen how averse he seemed to partaking in his father’s birthday celebrations. You were about to send him a simple ‘Cheer up! See you tomorrow’ instead, but didn’t even get the chance to hit send because Jumin texted you first.

Come see me at my place. Souvenir waiting for you. Have to leave at 2. The message came with an emoji holding a flower bouquet, and a stylized wrist watch, presumably to highlight the time sensitivity of his request.

Considering that it was just past 12.30, you understood the need for emphasis.

Snorting in amusement at his quirky texting style, you thanked the campus gods that you had no more classes after this one, and started packing up even though the prof was still talking. This guy in particular had a habit of drawing his lectures out past the official end time. You had no patience for this today, and neither was there room in your new-found but time sensitive plans to accommodate his selfish delay.

Whispering to Nami that you’d text her about your afternoon study date, you maneuvered yourself and your bag through the rows of students and to the exit as discreetly as possible. Finally outside, you almost ran to make it in time to catch the bus, so you wouldn’t have to wait twenty minutes for the next one, should it decide to be irregular again.

With the lunch time traffic crowding the streets, it took the bus nearly forty-five minutes to Jumin’s, when at night your way home from there was a bare half hour. You used the time on the bus to update Nami, pushing back your study date until after 2pm. Instead of going to the library directly following class as usual, you were now set to meet her at her place for studying.

And then you were there at last. Like a giddy child, you skipped along the final stretch of corridor between the elevator and his door, letting yourself in after ringing the doorbell twice yielded no response.

Strange. Had he gone out last-minute, or perhaps even left already?

You left your bag by the door and entered, drawn to the piano waiting for you in the middle of the living room like a trusty steed awaiting the return of its horseman—or in your case, horsewoman.

You saw it the moment you stepped in, but went on to pretend the flat, rectangular box with the golden ribbon around it wasn’t stealing the show, positioned on the piano’s open top as it was. The sturdy black cardboard spanned nearly half the keyboard’s width on its long side, and was a little more than a foot deep. A card inscribed with your name in fancy gold letters sat in its center, attached to the ribbon the bow was made of.

You took to the stool and began playing instead, keeping your eyes focused on your hands as they coaxed Beethoven’s Für Elise out of the instrument, and away from the gift box they desperately wanted to stare at.

A few minutes in, something rustled behind you, and you turned your head without the music stopping.

Your hands faltered. The disruptive sound of notes mismatched had you whipping around in an instant to correct your playing. And steal yourself a moment to calm your racing heart and thoughts gone haywire at the sight of Jumin leaning in the doorframe behind you.

You were almost tempted to peek again, but he took the pressure off your thunderous, conflicted mind by coming to stand next to the piano as you played, the spot you usually occupied during your lessons with him.

Roles reversed.

And at the sight of him, your heart was about to beat its way out of your mouth.

His hair was wet, drops of moisture lingering in the glistening strands of black that clung to his skin with the sensual persistence of a lover’s caress. As you watched on, deaf even to the renewed blare of your off-key playing, a single drop detached itself from a lock of hair near his temple, kissing his jaw on the way down and catching on his collarbone, exposed by the dress shirt he wore with the upper half of buttons undone. From there, it rolled down his bare chest—chiseled planes of sleek muscle, like the strong, yet beautifully lithe body of a swimmer—only releasing its spell on you when it disappeared behind the thin white fabric covering the rest of his torso from there.

“You made it,” he said, oblivious to the mayhem taking place in your mind, a double-edged conflict of relief about the shirt blocking the view, and guilty exasperation for wanting to accompany the little water drop to the end of its journey, wherever that may be.

It felt like the proverbial tiny angel and devil that should be on your shoulders were having it out inside your head instead.

Ceasing your pitiful attempts to save your thoroughly ruined Für Elise, you rubbed your sweaty palms over your thighs. You looked anywhere but at him as you tried to ignore what was happening on your face, a sensation like an unending barrage of fireworks being lit and exploding over and over. “Yeah.” It came out croaked, and you cleared your throat, desperately hoping the visual of an embarrassed tomato was limited to your own imagination.

Thankfully, he didn’t comment on your possible tomato face, or how the quality of your playing had rapidly declined after he’d shown up dressed—or not dressed—like that.

“How was your audition?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him withdraw his hand from his pant pocket. The jingle of metal greeted your ears as he placed something on top of the mysterious black box. Cuff links. Solid silver, by the look of it. A black tie with threads of luminous gray slapped down next to them a moment later.

Your hands slid over the keys, as if playing a tune but not actually applying enough pressure to produce sound. “It was okay. We’ll find out the verdict by the end of this week.”

You almost groaned—from relief? Disappointment? You didn’t know—when he started buttoning up the rest of his shirt. At least you could now look at him again…

“Nooo, you probably blew them all out of their seats. Don’t be so humble!” He nudged your shoulder with his hip, and you chanced a look up at him.

His teeth gleamed pearly white through the widest smile you’d ever seen on him.

When you twisted around, taken aback by his strange mood, he nearly stumbled, having forgotten to shift his weight away after the nudge.

You frowned when he righted himself and reached for the cuff links, noting that his shirt was now buttoned up…wrong. He had missed a hole somewhere in the middle, and you’d been too flustered to even notice earlier.

“Hey, are you okay? You seem kind of different today.”

Squinting, he cocked his head, but the adorable Vic-face didn’t do anything for you today, not with this feeling you suddenly had, that something was off. Terribly so.

“How different? Good different, or bad different?”

You blinked, and saw his goofy, definitely incongruous smirk return. “Jumin, are you…drunk?”

His response was an indignant gasp. “Absolutely not! I only had three glasses of wine. Do you take me for a lightweight?”

You rolled your eyes at the innocent yet offended look he was giving you. “Only three glasses of wine don’t make you act like that.” Like it wasn’t Jumin standing in front of you, but someone else entirely.

“…Fine. Maybe, I possibly…had four shots of espresso before the three…full…glasses of wine.” He pouted, as if unhappy you had gotten it out of him although he'd been determined not to say.

Good god. No wonder he was so…hyper. Too energetic, and sort of whimsical.

It didn’t really suit him. Not with that cynical blaze in the depths of his eyes, like embers smoldering beyond the overly chipper and blithe facade. You hadn’t seen it at first, but right then, it seemed there, the real him, buried deep. Like he’d given someone else control of his body and was observing from a safe distance.

How anxious did the thought of his father’s birthday make him that he had to pregame the party with such amounts of caffeine and alcohol on his own?

You'd never expected there could be anything bad enough to turn Jumin into a day drinker.

“Wait here.” You disentangled yourself when he put his hands on your shoulder as if to keep you there, and went to get him a tall glass of cold water from the kitchen.

“Down with it. All of it,” you ordered when you handed it to him, crossing your arms in stern expectation.

Although he gave an unhappy frown at your words, he sipped the water, keeping at it until he'd emptied the entire thing under your watchful gaze. “There. Happy now? I’m keeping hydrated for you.”

You didn’t know what else to do, so you simply nodded and took the glass from him before he could accidentally drop it. The water should help clear his mind at least a little. And in the meantime, you’d have to help him, since he seemed too out of it to properly get himself ready.

“Turn.” You gave his arm an impatient tug when he spun the wrong way, earning you a quiet laugh, and proceeded to redo his shirt buttons him.

This time, the conflict in your head was quickly resolved, seeing that he was basically not himself. You had no desire to ogle him when your heart hurt for what he was putting himself through.

You fixed his shirt, then reached for the cuff links and threaded them through the holes meant to keep his sleeves aligned. “Did you eat anything today?” If he’d drunk all that on an empty stomach, you wouldn’t know how the hell to get him sobered up in time for the party.

“Hm…no? I wasn’t in the mood for breakfast…or lunch…”

Your sigh came from so deep inside, it would have done a ventriloquist proud. “You’re eating something before you go. Don’t even try to fight me on this.”

His pout caught you off-guard again, but just a moment later, he nodded in wordless acknowledgement.

“Good.” You reached for the tie, standing on tiptoe to slip it around his neck.

He bent his head at the same time, a little too enthusiastically, and your foreheads collided.

The pain brought tears to your eyes. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry.” The next moment, he was tilting your chin up and examining the throbbing spot, his face so close, it disrupted all your mental processes at once.

For a few seconds, you could only stare at him while he rubbed your forehead, then blew on it like you were still a child with a skinned knee in need of attention.

“Better?” His dark eyes, when they caught yours, gleamed with quiet concern.

Why did he seem back to normal all of a sudden?

“…Yes. Thank you.” Glancing away and ignoring the strange tingles where he’d touched you, you busied yourself with the tie again, threading it under his collar and frowning as you tried to remember how the knot was to be started.

It took you a few tries, but your fingers eventually remembered what your brain had forgotten.

“You know how to tie ties?”

The neat Double Windsor finally completed, you stepped back with a proud smile. “Yep. I used to tie my dad’s for him all the time.” You sat back down absentmindedly, your thoughts on a time long past. “He never learned how to do it himself until long after my mom left us.”

At the same time that Jumin’s hands froze in the middle of adjusting his tie for a more snug fit, you realized your mistake.

And his.

You had slipped up and mentioned your mom when you’d never before told him about her. Had never felt ready to.

And his gaze suddenly grew sharper than moments before, the languid relaxation you’d dismissed as part of his intoxicated state giving way to a more alert and perceptive expression, a change so subtle, you would have missed it had you looked away right then.

Or maybe you had just imagined that.

Because he immediately, seamlessly went back to behaving like he was tipsy and hyper-caffeinated again.

He plopped down on the stool next to you with an abruptness that almost sent you flying. The piece of furniture was too narrow to comfortably accommodate the two of you, especially with the momentum of his unexpected movement.

You reached out to catch yourself against the piano, but his arm was already wrapped around your waist to pull you back to safety.

“Oops. My apologies.” Much like his actions, his behavior, even his words were at odds with the Jumin you knew. “Almost knocked your souvenir down too. Clumsy me.” He withdrew as fast as he’d grabbed you, reaching out to right the box he had indeed bumped with his elbow on the way down. Then, as if nothing had happened, his hands descended on the keys to continue Für Elise where you had earlier left off.

The animated tune cascaded between you and him, effortless, like bubbling water. He kept his eyes on you, shoulders relaxed, working the keys with the ease of a piece well-loved and often practiced. “You know, if I was any good at composing, I’d write a piece and call it Für Y/N.” His fingers kept moving as he spoke, and the notes danced in the air like autumn leaves on the wind.

Feeling your face heat up again, you looked away from the directness of his gaze and the lazy playfulness glittering in its depths.

You had never experienced him in this kind of mood. He was so lively, kind of flirty even, and you had no idea how to handle it. So you decided to ignore it altogether and switched to professional mode. Carefully rising from the stool so as to not jostle him while he was playing, you took your usual position by the piano’s edge.

“You’re close, but not close enough. Try shutting your eyes to get the feeling right.” You didn’t know why you closed yours as well, relying on your ears to tell you how well he was doing in this spontaneous mini lesson your visit had turned into.

Almost immediately, the nuance to the music changed, growing softer, more like his heartstrings were starting to get involved now.

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Closer…” But not quite there yet.

“Hm…”

Maybe it was just closing your eyes that had enhanced your hearing, but he sounded closer.

Physically closer.

Straining to get your focus back on the melody he was playing, you listened for more emotional shifts in it. Steadily, though faintly so, it mellowed out, turning sweeter than before, the creeping difference almost too slight to perceive.

Your smile widened. “Closer…”

It seemed like he had found the mental visual he’d needed, to infuse this particular romantic piece with.

Pride swelled inside you, at how far he’d come in learning to express his feelings, and how well he was now doing it. “Even closer…”

But something was still missing.

“Like…this?”

You didn’t notice at first, because his words were a bare whisper.

And then you caught a whiff of cologne and a hint of rich wine, and realized his voice sounded actually closer to you this time.

When you opened your eyes, Jumin was all you could see.

His nose was a mere inch from yours, his eyes dark pools that were threatening to suck you in and make you forget yourself. His pupils were dilated, a small part of your paralyzed brain noted even as the corners of his lips kicked up, and for the span of a few breaths, the music around you was perfect, complete, with a taste of his guarded heart in it.

It was the smile that did you in. It drew your gaze to his lips, a dusky pink shade that matched his pale complexion, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, and suddenly oh so inviting…

Next thing you knew, you were reaching for him without giving your body conscious command to do so. You hand closed around his tie and tugged, and Jumin followed the pull to meet you halfway.

Now erratic, the music finally died, but your blood rushed in your ears instead, stirred into a frenzy, dancing in time to the staccato beat in your chest. The feel of his mouth against yours was a heady sensation, unexpectedly soft, yielding, addictive like the remnant taste of wine on his lips.

The storm of him surrounded you, consumed you. His palm was warm against your cheek when he cupped your face, as if needing to be even closer.

You wanted him closer too. You didn’t care that the brand of his lips against yours had your head spinning already.

But, too soon, reason returned with the effect of icy rain lashing your face, and your mind reclaimed its control over your body.

You tore yourself from Jumin with so much force that your careless movements knocked the gift box down, denting one of its corners with the impact.

Struggling to catch your breath, you turned your back on him, feeling like there wasn’t enough oxygen to keep your lungs supplied. “I-I should go.” You looked around for your bag, frantic, feeling like you had to leave this space, get away from him to regain a clear mind.

Your bag was by the entrance, you remembered, so you grabbed your coat and moved mindlessly, not looking back as you hurried for the door.

“Y/N,” you heard Jumin call out softly from behind you, voice low and slightly husky.

He was breathless too.

You couldn’t face him, but your name on his lips made you stop in your tracks.

Lips that had been pressed to your own just a few moment ago.

Feverish heat singed your cheeks, your ears, and you could swear that your heart skipped a few beats despite its alarmingly accelerated pace.

“The souvenir.”

Nodding, you went back and hastily swiped the box off the carpeted ground, holding it pressed against your chest like a piece of armor as you nearly dashed out the door.

Forgetting all about your intentions not to leave him alone in his abnormal state, you fled. Running from the apartment and its owner, whose disconcerting presence had driven you to this strange, impulsive behavior you had no explanation for.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 18

The entire way over to Nami’s place, your head was buzzing with an overwhelming, chaotic mess of confused thoughts you were struggling to sort through.

You had no idea why you’d done that. And you had no mental capacity to deal with that now, you told yourself. Not when your notes and textbooks were burning a hole into your bag, waiting to be perused for the rest of the day.

But as soon as you stepped through her door, Nami’s eyes zeroed in on the gift box squashed in your grip. You were still so dazed that you didn’t protest when she pulled it from your numb hands. “What’s that? A gift?”

You nodded. “From a friend.” Calling him that seemed like a lie after the lines that had been crossed. “He just came back from a trip to Japan…”

Nami gave you a long, searching look at the mention of a male friend, but you were too exhausted to even think about how to answer the question in it.
Thankfully, she didn't prod. “Do you…want to open it?”

You took a moment to listen inside yourself. Usually, you'd be possessive of the experience that opening Jumin's gifts was to you. As he'd proven with the souvenir from Austria, he was too perceptive when it came to small details holding deep meaning for you, and knew how to pick things that could get under your skin.

Before today, you would have been too selfish to allow Nami to witness that kind of moment. But in your current emotional confusion, her presence was more than welcome, helping keep you grounded in the middle of this hurricane that threatened to sweep you away.

So you drew a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and took the box back from her outstretched hands. “We're cramming right after, though.”

Nami followed closely behind when you carried the box to her bed and put it on top of her rusty orange comforter.

She liked to change her studio apartment's decorations and color scheme according to the season. The scent of apples and cinnamon from the candle burning on her nightstand was another indication of that.

“Obviously.” The single word held the verbal sentiment of an exaggerated eye roll, but the way she was basically vibrating while peeking over your shoulder betrayed her curious excitement.

As if she'd infected you with her anticipation, your hands shook as you undid the bow and carefully tugged at the ribbon. The dented corner made it a little difficult to raise the lid. When you'd managed to remove it without further damaging the box, you grew quiet at the sight of cream-colored wrapping paper held together by an actual wax seal, gleaming an elegant pale gold, with Japanese Kanji characters engraved in its surface.

You couldn’t bring yourself to break it, so you carefully tore the whole seal off with a piece of the fragile wrapping and put it on top of the lid to keep it safe for later. Exchanging one final, tense look with Nami, you lifted away the gossamer layers of paper, heart beating double time.

What lay beneath evoked a gasp from Nami and you both. And you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for it.

A kimono emerged from the box, the gorgeous traditional garment in the softest peach shade covered in delicate embroidery of flower blossoms.

Nami whipped around in wide-eyed bewilderment. “Who did you say this is from again?”

You felt just as shocked as she looked. “My…my employer-turned-good-friend…he’s taken to bringing me souvenirs from his business trips…” Since your arms were starting to tire from holding the unexpected piece of clothing up for so long, you carried it over to Nami’s closet, stole an empty coat hanger from inside to drape it over, and suspended the traditional robe from the top edge of the closet door.

When you turned back around, Nami’s dumbstruck expression unsettled you, so you blurted out the first thing on your mind. Something that had been troubling you since you’d first laid eyes on the box at Jumin’s place. “…I knew it, it's too expensive. I should have told him I can't accept such gifts anymore.”

But Nami exploded right back at you. “Anymore? What else did he—wait. WAIT. Let me get back to that later.” She took an exaggerated, deep breath and pointed at Jumin’s most recent gift to you as if it was offending her. “Hell, YEAH, it's expensive. This is a custom-made freaking kimono. It looks hand-embroidered, too. And if I'm not mistaken, it holds a message for you—in flowers.”

There was no stopping her half-excited, half-agitated, almost panicky outburst. All you could do was stay put and observe as she came unhinged.

“…because this design isn't just unusual, or slightly deviates from the standard gift kimonos people buy each other as presents. Those tend to have the flowers symbolizing wealth, happiness, good luck, a long life…you know, the usual traditions.” She started pacing back and forth across the room, as if standing still was impossible with all the excited energy she was channeling. “For a souvenir from Japan, cherry blossoms are the go-to. And even with customized ones, no one usually picks more than two or three different flowers, because the more customization, the more you have to pay. And too many embroidery designs on one piece tend to look tacky. But this thing…”

She paused to catch her breath, then lifted the stunning kimono away from the closet as she intently examined it from top to bottom. “Fuck me, it’s like every single flower on this was handpicked specifically for its meaning.” Another wide-eyed glance at you.

In your chest, your heart skipped a few beats at her words and the meaningful look she gave you, right before Jumin’s gift commanded her attention once again. You watched her brush a finger over the band of pink and white flowers embroidered along both sleeves and the hem at the bottom of the kimono, a filigree of intertwined blossoms.

“Lilies symbolize togetherness and geranium, happiness shared.“ Her hand moved up over the sleek, peach-colored fabric, tracing the new flower design running along the entire length of the exquisite kimono’s lapels. “Chrysanthemum and violets, both yellow, stand for bashful love and a subtle love confession.”

Her words gave you pause. Taking a closer look, you realized that what you had taken for the same flower because of the similar color were actually two different kinds framing a third, new flower shape in a vibrant crimson shade.

Not paying any attention to you, Nami resumed her explanation, pointing out the exact motif you were admiring. “And between the two we have red carnations—the flower of longing.” Dramatically enacting that she was so touched, her eyes were tearing up, she released her grip on the kimono and fanned her face, only to cry out and reach for the garment again a mere second later.

Her target this time was a single, delicate red blossom on the chest, a shape you easily recognized.

“Oh my gosh…I thought he was going for sneaky with all the discreet symbolism he chose, but this… I think he just has a hard time expressing what he feels.”

Those words startled you for real. Speechless, you gaped at your friend who was still freaking out over the final flower embroidery she’d discovered, while you attempted to process the chaos of emotions in your head, with Jumin at their center.

Because, how had his choice of flowers on a damn kimono told Nami, who had never even met him in person, nor heard of him before today, about the most prominent personality trait he possessed?

“A red rose means ‘I love you’, and a single one at that…a single one adds the meaning of ‘forever’.” Carefully, almost reverently, Nami hung the kimono back up, before twisting around and grasping you by the shoulders. “The gentleman who bought you this is WHIPPED for you, darling. And whoever he is…you better be thankful I already have a boo, because if I didn't, I'd go ask him out right now. Men who speak the language of flowers are so rare these days, I can’t believe you’ve met your match in one of them.”

~~~

Hours later, you sat in your room, staring blindly at the box on your bed. You were still numb from Nami’s revelation, your skin tingling with awareness of the startling truth behind Jumin’s souvenir.

Your emotions were all over the place, still. But at least you now had reached somewhat of a calm stage that allowed you to think things through, without overwhelming panic tumbling everything together like an autumn breeze ruffling a neatly gathered pile of leaves back into a widespread mess.

Talking it through with Nami had helped a little. Since you wouldn’t have gotten the message otherwise, you were torn between regret and being glad to have opened the present with her around. Because, knowing Jumin’s intention, or rather, his sentiment behind the souvenir, made everything more…complicated.

Not just another local souvenir from one of his business trips, as you’d initially assumed. Not just a pretty dress, a traditional garment he wanted you to have until you could travel and bring back your own mementos from trips. Not just a gift like any other a friend had ever given you.

Now, it was so much more than that.

Thanks to Nami’s perceptiveness, you were basically dealing with a confession now. But you had no clue how to handle it.

Had he done it because he’d counted on you understanding its meaning? Or was it meant as a hidden message, a way for him to express himself without immediately being confronted with the consequences of you knowing about his feelings?

And how the hell were you supposed to act now, with only a chunk of context as to the situation? Should you tell him you knew, or pretend that you didn’t?

But more important than that: what were your feelings on the matter?

It was the same question Nami had raised hours ago, and like then, you still had no answer.

By the end of her admiration session, she had again asked who the mysterious, obviously smitten gentleman was, and you’d finally given in and told her everything.

About how the two of you had met that fateful day after Shin’s public, petty termination of your relationship. How you’d expected hell for your transgression against an employer and were offered a slice of heaven instead.

About becoming friends with Jumin, and your lessons together, and how you’d gradually grown ever closer. The times Jumin would cook for you, play the piano to earn himself your homemade sweet treats, and bring you souvenirs from his business trips, while you taught him how friendship worked. His unconditional encouragement to follow your dreams, and his unwavering support when you finally did.

And then how you ruined it all today, with a single imprudent kiss.

At that point Nami, who’d been listening silently with her eyes wide as saucers, had started squealing so loudly that she’d almost ruptured your eardrums.

You shut down the topic then, right after you’d silenced her with a well-aimed pillow, and swept the kimono back into the box, replacing its spot on the bed with your textbooks and study notes instead.

You had gotten her to shut up and redirect her attention to studying, but sometime in the middle, Nami had dropped that bomb of a question on your head—a head already struggling to concentrate with this entire mess of a situation filling it to the brim.

“But…do you like him back?”

Did you?

You rose from your desk chair and started pacing around the room, needing a physical outlet for the nervous energy accumulating inside you. Well, you wouldn’t still be his friend if you didn’t like him. So, of course you did.

But you knew that wasn’t the ‘like’ Nami had been talking about…

You were aware that Jumin meant a lot to you.

From his initial, too serious and formal side, the infuriating poker face you could never tell his thoughts by, to the facets he’d revealed to you the further your friendship deepened. The reliable listener in him who always had the right words to make you feel better. The devoted cat owner who spared no expense nor time to spoil his precious pet, and who wasn’t embarrassed about his love for Elizabeth The 3rd. His silly jokes and innocent cluelessness, or the endearing way his face lit up whenever you brought him new baked goods to try. Even the glimpse you’d gotten of the part of him still haunted by a dark past.

With every new aspect of his personality that you learned about, he had become more important to you. You already missed being around him when he was gone for just a few days. You couldn’t imagine going back to the time things had been before you’d gotten to know him as a friend.

And frankly, you didn’t want to.

You knew with acute certainty that, should something happen, for whatever reason, to keep you and Jumin from seeing each other every day like you did now, you would be more than just sad. You’d be devastated.

But did that mean you liked him more than just a friend?

Victor, who’d been watching you from his perch on the window sill, hopped down and crawled under the bed to attack your ankles whenever your pacing took your sock-clad feet within his paws’ reach.

You paid the cheeky cat no mind, your mind far too occupied with the inner turmoil making a mess of your emotions.

You’d never been truly in love before. So these feelings you had about Jumin, the need to see him and spend time with him and be around him and have fun together, for him to be the first one you went to see when you had news to share, and wanting to be there for him when he was having a hard time, like today…you had no idea if any of that went beyond the limits of friendship.

You did most of these things with and for Nami as well, but still found yourself hesitating to tell her everything going on in your head at times. Nami was undeniably your best friend, but you hadn’t had many friends in general since high school. Maybe it was normal to be more vulnerable, sooner, with a male friend than with your closest girl friend?

Then why in the name of everything holy did you kiss him? Your inner voice seemed to be wearing horns and a tail today.

The mental discussion finally pushed you to your limit. With a groan, you plopped face-first onto the bed, only to be poked in the hip by a sharp corner.

Having long burned through your supply of patience for the day, you jumped up to toss the entire gift box in your closet with more force than needed, then went to get yourself ready for bed.

At this point, you wished you had opened the present by yourself and remained in blissful ignorance of the hidden confession it contained. It would have saved you hours of mental and emotional chaos when you should have been focusing on your exam prep instead…

Suppressing a yawn, you crossed the hallway to the bathroom you shared with your father. Though not a surprise at this late hour, his bedroom and office door were tightly shut once again. You tried your best not to let it affect your already brittle emotional state, rubbing at your temples in an effort to ease the beginnings of a headache your ceaselessly buzzing mind was inflicting on you, on top of everything. Mental stress always had an effect on your body, and aside from physically tiring you out, it also made your head hurt.

In the middle of brushing your teeth, you remembered something.

Jumin had been anxious today, obviously due to his father’s birthday party, to the point that he would intentionally let himself go heavy on both alcohol and caffeine to deal with his distress.

And you had kissed him in that state, despite knowing he was upset, then ran away flustered and confused and mad at your own inexplicable actions.

Stunned, you gaped at yourself in the mirror, your own reflection staring back with toothpaste foam dribbling down her chin.

You hadn’t just taken advantage of him while intoxicated. You had left him alone while he was in a bad place, mentally and physically, too perplexed and preoccupied with the confused mess within yourself that you never even thought to check in on him afterwards.

Instantly forgotten was the emotional discord that had tormented you for half the day. You hurried to rinse your mouth and wipe the toothpaste off your face, making a beeline for your phone once back in your room.

You took a moment to breathe and texted him first, because your trembling fingers refused to cooperate when you tried to dial his number. I’m sorry about today, and for leaving like that. Are you feeling better? Did you survive the party?

You waited for a response, tense and worried about what he would say. What if he mentioned the kiss? What would you tell him then?

With a shake of your head, you banished those selfish thoughts to the furthest corner of your mind. There were even worse things he could say right now. What if he was mad? Hurt? Injured?

Concern was a leaden weight in your stomach, growing ever heavier the longer you waited for a reply. You couldn’t help but message him again after half an hour, although your tired eyes burned, vision blurring to the point you could barely see the phone’s screen anymore. Jumin? Are you there?

Are you okay? Please be okay…

No answer. You gave up and called his phone instead. You battled another yawn as you waited for the line to connect, mentally willing him to pick up when the silence stretched even longer. “Come on, come on…”

Victor circled around your legs with a questioning chirp, like he’d sensed your distress and was checking if everything was fine.

“He’s not picking up, Vic. What do I do?” You bit down on your lip to keep it from trembling. Climbing back into your bed, you hung up and tried again, the fist in your gut twisting tighter with each second that passed without Jumin’s voice on the line.

Victor curled up on the pillow beside your head, but his purrs did nothing to soothe your unrest this time.

You kept redialing until your nerves finally gave out and the exhaustion of the day swept you into a slumber.

~~~

Your night was virtually sleepless. Having tossed and turned for most of it, with a few short periods of dozing in between, you were exhausted and anxious the next morning. Still, you made yourself leave the bed earlier than usual and get ready for another day of class and studying, instead of hoping for more rest when none came.

You could have used the time to study, but ended up stress-baking instead, unable to resist making a batch of salted caramel brownie bites to cheer yourself up with.

Sugar always helped, after all.

Still, you consciously avoided looking at your phone until you were out of the house and on the bus, a hot coffee in hand and a container of brownies in your bag. When you finally checked it, breath held, the only notification was for a message from Nami asking you to bring a certain book with you for the planned study session later.

Great. You’d have to go back for that later…

You made it halfway through your only lecture of the day before you ran out of ways to reassure yourself about Jumin’s radio silence.

Passing Nami a hastily scribbled note with an explanation, you stuffed your abused notebook into your bag and took off without caring for the disapproving looks coming your way. This was one of the last classes before finals, after all. You needed a really good excuse to be running away in the middle of it…

As you hurried to the bus stop, you frantically dialed his number again, so distraught that you ran head-on into someone, sending you both flying.

Someone you were not prepared to, nor had time to deal with right now.

“Color me surprised.”

You didn’t have to see his face to know who it was. The smugly drawled words were enough to freeze the blood in your veins. Picking yourself off the floor, you grabbed your bag and reluctantly looked up.

“I didn’t think you were one to skip classes.” Dusting off his pants from the fall, Shin Young flashed you the sleaziest grin you’d ever seen someone wear. “But since we’re already here…wanna play hooky together?”

Gritting your teeth, you fought the urge to smack him with your books. You hadn’t thought to check if he’d been absent or not, but considering his brother taught the class you’d left in the middle of, it wasn’t surprising.

Shin never attended his brother’s classes. Something about the status of 'professor’s family member' being enough to take him through it.

Pushing the strap of your bag high on your shoulder, you turned to walk away. “I don’t have time for your bullshit right now, Shin.” You had to get to Jumin’s, and fast.

The bastard kept up with you, even though he’d been going in the opposite direction just a minute ago. “Aw, but why? My bullshit is fun, I promise. Let me show you what I have in mind.”

You shook him off when he reached for your arm and stubbornly kept going. Dread collected in your chest like smoke making it hard to breathe, but he didn’t try to touch you again after that.

He didn’t leave you alone either. “Come on, Y/N. Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him make a vaguely pouty face. You refused to look at him, only walking faster to get to the bus stop in time.

“Let me prove to you that I’m being serious this time. Please?” Shin stuck to you like old gum on the sole of your shoe.

You stopped in your tracks with an exasperated groan when he tugged at your bag like a little child would. “Just what does it take for you to leave me alone?”

Like a shark, he circled around to stand in front of you, closer than you were comfortable with. The smug grin returned, making your skin crawl. “Go out with me. Just once. I’ll make sure it’s so good. you won’t ever talk about getting rid of me again.”

The manner in which he said it set off alarm bells in your head. You weren’t sure if it was the slimy way his gaze slid down your body with the ‘go out with me’, or the confidence in his eyes about you not wanting to get rid of him anymore. Intentional or not, it implied he’d be doing more than just taking you on a date.

You were so not inclined to accept the invitation he was boldly extending.

“No, thank you.” You turned and kept going, already seeing your bus rolling around the corner at the end of the block.

“But why? Are you seeing someone else?”

You wanted to roll your eyes at how he whiny he suddenly sounded, but the ‘else’ he had no business adding to the sentence made your legs refuse to keep moving forward.

It made your blood boil, the way he was acting like you belonged to him and trying to stake a claim over you, as if you were some object he wasn’t done using yet.

You whipped around and prodded his chest with your index finger, staring him down with the entire weight of your fury even though he was several inches taller. “That is none of your damn business. You and I are over. And we’re staying over. Someone like you doesn’t deserve a second chance.”

The sound of voices behind you made you glance over your shoulder. The bus was about to pull up at the stop and you were still a good distance away.

You turned back to Shin, and found the inappropriate heat in his eyes had cooled significantly.

Good. You didn’t want the bastard looking at you like that anyways.

“If you come near me again, I’m reporting you to campus security.” And with that, you took off running to catch the bus, feeling a pair of glaring eyes drill into the back of your head all the way until its doors closed behind you.

Any further attempts to reach Jumin on the way to his place proved futile. But after the encounter with Shin, your worry had morphed into something else.

Anger licked at your skin like fire singing your nerve endings with the heat of its flames. If it turned out that, after everything, Jumin had just been ignoring you on purpose to avoid facing what had happened yesterday, you would give him a piece of your mind as well.

Concern for him had replaced the confusion that kept you restless all of yesterday, but now the rage Shin sparked within you was pushing aside everything else.

You were so irritated, you didn’t even ring the doorbell before letting yourself in. What you didn’t expect, though, was to be met with piano music that sounded even more upset than you felt.

You immediately recognized the theme from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

You even vaguely knew how to play it. But you’d never thought the bouncy, animated tune that brought to mind pictures of fast-paced adventure and turbulent seas could ever be turned…dark.

Yet the notes filling the air oozed with an incensed kind of agitation bordering anger, and the underlying tenseness of a temper barely contained. Your hair stood on end the moment you opened the door, your own irritation instantly forgotten.

You wanted to believe it was someone other than Jumin pouring this much upset into their playing, but who else would be playing the piano at Jumin’s apartment but himself?

Still, you were almost scared to actually enter. But you had to know. If it wasn’t Jumin, you’d flee as fast as your legs would carry you.

And if it was…

When you entered the main area, a familiar head came into view, but messy locks of black hair sat in place of the neat, glossy strands you were used to. He wore yesterday’s clothes, the formerly pristine dress shirt wrinkled and stained red in some places, like someone had spilled wine on him. The top buttons of his shirt were undone like he’d felt suffocated by them, his tie hanging loose round his neck, and the sleeves you’d helped him with were sloppily rolled up his forearms, as if he’d carelessly pushed them back before taking to the piano keys.

He didn’t seem to notice your arrival, too absorbed playing with his eyes closed, as you saw when you circled around to see his face—and the open wine bottle with the less than half full glass sitting on top of the piano in front of him.

You’d never seen him this engaged in playing before. Usually he kept his posture stiff, almost rigid, but now his torso swayed along, shoulders rising and falling with the motion of his hands jumping and moving over the keys, and it appeared to help him bring his feelings to life in the music.

You knew the basic melody, but he was playing an elaborate version that sounded and looked especially difficult to play, and infusing it with enough emotions that it gave you goosebumps. (see A/T)

In that moment, his face was expressive enough to you even without seeing the look in his eyes, his mouth a harsh line, brows knitted together in restless concentration…and more.

This was new to you. Jumin looked exactly like the music sounded. Stormy and tense, grim even, more than a little bit infuriated and almost menacing.

And still, you found him beautiful.

You lost yourself in the view, his unguarded expression and the passionate, incensed music you hadn't known he was capable of producing. The entire scene did strange things to your heart.

It made you forget why you’d even come here, and erased the dark feelings lingering after the unsavory experience that had ruined your already shitty morning.

Until the music ran dry, Jumin opened his eyes, and you realized he was looking straight at you. “You’re early today, Miss Y/N. Don’t tell me you skipped classes just to come and listen to me play?”

You flinched so hard, your bag dropped from your limp grip, landing on Jumin’s hardwood floor with a thud.

That was the second time today. Your books definitely wouldn’t be thanking you for the abuse…

“I, uh…only had one class today.” Not technically a lie. Your words neither confirmed nor denied his accusation.

Jumin reached for the wine glass and swiveled around to face you, the air around him turning dignified, like he was properly receiving a guest and not talking to a friend in wine-stained clothes and mussed hair. “Well, what brings you here at this hour, then? Hm?”

Seeing him had become such an integral part of your daily routine that the question threw you off. Fumbling in your pockets for your phone, you checked the time. It was barely eleven o’clock. The only thing you’d usually be at his place that early for was work. But, since you’d taken the two weeks before finals off, and he knew it, he was right. You had no reason to be here at this time.

Except…

“I was worried.” Suddenly, irrationally, your anger returned, seeing that he was obviously well enough to be day drinking and giving one-man piano concerts at home when he’d normally be at work around this time. “Since you weren’t answering any of my calls or messages. Did you have a good time at the party yesterday?”

Something sparked in his eyes, twin pools of dark grey keeping you pinned over the rim of the wine glass he had raised to his lips. He drained the entire thing in one go, then turned back to face the instrument, setting the empty glass down a little too hard. “I broke my phone.”

Huh.

Not what you’d expected him to say, and it took the wind right out of your sails—that, and the sight of him downing half a wine glass in one go, like a shot.

“You broke…your phone?”

You didn’t even know why you were lashing out at Jumin when it had been Shin who’d made you mad. You had to get yourself together…

Jumin nodded, his fingers picking up the same complicated, riled up tune as before. “I dropped it into my father’s pool at the party.” The music swelled with those words, for a moment almost frightening in intensity, before his shoulders relaxed and he seemed to bring the derailed notes, and his emotions, back under control.

“Hey…are you okay?” You searched his face for a hint of something to tell you what was going on in his head, only to find his expression schooled into perfect indifference, his eyes on his hands as if needing to focus, even though you’d seen him play blindly just a few minutes ago.

“Yes.”

And yet the stormy tune pouring from the piano, like an angry tempest whipping at you, told you he wasn’t.

Anxious worry for him returned, knocking your world askew like a sudden wave overturning a boat. “Jumin.”

“I’m fine.” He still wasn’t looking at you, though.

You tried to catch his gaze and failed. “Are you sure…?”

He slammed the fallboard shut with a suddenness that made you jump, then sighed deeply upon noticing he’d startled you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep last night, so I’m not in the best of moods.”

When he rubbed wearily at his eyes, you bit your lip, torn between being glad you had come to check on him, and thinking maybe you shouldn’t have. He was clearly not in the shape for visitors.

But even so, you wouldn’t leave him on his own this time.

“You do look like you need a nap…”

Your vague sense of unease escalated into pure dread the moment he reached for the wine again.

You caught his hand in time to stop him from raising the bottle straight to his mouth, entirely forgoing the glass this time. “Hey, hey, stop that.” Ignoring his displeased frown, you closed up the bottle and put it on the floor behind you, out of his reach. Then you turned back towards him, hands on your hips. “Yesterday’s wine hasn’t even left your system yet. Why are you already drinking again?”

A muscle grinding in his jaw told you he didn’t like that question. Clearly restless, he uncovered the keyboard again and resumed playing. It sounded even more disgruntled than before. Together with his somber expression, it brought to mind the picture of a darkening sky, thunderclouds gathering to vent their wrath on the world.

His unfamiliar temper unsettled you a little, but not enough to scare you away. It seemed there were still some facets of him you hadn’t gotten to know yet…

“What’s with the angsty theme song?” You busied yourself taking the brownies out of your bag and putting a few pieces on a napkin in front of him. Maybe chocolate would make him feel better, too.

Jumin chuckled, a staccato sound full of biting sarcasm that turned caustic somewhere in the middle. “Why, you don’t like the soundtrack to my father’s favorite movies?”

“Jumin…” You squared your shoulders, emotionally bracing yourself for the incoming storm. “What happened yesterday? At the party?” This was clearly more than a leftover bad mood from whatever had necessitated yesterday’s cocktail of too much coffee and wine, and you couldn’t think of why he’d be this upset just from being kissed by you.

Unless he really doesn’t like you…

Silencing your inner voice in a situation where self-deprecating humor wasn’t going to help you, you nudged the keyboard cover shut and sat down on the stool beside him, facing the opposite way. Your thigh and hip pressed against his thanks to the limited space, but it wasn’t too bad since you could just recline against the piano for some distance. And to see his face.

But still, he turned his head the other way.

“Hey.” Reaching out to tug at the tail of the tie hanging loosely around his neck, you gave a soft sigh.

Finally, he met your eyes. His were dark and vexed, and you knew he had to let it out to feel better.

“Talk to me.” You tugged again, for effect.

His lids lowered, before he raised a hand to run it through his hair, tousling it even more. “My father’s birthdays are always a spectacle. He rented out a whole movie theater once, years ago, for an entire day of watching his favorite movie franchise with the guests. As part of his birthday celebrations of course.”

That sounded a tad bit selfish to you, though birthdays were about the wishes of the one person being celebrated. But making everyone invited sit through an all-day movie marathon?

“Sometimes he ponders about how he would like to be a pirate, for the 'carefree but amusing lifestyle' and the 'easy pickings' of chasing treasure for a living.” Jumin scoffed, his opinion on the matter clear in the way his face twisted with distaste. “I think it wouldn't suit him. He's too accustomed to the comforts of a life spent in wealth, and if you ask me, he already has enough gold-digging to contend with as is.”

Gold-digging…? You blinked.

Had Jumin really just said that? Your Jumin? The one you’d never heard utter anything negative beyond professional criticism before.

You squinted at him, just to make sure it was really him, and that he was feeling okay.

Nope. Same old Jumin. His pupils looked a little dilated, though. It had to be the alcohol making him speak his mind today.

Not that you were complaining. This was way better than keeping it all bottled up like he tended to.

“Was yesterday another movie binge party?”

Jumin had lapsed back into silence, so you tugged at the tie you still held between your fingers to get him talking again.

“No. Yesterday, it was a pool party, because his latest girlfriend suggested that.” The disapproval was back in his voice, making you wince at the stinging cold tone. “My father’s had more women than I’ve had assistants, and he always goes above and beyond, not sparing any expense to make them happy. He had the pool filled with champagne for her—and then he proposed in front of everyone.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Since Jumin was obviously upset about it, however, you took one of his clenched fists from the closed fallboard and gently uncurled his fingers to give them a reassuring squeeze.

His dark gaze rested on your face for a moment, and although the agitated shadows still swirled in it, you could tell that your touch seemed to help a little.

“The proposal itself didn’t come as a surprise. My father has been talking about marrying her for a while. Like a fool blinded by what he thinks is love, he doesn’t realize Glam only wants him for his wallet.”

Now the gold-digging remark from earlier made sense, but you still had nothing to say. This was a matter between Jumin and his father. You were only there to hear him out and offer support where you could.

“But what came after…” A slight tremor shook him, his muscles tensing up where you could feel them. His jaw clenched and his fingers tightened in your grip, the thigh pressing into yours now bunched and hard as rock.

“What happened?” A soft question. You didn’t like seeing him like that. Angry Jumin was even worse than sad, heartbroken Jumin. You wanted your happy, smiling Jumin back.

“He announced how, now that he’s engaged, I should soon get married, too. And that he’d taken the liberty to find me a bride.”

Your chest went tight and uncomfortable at the words, but you couldn’t tell how much of it was compassion for Jumin, and how much was more than that. The idea of Jumin getting married…it bothered you, more than it probably should have.

You pushed aside those disconcerting thoughts and forced your mind back to the present. You were here to be a supportive friend, not get inexplicably upset about things that were none of your business.

Jumin seemed oblivious to your puzzling emotional response. “I thought I could make him let it go after last time…”

You frowned. “Last time?”

“My birthday dinner last week. He already mentioned his expectations that I get married soon back then. He’s been hinting at it for a while, but last week was the first time he addressed it outright.”

Your hand froze in mid-air on the way to the brownies, jaw dropping at his words.

You honestly didn’t know which part of his sentence shocked you more…so you decided to go with the easier subject first. “Your birthday was last week, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

Although your words obviously caught him off-guard, Jumin at least had the decency to look guilty. “I don’t like the fuss people make over my birthdays. And…I didn’t want you to feel obligated to get me a present. You already do so much for me every day.” As if to appease you, he reached for the chocolate-y treats you’d brought, lifting one to your lips and popping a second into his own mouth.

You took it, scowling at him despite the sweet words, but inside your mind, your brain was already connecting the dots. If his father had decided to spring that particular topic on him on his birthday, no wonder Jumin had been upset and acting off for days after…

The sweet treat melting on your tongue made it hard to stay peeved.

You just wished he’d told you back then, so you could have done your best to cheer him up at least a little.

“But…why would he just bring it up out of nowhere?” You reached for a second chunk of brownie, savoring the combination of chocolate so dark, it bordered bitter, and the salted caramel bringing in just enough sweetness to keep every chewy, gooey bite on the right side of tart.

Wiping his mouth for traces of chocolate, Jumin gave a resigned sigh, looking so tired you wondered how he was still going without sleep. “I had my suspicions before, that Glam was in on it. Yesterday gave me confirmation. The bride he’d picked out for me was none other than her student.”

He ran his free hand through his hair again, restless, making you wonder how many times he’d done it for his hair to be looking like that.

Anger bubbled up inside you at his words. “That does sound like she’s just in it for the money. For herself, and conveniently for her student, too.”

Jumin scoffed. “He doesn’t see it. So you can imagine his immense shock when I refused the generous offer to marry his fiancée’s student, or anyone of his choosing, for that matter. I won’t be used for my wealth like he is, even if that makes me sound arrogant.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You said that…in front of everybody?”

“No. Even though I wasn’t in my right mind, I knew not to make a scene.” Jumin leaned forward, drew you closer by the hand still grasped in his, and rubbed his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

Oh. You had to have made a mess of yourself with the chocolate again.

“But he kept pushing, later saying that he’ll be arranging marriage interviews with heiresses to help me find someone I like.” Yet even after he was done cleaning you up, he didn’t pull back.

You fought a blush when he simply remained in your space, his knuckles still resting against your jaw, tiny smile tugging at his lips. Something sparked in his gaze when it met and held yours, and although you felt your face start to burn, you found yourself unable to look away.

“So I said ‘I already like someone. She’s a brilliant pianist, and although she is still a college student now, I will help her take over the world with her music someday.’”

A/T-Author’s Note: here’s a link for the extra difficult ANGRY JUMIN STYLE version of the Pirates of the Caribbean theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZutmFZE-ZlA . Ignore the first and last stage, though.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 19

For a few seconds, you were so stunned, you forgot to breathe.

Then your brain kicked into action, scrambling to interpret his words in any way someone other than Jumin could have possibly meant them. “Uh…Jumin…I’m pretty sure your dad wasn’t talking about you liking someone in…friendship.”

His frown told you he hadn’t considered that possibility. “Basing your choice of a potential spouse on friendship makes more sense to me than basing it on money.”

Unexpected words for a businessman. Then again, you knew how much more there was to Jumin than just the business-minded part of him.

Distracted, you toyed with the material of his tie, rolling and smoothing it out between your fingers. “I guess friendship is better than money in that aspect, but the ideal would still be…more than friendship.” You peeked up at him through your lashes. “Like…love.”

He blinked, his usually bright gaze clouded. “Love…?”

You nodded, pushing up from the stool as your face tingled with heat. This was as far as you could go, talking about that topic while physically too close to him and not get embarrassed. You had your limits too.

When you grabbed the wine and empty glass and fled into the kitchen, a feeling of déjà vu hit you, of a time you’d done the same just a few weeks ago, before the two of you had grown this close. You’d become much better at handling Jumin’s vicinity since back then, but sometimes, some things were still too much for your heart.

Like now.

You returned with a carafe of water and two cups, your thoughts clearer now than they had been a minute ago. “Friendship alone rarely leads to marriage in a natural setting.”

Jumin looked up from where he was crouched, petting the white cat who was sprawled over the backrest of the sofa like it was a throne and she, the queen. “I think it should. I would much rather marry my best friend than a stranger my father picked for me.”

It might have been the lighting, or the way his face was still angled downwards, casting half of it in shadows and darkening his pupils. But the intensity of his gaze right then, together with the ambiguous yet so clear meaning of his statement, it shattered every single protective layer you had buried your emotional disorder from yesterday's souvenir unboxing under.

You hadn't planned on addressing it today, yet the words tumbled out all by themselves. “So the kimono was a gift to a friend?”

His hand froze in Elizabeth The 3rd's fur. The sight of his shoulders tensing, as if the words had hit a nerve, brought you back to your senses.

Biting your lip, you busied yourself laying out more brownie bites and pouring water to mask your restlessness, upset with yourself for blurting out something like that out of nowhere.

Jumin rose from his crouch abruptly, unexpectedly, troubled eyes and a tiny frown the only thing betraying his discomposure. “Y/N…how much of this…us…is still friendship?”

For a moment, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears, drowning out the sounds of the world.

But the way he was looking at you so expectantly…it told you that, this time, the question was actually out in the open and no longer just an uncertain echo reverberating inside your head.

And he was waiting for an answer.

You glanced away. “I…I don’t know.” The overwhelming chaos in your head was back as if you’d never managed to quell it. Feeling your cheeks heat, you bit down on your lip to stop its trembling, the small measure of calm you had regained dissolving into a heap of thin air and embarrassment. “I know the lines are blurred…but I don’t know where friendship ends and…more begins.”

Jumin’s lips pressed together for a moment, like he was unhappy with your answer. He took a tentative step towards you, stopped, and swallowed hard. “But do friends do…this?”

His arm was around your waist before you realized he’d bridged the remaining distance, and then he was pulling you in, carefully, as if he was afraid to break you, or trying not to scare you.

His movements were restless, impatient, but he hesitated just long enough to allow you to pull away should you wish to.

Even though your body tingled with awareness of his closeness, of the warmth of him seeping through your clothes and scorching your skin—you didn’t.

And when he searched your gaze one last time, you silenced the chaos in your head and lifted your chin, just a little.

Jumin kissed you. His lips touched the corner of your mouth first, softly, gingerly, like he was trying out something he’d never done before. His eyelids lowered, then his palm cupped your jaw and gently tilted your face, allowing your lips to meld together in a deeper, halting kiss, one that had your heart threatening to beat out of your chest like in the old cartoons.

Your brain was so scrambled, you couldn’t move a muscle beyond squeezing your own eyes shut and getting lost in the moment. A long, long moment. You almost didn’t want it to stop, but your lungs began to protest at some point, and Jumin seemed to relate.

He broke away almost reluctantly, leaving behind tingling heat on your face, and the flutter of a thousand wings in your belly.

“Do they?” His voice was husky even after he cleared his throat, the whispered question carried by the intimate kiss of his breath against your face. He had ended the contact of your lips, but not withdrawn from your space yet. Your foreheads nearly touched, and a strand of his silky hair tickled your eyebrow.

It took you embarrassingly long to remember what his questions had been. “N-no…”

A tremor seemed to shake Jumin. His tensed muscles relaxed on a deep exhale even as he dropped his arm from around you and finally stepped back to put some space in between you and him. Only he didn’t let go of you fully, hand traveling down your arm to lace your fingers together instead. “Then I’m done being your friend.”

Your heart dropped, stirred into a panic.

And then it soared at his next words.

“I want to be whatever you call this instead.” Holding your gaze even though his cheekbones were tinged a translucent pink, he raised your linked hands and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of yours. “If you will have me.”

Your mind went blank.

Had Jumin just…confessed to you? In his own weird way?

For a solid minute, you could do nothing but stare at him, stunned. “Are you…asking me out?”

Jumin cocked his head, looking less confused and more…curious. Like he was learning something new, and liking it. “If that’s what it is, then yes, I am.”

You blinked, still lost for words. The way he was phrasing everything was more than just puzzling.

But did any of these words even matter when he was oblivious to the semantics behind them? How could he himself tell that friendship wasn’t an accurate label for how he viewed you anymore, when he didn’t even know what being more than friends entailed?

Your brain told you that it couldn’t be true. Much like a child using new terms it had just learned without having fully grasped their meaning yet, it insisted that Jumin didn’t know what he was saying. Maybe he’d had more wine than you thought, to make him say weird things like that.

You were about to draw your hand from his grasp and vocalize the doubts your mind was stubbornly holding on to, when you recalled yesterday’s events. “Is that why you gave me the sneaky souvenir spelling out a message in flowers?”

To your complete and utter surprise, the usually unflappable and cool-headed Jumin flushed a deep pink at your quiet question, sending your already frantic heartbeat into overdrive.

Glancing down as if unable to meet your eyes, he rubbed at his neck bashfully. “I…I wasn’t aware you were familiar with the language of flowers.”

That flustered you. An embarrassed Jumin wasn’t something you got to see every day.

It also meant that your doubts were ungrounded. He had to have come up with the idea for such an elaborate gift even before his trip to Japan, or during his stay there the latest, for the custom-made kimono to be done in time. If Nami’s interpretation of the message on it was accurate, and if Jumin had chosen the details for the embroidery himself, it must have required some careful planning.

So this, all of it, couldn’t be a tipsy, spur-of-the-moment kind of confession after all, like you’d almost made yourself believe. It meant that Jumin apparently liked you, more than just as a friend. And had for a while now.

Oh.

And yet the sight of a blushing Jumin was so disarming, it pushed away your own embarrassment over this puzzling realization. “I’m not…my friend is. She made me open it in front of her and almost had a heart attack as she decoded it for me.” Biting back a smile, you squeezed his hand when he still wouldn’t look at you, like he was a shy maiden overwhelmed with an unfamiliar, too intimate situation.

A warm feeling spread in your chest, and for the first time, you allowed the dauntingly, startlingly fierce affection you harbored for Jumin to blossom, instead of smothering it with doubts and uncertainty. “I was going to give it back, since it’s too expensive a present for me to accept…” You approached him this time, rising on tip toe to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “…but maybe I do have to keep it after all, if it comes with a piece of your heart.”

Although he kept his gaze averted, the tinge of color across Jumin’s cheekbones deepened, drawing a soft chuckle from you.

“Hey.” Enamored with this unexpectedly cute side of him, you slid your arms around his middle and rested your upturned chin on his chest, waiting for him to finally meet your eyes.

His arms came around you to return the embrace almost instantly, but it took him a few seconds to finally, hesitantly, glance down at you.

“Thank you.” Despite your elation and the smile that wouldn’t leave your face, you hoped he’d hear and feel the sincerity of your words. And although your own cheeks were growing hot already, you made yourself say the next part out loud. “I like you too. A lot, actually. If I saw you just as a friend, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have done what I did yesterday.” A nervous laugh escaped you, the quiet sound muffled when embarrassment made you hide your face against his chest.

In that position, you felt Jumin’s sigh of relief more than you heard it, his arms tightening around you even as the rest of his body relaxed.

Yet your next words, however hard they were to say while facing him, caused his tension to return.

“You’re incredibly precious to me, and I’d like…I want…to be with you.” You let him see your sincerity, your smile, despite the contradiction in what you were saying. “But before that…I need to ask you for a favor.”

“For you, anything. You don’t have to ask, just tell me what you need.” Jumin’s dark eyes were somber, but the look in them told you he was with you, every step of the way.

Your heart squeezed at his devotion, your embarrassment evaporating when he cupped your face. The heat of his palm warmed you to the very depths of your soul.

“I…I need some time.” You closed your eyes as soon as the beginnings of a frown formed between his brows.

“…Time?” The single word held so much cautious confusion, you couldn’t avoid looking at him anymore.

You leaned into his touch, hand rising to grasp the arm he held you with. “Just a few days. Not to think about an answer or something silly like that. Don’t worry, I’m sure about us.” You willed him to see the resolve in your eyes, the quiet certainty that there was nothing uncertain about your feelings for him. Not anymore.

Yet you didn’t want him to think you were trying to talk your way out of anything. You just meant to clear your head of the million other things vying for your attention, so you could do your relationship with him justice.

“I have a few things on my plate right now, and not much mental space left for more change, or serious decisions this close to finals. So I’d appreciate it if we could hold off on redefining this relationship for just a few days?”

After taking in your expression for a few moments, Jumin nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Your exams are next week, if I remember correctly?” His gaze softened upon seeing your smile, his own lips kicking up when you nuzzled your cheek into his hand. Like a cat.

“Thank you. And yes. Three finals next week, and I’ll be done for this term. Done with business school for good, that is, if I happen to get the scholarship.”

He clicked his tongue, startling you. “When you get the scholarship. You need to be more confident. They are the fools if they don’t give it to you.”

You laughed when he shook his head in mock disapproval, heart full from his unflinching support and the fierceness of his faith in your success. Jumin was always doing way too much for you, you realized. You had to pay him back for it somehow.

You made a mental note to come up with something for his birthday, late or not. The least you could do was give him a gift too, and maybe some new, nicer memories to replace the ones from the infuriating birthday dinner with his father.

“Hey.” Jumin snapped you back to the present when he bent to press a soft kiss to your temple. “What’s on your mind? You can always talk to me about the things that bother you. Maybe I can help?”

With a deep sigh, because the moment of bliss you’d stolen by ignoring everything other than Jumin was nearing its end, you untangled yourself from his arms and tugged him back to the piano chair.

Scholarship, step-father, ex-boyfriend, finals. You couldn’t wait for the college term to end and resolve at least two of your current worries.

Since you didn’t want to jinx the exams or audition results by talking about them, and had decided to deal with Shin the official way, should he make more trouble for you, there was only one thing left to speak of for now.

Relationships started with trust, after all.

With Jumin holding your hand in his, and your sides once again pressed into each other, squeezed as you were together on the narrow stool, you told him everything. About your mother leaving you and your father years ago. About not hearing from her since then, until the day your dad told you to speak to her a few weeks prior. Avoiding what you thought were her calls, and then catching your stepfather on the phone. The unexpected disappointment and biting hurt after the conversation, from finding out he was doing it behind your mothers back, which had to mean she didn’t care after all.

His request to meet since he had something to tell you, regarding your half-sisters. And how conflicted you felt in the middle of it all.

You were almost completely sure you wanted to meet him, just to ascertain what this was about. Okay, and perhaps to get some closure about your mother, too. Maybe this incurable wound would hurt less with the certainty that she stopped caring about you the day she left your life.

Jumin listened patiently, drawing featherlight patterns on your palm to soothe the pain he sensed in your words, and reassuringly squeezing your hand during the harder moments, whenever your voice trembled.

By the end of it, he sat looking at you with bright, clear eyes and a tender smile. “If you’re asking me what to do, I’m afraid I can’t decide for you.” His lips curved in the familiar, mischievous way they did when he was about to attempt a joke. “But if it was me asking for advice, I believe you would somewhat put it like this: ‘What does your heart say?’”

He gave you a few seconds to process his words, before squeezing your fingers to get your attention back. “Your half-siblings have no fault or blame in any of this cold war between you and your mother. And knowing you, you must be aware of that too.”

You nodded, seeing no use in denying it. Aside from the need to find out why your stepfather would contact you behind his wife’s back, you were a little curious about your sisters too. Or maybe it was jealousy. But you wanted to meet them, even just once, those people who’d had your mother all to themselves after she left you behind like a dark past better forgotten.

As if he could read your inner conflict on your face, Jumin’s voice softened. “I see no harm in hearing him out, as long as you are comfortable with it. It’s not like you’re agreeing to anything he wants from you, if you just meet him once to find out the reason for his reaching out.”

“That’s true. I guess what bothers me most is just the timing of it all.” With a sigh, you dropped your head onto his shoulder, feeling him tense up a little at the new contact.

Then he surprised you by resting his own head on top of your hair, both hands cradling yours in his lap now.

It felt…cozy. And warm. The type of physical connection you could get lost in for hours. His scent was familiar, too, just Jumin, mixed with the spice of his cologne and some fading hints of chocolate and wine.

Content, you let your eyelids flutter shut and just breathed his closeness in.

One of your favorite things about spending time with Jumin was the peace he brought you. Sure, interacting with him could be a little awkward at times, but the silence stretching between you was comfortable and unhurried. Like a piece of music notated a piacere, it flowed according to the pace and dynamic the two of you set together, with no outside influence rushing you to fill the silence with words neither of you needed to say for the other to understand.

Being in his vicinity sometimes felt like dreaming, you realized. With him around, you were safe from reality’s vicious teeth snapping at your heels, the ruthless beast locked away beyond his apartment walls.

If this really was a dream…then it was one you wished for never to end.

Eventually, Jumin’s words brought sound back into the hushed silence enveloping you both like a butterfly’s cocoon. “Would you like me to accompany you? Stepfather or not, he is still a stranger, after all. I would feel better if you didn’t meet him on your own.”

Neither of you moved from your positions leaning onto each other, but you smiled when he began threading your fingers through his.

“I appreciate your concern. And I would love for you to go with me. I don’t want to meet him by myself either.” You finally opened your eyes and were greeted by the sight of Elizabeth The 3rd. The cat sat on the floor to your feet, pearly blue eyes scowling at you like you’d stolen her favorite spot in the house.

Jumin.

You held back a snort of amusement and lifted your head off Jumin’s shoulder so you could look at him.

He blinked at you, languidly relaxed, as if he’d enjoyed the moment of quiet togetherness just as much as you had.

“The thing is, I’m not sure if he’s bringing the kids with him or not, so I was going to ask Nami to come. I think she would be less intimidating to them than you, Mr. Pokerface, might be at the first meeting.” When you reached out to touch a finger to the tip of his nose, your grin let him know you were messing with him.

But the lazy, affectionate smile that was his response caught you off-guard. “That’s good. I’m glad to know you will be in safe hands.”

Almost lightheaded from the intensity of emotion you saw in his eyes, for you, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and used the chance to make the phone call right after.

The meeting ended up being Saturday afternoon, at a café near the riverside park you liked to spend your days off in. Your stepfather’s breathless relief, on the edge of turning tearful, made you feel better about your decision to give him a chance.

It also stoked your curiosity, to the point that you feared you wouldn’t be able to focus on studying until you found out what exactly it was that Johan Lee wanted to talk to you about.

Returning to the living room afterwards, you found Jumin fiddling with a brand-new cellphone, the original packaging carelessly discarded on the coffee table in front of him. As you joined him on the couch, you spied a disembodied white paw fishing for the tiny box’s cardboard lid from beyond the table’s edge.

So Elizabeth The 3rd did have some Victor-level mischief in her, after all.

Smiling at that, and wondering if she could ever get along with your own feline companion, or if he was too wild and unpolished for her, you gave Jumin’s shoulder a slight nudge with yours. “What’s this, a shiny new toy?”

He chuckled at your playful tone. “Replacement, since I broke mine. It’s peaceful without a personal phone, but Secretary Kang insists that I need it for work, too. Although, my strongest motivation for getting a new one is you.”

You fought a blush at those embarrassingly casual words you still had to get used to hearing. Then again, for all the difficulty he'd had expressing his emotions so far, Jumin always seemed strangely unbothered and too comfortable saying cheesy things like that to you.

“I'm just not sure how to get it working. I've never had to set up my own devices before.”

Rolling your eyes, you took the phone from his hands and showed him where the hidden slot for the sim card was. “This model seems to be waterproof, so dropping it into a pool shouldn't break it. But you better be careful, anyways.”

After fitting on the protective casing you’d found in the box, you took it to the wall by the TV and plugged the charger in. Just to make sure everything was working fine, you waited for it to light up. The brand logo flickered to life on the screen a moment later.

“Unless you're trying to break it,” you added with a playful wink as you turned around, making your way back to the sofa. “In which case there are more efficient ways to do that.”

For some reason, Jumin wouldn't look you in the eye when you sat back down beside him.

Your jaw dropped. “No.”

Turning his head, Jumin coughed stiffly, a futile attempt to hide the fact you'd hit the nail on its head. The tip of his ear visible through the tousled mess of yesterday's hair blazed red, telling you he was more than embarrassed.

Laughter bubbled up in your chest. “Really? You dropped your phone in the pool on purpose?”

You hadn't even known Jumin Han was capable of that level of trickery.

His tiny nod, red-faced and squinty-eyed over being caught, sent you into a straight giggling fit.

“My father had just announced that, not only has he found me a bride, but he's already passed on all my contact information, including my PRIVATE phone number, to her so we could ‘start getting to know each other’.” The look Jumin gave you, haunted by crestfallen confusion and a panicked kind of ‘What other choice did I have?’, made for a priceless expression.

At the same time, he couldn’t stay serious watching you crack up next to him. Despite himself, his own lips started to twitch. “What else was I supposed to do?”

~~~

That afternoon, during study time at Nami’s place, you told your friend about your decision to meet your stepfather, and asked her to accompany you on Saturday.

Her response was to burst into laughter. “If that’s your best attempt at distracting me from what I really want to know, you have a lot to learn.”

The puzzled frown on your face must have given away that you couldn’t quite follow her.

Rolling her eyes, she finally explained. “I will, obviously, be your backup on Saturday. Now, care to tell me where you ran off to this morning, and where you’ve been all day until now?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “You’ve had this weird expression on your face since you walked in here, too. Like your body came here but your mind is still somewhere else.”

You buried your face in the book you held to hide the blush you felt creeping up your cheekbones. “I, uh, went to see Jumin.”

“I figured as much. And…?”

You peeked at your nosy friend over the edge of your book, found her flicking a pen back and forth between her fingers, the knowing look in her eyes not leaving any room for escape.

You tried your luck anyways. “What do you mean, and?”

Nose wrinkling indignantly, Nami threw the pen on the table in an outburst of impatience. “Stop acting like that and spill the tea, already. You can’t fool me! I already know something happened for you to be on cloud nine like that.”

You put your own book down with a flustered gasp. “We have our first final on Monday, in four days. Don’t you think there’s more important things to do with our time right now than talk about my love life?”

The triumphant spark in Nami’s eyes told you that, at last, she had you where she wanted you. “No freaking way. What did he do for you to be acting like that?”

A quiet groan escaped you. “Nothing. Can we study, please?”

“Nuh-uh-uh.” Notes forgotten and clearly not willing to let this go anytime soon, Nami scooted closer. “Don’t tell me he finally asked you out?”

“Yes. No. Well, not really.” Opening a new page, you started copying your notes so you’d at least be learning subconsciously. Maybe if you told her, she’d leave you alone. “He kissed me. And then he, sort of…confessed.”

That seemed to shut her up.

Ah. Blissful silence.

But when you looked up, her eyes were wide as saucers, and her face redder than yours had been moments ago when you’d hid it in your book.

Then she opened her mouth, presumably to draw in enough air to squeal.

You heaved a resigned sigh.

And squeal she did, along with jumping up and launching into what looked like a goofy victory dance.

You wanted to smack her with a book. “Get back here, Nami. Come and sit—…stop shaking your butt, we have exams to study for!”

It took her a whole five minutes to stop squealing and calm down enough to return to the spread of books and notes and stationary covering her small table. But instead of burrowing back into the study materials, she turned to you with sparkly eyes. “What happened after that? Are you two an item now? When’s the wedding?”

You succumbed to the urge and hit her over the head with your notepad. “Nothing happened. We just talked. I asked him for a few days of time before making anything official. I have too much to deal with at the moment. Can you please focus now?”

Nami made sure you saw her pouty face before she turned back to the books. “Fine—but only if you name at least one of your children after me. Middle name is fine too.”

~~~

Two days later, Nami and you sat in the booth of a café with the aesthetic of an old-fashioned American diner, waiting for your stepfather to show up.

The smell of freshly baked pastries filled the air, intertwining with the aroma wafting from two mugs of hot coffee on your table. Beside you, Nami was slowly but surely decimating a mountain of pancakes drenched in syrup. They looked good, all of the café’s menu items did, but you were too nervous to eat.

The time set for your meeting had passed twenty minutes ago, but no one had shown up yet. You were trying hard not to jump to conclusions and prematurely get upset about being stood up yet. He might just have gotten delayed. You couldn’t imagine him not coming to the meeting he’d basically begged you for. So, you’d give it another fifteen minutes and let Nami finish her full stack.

When your stepfather finally walked through the door, you didn’t realize it was him until he slid into the chair opposite you.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You stared, too stunned to respond.

He should have been around your father’s age, from what you’d heard about the man your mother had remarried. Yet the man in front of you looked like life had aged him beyond his years. Countless worry lines marred his face like wrinkles, and dark circles sat under his eyes, deep purple bruises offsetting the unhealthy pallor of his cheeks. Not even his wide-rimmed glasses managed to hide those deep eye bags, or the look in his eyes that was dull and droopy, like he was nearing the limit of what he could endure in life.

“I am terribly sorry for the delay, there was a situation at my daughter’s school that I was called in to handle. I hope you didn’t have to wait for too long?” He was soft-spoken and sounded sincere. Together with the way he looked, like life had beaten him down one time too many, you couldn’t even be mad at him. Hell, you wanted to help him now. Anything to wipe that distressing expression of heartbroken defeat off his face.

“Hello, uh…sir.” You gave him a respectful nod in greeting, then shook your head at his question. “Don’t worry about it. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Johan Lee gave you a weary smile. “I would like that. Thank you.”

Next to you, a Nami who had gone motionless the moment the man had sat down, now hurriedly gestured for the waitress to come over.

You waited for him to take the first sip of his steaming black coffee, his shoulders relaxing a little, before you opened your mouth again. “This is my best friend, Nami. She knows about my situation, so you can speak comfortably.”

Nami nodded hello. “I’m the one who keeps her out of trouble.” It seemed she had picked up on the depressing aura surrounding him as well, and was going for humor to lighten the mood. Leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, eyes twinkling, she pointed at you with her thumb. “She’s a bit of a reckless hothead, so it’s my duty to protect her—and others—from herself.”

You rolled your eyes and poked her with your elbow. The cheeky grin she shot you in return held more challenge than apology.

Across the table, your stepfather chuckled quietly. “You two remind me of my girls. My Ji-ah, the oldest, is a little wild for her age, but she’s always reliable and terribly protective when it comes to her half-sisters.” His eyes lit up a little, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “I think she would like you two.”

Sudden anticipation filled you at the first crumbs of knowledge you got about your sisters. And yet his words confused you. “Step-sisters?”

Johan nodded. “Ji-ah is my daughter from my first wife. It’s always been a challenge raising her by myself after my wife passed away in a car accident." He had a distant look in his eyes, like he was reliving past times. It was strange, the way some of the weight pressing him down appeared to lift as he got lost in memories. He seemed happier somehow, more alive reminiscing than being in the present, despite the mention of his late wife. “Ji-ah had just turned five. From then on it was only me and her, and what do I even know about girls? But I managed somehow, and Ji-ah has been doing so much better since your mother came along. But now…”

The sudden change in his expression caught you off-guard.

His smile died abruptly, the sweet nostalgia in his eyes turning into anguish so raw, the sheer pain rolling off of him in tangible waves made your stomach twist.

Under the table, Nami’s hand found yours and held on.

Johan’s eyes were rimmed red, as if he was holding back tears. “Ji-ah is sixteen now. And for the past few months, she’s been getting worse. She lashes out at school, gets into fights. She’s angry all the time, barely spends time with her sisters anymore. It’s like she’s isolating herself from us. She won’t even talk to me at home, when I try to help. Not ever since—…” His voice broke under the weight of emotions he could no longer contain. Breaths turning labored, he took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to calm down.

All at once, you realized that the thing he had called you here to talk about…it was bad.

A quick glance over to Nami showed the same understanding in her eyes. She squeezed your hand again, a pronounced gentleness to her touch, like she thought you were too fragile for more firm support right then.

Catching your stepfather’s eyes when he looked back up, you made yourself ask the question, despite the terrible gut feeling telling you not to. “What…what happened to my mom?”

Johan’s shoulders shook, his dark irises swimming in tears as he struggled to compose himself. When he spoke again, you could see the last threads keeping his broken heart together unraveling in front of your very eyes. “The doctors say she only has a few weeks left. She is…she’s dying.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 20

The words went over your head, as if your brain shut had down and refused to deal with the meaning of those sounds entering your ears. For the span of a few strangely calm heartbeats, you just sat there, staring at your stepfather in mute incomprehension.

Then Nami squeezed your fingers so hard that the momentary pain smashed right through the cognitive blockage. The sudden, unadulterated grief was a shock to your senses, like a bucket of ice water being emptied over your head with no warning.

Your vision blurred. It took you too long to realize that tears welling up in your eyes were the cause.

It’s not fair.

She was dying. And that although you’d almost been ready to let her back into your life. Not to forgive her. But to give her a chance to ask for forgiveness. A chance to make it right.

If she ever even intended to.

Half of the grief turned into anger, sharp and bitter, stabbing at your weeping heart in an effort to harden it, to patch up your crumbling defenses.

Gritting your teeth until your jaw protested, you reached for your coffee to hide the tremors shaking the hand that Nami wasn’t holding on to. It wasn’t enough. It felt like your entire body was trembling, your heart quaking like it was about to crack open and spill your memories of a broken childhood and all of the hope it had harbored even now, years later, to somehow fix it.

Johan seemed too deep into his own emotional breakdown to take note of your reaction, and you were unable to speak past the chaos in your mind, at least for the moment—or maybe you didn’t want to ask for details that would hurt you even more.

Fortunately for you, bringing Nami along already had, and continued to, prove itself as the right decision. Not letting go of yours, she reached out to place her other hand on Johan’s clenched fists resting atop the table. “When did you find out?” Her voice was calm, gentle, giving you both the strength to see past the pain and escape your thoughts back to the present.

You scooted a little closer to her, needing more of the comfort she was offering. Nami responded by wrapping her arm around your waist and leaning into your side.

Her magic worked on your stepfather too. He looked at Nami’s hand like it was a lifeline he would be swept under without, the waves of grief abating enough for him to be able to speak again. Sniffling quietly, he took off his glasses to wipe at his face with the hand not soothed by Nami’s touch.

“Four years ago, when she was pregnant with our youngest. The pregnancy came as a surprise, but we knew it was going to be a risky one. She kept having trouble throughout, but every new doctor we went to assured us it was the hormones messing with her body.” Placing the glasses on the table, he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking incredibly weary. “Then Sarang was born, and the problems didn’t stop. A few weeks later, because we stayed persistent, they finally discovered the tumor.”

Johan looked up, his dull eyes showing the absence of hope even though he hadn’t yet spoken it aloud. “Breast cancer. Although it had to have been there, growing for almost a year before the doctors found it, they said it wasn’t too advanced to treat it. So we did. Your mother had surgery, and a few rounds of chemo to make sure no leftover anomalous cells remained in her body to wreak havoc somewhere else.”

Despite his earlier words of your mother’s terminal state, this part of the story filled you with relief. At least she’d had a break in between. It would have been worse had you learned about her suffering ceaselessly for four straight years…

But your selfish side stayed angry. Had they told you back then, you would have had four whole years with her, instead of whatever broken fragments of time were left now.

Nami seemed to sense your continued struggle to speak, so she took over to keep the things rolling. Giving both your waist and Johan’s hand a gentle squeeze, she nodded at your stepfather to continue, compassion etched onto her face in soft lines.

Her support provided you with the courage to finally open your mouth. “Please…go on.”

Nodding in return, Johan took a sip of his coffee. His shaky hand gave away the state of emotional turmoil he remained trapped in. “Everything was fine after that. We were delirious with happiness over her near miraculous recovery, despite the late treatment…until she started experiencing new symptoms a few months ago. She did have regular checkups in between to make sure it wasn’t coming back. But they had been looking in the wrong places.”

He put the mug down, his fingers bloodless from the white-knuckled grip he had on the handle. “They were looking for clusters of tumor cells near the original site, but when they found something there, it had already spread beyond containment. Her liver showed signs of failing by the time they finally realized it wasn’t attacking her lungs, or her bones, like breast cancer tends to do in its advanced stages. Apparently, she's part of a minor group of cancer patients who experience metastases in different places than the usual.”

Johan shook his head frantically, as if he was still in denial, as if he didn’t want it to be true even now. “I thought it was just headaches, migraines from the stress since Sarang was fussing over kindergarten. We both dreaded the age that we’d have to let her go, let other people take care of her every day.” Releasing the mug as if he only noticed his grasp on it now, he stared at his own hand atop the table. clenched fingers slowly releasing. “I’d been trying to convince her to go see her doctor, just to be safe, but she kept waving me off, saying it was because she had trouble sleeping lately. But it only got worse from there. And the day she looked at me with empty eyes and asked me who I was, that I wasn’t her husband, that Ji-ah wasn’t her daughter—wasn’t you—I knew I should have taken her in weeks ago.”

Somewhere in the mess of emotions clamoring in your head, terrible understanding filtered through. But you were still reeling from the shock of it, your tongue not obeying your command when you tried to utter what was on your mind.

Nami drew in a sharp breath beside you. It seemed only she had the strength left to speak now, though feebly. “It spread to h-her brain?”

Your stepfather nodded. Back was the anguish you’d seen on his face earlier, the visual cue that told you something had hurt him on a level deeper than the physical. It cut deep, beyond the skin, wounding his very heart and soul. “Inoperable. It had already been affecting her memories, her behavior. But it was so subtle that I never noticed until that day her confusion and panic and her fear of me, her husband who had become a stranger, put a knife straight through my chest. Instead she remembered a past that wasn’t there anymore.”

You felt yourself begin to tremble, a sound of voiceless distress escaping your paralyzed throat. Nami held you tighter, but tremors ran through her arm, like she was on the verge of breaking down herself.

Yet her voice held strong after the initial moment of shock, and it was her who kept the two of you from falling apart. “How much did she forget?”

When the tears welled over, you turned your face into Nami’s shoulder. You didn’t want to hear more. You didn’t want this picture of your mother in your head, of a frail, demented woman on her deathbed, succumbing to a disease that was stripping her of not just her remaining time, but of the very memories that made her herself. You’d much rather remember her as the lively, powerfully heartless mother who left behind her daughter, her husband, only to replace them with a new family.

At least then, in your head, she wouldn’t be dying.

“She still remembers most of it.” Johan’s voice shook. “But there are terrifying moments where she seems like a completely different person, seeing other people in her life than the ones right in front of her. It’s like she’s slipping away, becoming less of the person I know, little by little.”

His labored breathing hurt your ears and seared your insides, the way so much of his pain seemed contained only because he was consciously holding it back. But talking about it made the control wear thin.

“Chemotherapy doesn’t make it any better. Even if it does manage to kill the tumor, which there is a minuscule chance of success for, as they say…the compromised parts of her brain can’t be repaired.” His words faltered, but in that brief moment of involuntary silence, your heard his heart break. “At this point, they are preparing to just numb her pain and make her as comfortable as possible before she…before she goes.”

You suppressed the sobs wanting to break out of your chest, a harsh feeling like razor blades tearing through the tissue of your lungs. You wanted to leave, go home, crawl in your bed with Vic, or maybe into Jumin’s arms, and cry until there were no tears left to squeeze out. There wasn’t much more you could handle for today.

But before that, you had to know something. And this question, you had to ask for yourself.

Turning back, you faced him again. Nami handed you a napkin, but you didn’t care if he saw your tears anymore. This man was losing just as much as you were, if not even more. The least you could do was show him he wasn’t alone in this pain. And he wouldn’t be, even after the two of you lost the one thing that connected you.

“Did she…did she ever speak about me?”

Your words brought life back into Johan’s eyes. “Oh, child.” Expression softening, he stretched out a hand towards you across the table.

You couldn’t not grasp it when now it was his turn to share something with you to lay your heart at ease.

“When I fell in love with her, I didn’t know she was married. I thought she was a mother alone with her child. I only knew about you because she always told me about you. About how proud she was of her daughter. About how talented you are, coming after your father with your passion for music, and that you would surpass him one day, in skill and success.”

He sniffed and gave a soft, teary smile, as if her pride over you filled him as well. As if he held affection for you like she had shared hers with him, from the stories she’d told him time and time again.

“Only when she voiced her worry that you would grow to hate him over the way he was stifling your happiness, after his career started to fail and he began to let it out on you instead out of selfish fear, did I realize she had a husband at home, and not in the past. His ‘obsessive behavior over his failure’ and the fact that he neglected you two 'for a career that never worked out’ were what pushed her into another man’s arms.” Johan shook his head slowly. “I would never have approached her, had I known she had a family. But when I found out, she told me the only thing that held her there was you.”

Your mind went numb as it struggled to process this new information it was receiving.

For years, you’d thought your mother had been at fault. That she had ruined your family by leaving when your father was struggling and needed her by his side to support him in his weakest moments. But now vague memories of that period resurfaced in your mind, like dusty video tapes that hadn’t been played for a long time. You remembered snippets of your parents arguing repeatedly, and the unbearable tension between them whenever you saw them together.

The realization hit you then, that you were the one who had been barely home enough to understand the depth of their conflict, too preoccupied finding your way back to your beloved music whenever and wherever you could.

Your mother had been supportive of your father’s career. Until it took a nosedive and his fleeting success consumed him, turning him into a completely different person who ended up alienating his own family.

Although this new truth made her a cheater, you felt like you could no longer blame her for leaving.

But why…why did she have to leave you behind?

Johan cleared his throat softly. “She told me she had already decided to leave her husband long before she met me and we fell in love. A few months later, we discovered she was pregnant…and she finally took action then, filing for divorce and moving in with me instead. Since I was the father.” He looked a little uncomfortable recounting that part, but you understood why. It couldn’t be easy telling someone the story of how their own mother left her family behind to be with a strange man.

But what came after made you glad you’d mustered up the courage to ask.

“She never stopped talking about you at first.” His eyes unfocused, as if he was looking through you and into the past, where his wife wasn’t dying and leaving him behind as well.

Silent tears dripped down your chin and onto your lap as you listened to what you’d been yearning to hear for years.

“She hated herself for leaving you. She wanted to bring you along, but you’d always been closer with your father and she feared it would break your heart to lose him. She would always say she had no music in her soul like the two of you did. And that’s one connection she could never compete with, even after his breakdown. She genuinely thought you would be less devastated losing her than him.”

A sad smile tugged at his lips, nostalgia bringing back hints of youth that too many worries and the most recent heartbreak had prematurely robbed him of. “But this woman, she was as infuriatingly stubborn as she was beautiful. Why could she not stay in your life at least, so you would not have to grow into a young woman without her mother around? I asked her every day that she brought you up, because I knew the feelings of a girl abandoned by her mother. My Ji-ah was young when it happened, but she’s been through the same.”

He sighed and rubbed his neck before reaching for his coffee again. “But she told me she was selfish, and weak. She said she left you once, and it was the hardest thing she had ever done. She didn’t think she had the strength to do it all over again. How could she look into your eyes every time she left again, knowing you’d hate her a little bit more each time she returned to her new family and left you in the ruins of your old one? No, she decided that a clean break was better for the both of you.” Shaking his head in exasperation, he squeezed your hand gently but firmly, his quivering lips pressing together as the emotions got the best of him for a moment. “But I know she regretted leaving you every single day of her life. The stubborn woman loved…loves you too much. She was just trying to hurt you less, somehow, in her own way…”

You dashed at your tears that wouldn’t stop coming, the remnants of anger inside you warring a bitter battle with the hurt that had had its teeth buried in your flesh for more years than you’d been an adult. Right then, you felt yourself turning back into the little girl breaking down in tears upon learning your mother had left, and wasn’t coming back. “I-I don’t…I don’t know if I can forgive her…”

Your stepfather’s eyes brimmed with wetness. “I know, child. Sometimes, the pain is too much to allow for forgiveness. But I am telling you this in case you would like to see her, despite everything.” He patted your hand awkwardly, his own fingers trembling. “And out of my own selfish need, I suppose. I can’t bear the thought that more of my daughters will have to live without their mother. I’m hoping that getting to know their older sister will soften the blow, at least a little.” He smiled through the tears, the corners of his eyes creasing into a hauntingly sad, hopeful smile that chipped yet another piece off of your crumbling heart. “And who knows, maybe meeting your sisters could help you heal as well…”

~~~

You found yourself at the park, alone in your favorite spot by the river, staring numbly at the tranquil water that reflected fading streaks of orange. Dying traces of a sunset you had missed by mere minutes.

It felt like fate was laughing right in your face, rubbing in your timing for missed chances.

You didn’t know how much time had passed between the café and coming here. You remembered saying goodbye to Johan a while ago, when it was still light out. You’d tentatively arranged a time for next weekend, after finals were over with, to meet your sisters and possibly go see your mother.

Then Nami and you had parted ways by the bus, with a tight hug and the promise that you’d show up to her place for one final study session and sleepover before the first exam on Monday. You knew she was worried about you after what you’d learned today, so you indulged her.

It had become somewhat of a tradition for the two of you to spend the last day before exams together doing everything but studying. Back in your second semester together, Nami had declared this break necessary to keep from overthinking and stressing over the inevitable too much. Stuffing your brains with notes and charts until the last possible moment was counterproductive, so the twenty-four hours prior to the exams were for relaxing and distracting yourselves from the impending pressure and stress to perform well.

Not that you could focus at all right now. Your head felt stuffed with cotton, your eyes burning from the tears you’d shed and the ones still contained behind what little was left of your composure.

You really didn’t want to be alone with your thoughts right then, so how had you ended up here, alone in the dim park at dusk with not many people left around this time of day? With a deep sigh, you left the cold bench you’d been perched on and trudged back towards the bus stop, feet dragging through frost-kissed layers of multicolored leaves.

As cold as it already was just halfway through October, you might be getting snow early this year.

The weather really wasn’t helping your mood. You were so ready to crawl into bed and sleep through your problems until Monday arrived and you’d have to face finals…but all you could do for now was drop by home just long enough to pack yourself an overnight bag and rush out again to make it in time for your lesson with Jumin.

Halfway to the park’s entrance, your phone vibrated. It was the notification for a message from Gongsang School of Music.

Dear applicant, we are pleased to inform you that you have passed the audition and will be accorded a full scholarship for our advanced musical education program…

Your phone slipped from your limp grasp and landed in a pile of leaves, once vibrant hues turned a monochromatic mass of brown under the tread of countless boots. You doubled over, reeling like the air had been knocked out of you. It took you a moment to calm down enough to breathe away the shock making you lightheaded and pick up what you’d dropped with shaky hands. Yet the bright glare of the screen showed the same words as a few seconds ago.

Still panting, you took off in a mad dash to the bus that would take you to Jumin’s apartment.

For the moment, the bad news about your mother and the suffocating exam stress were forgotten, dissolving, like shadows melting away in the blossoming light of a sun that was rising again, only for you.

You barged through Jumin’s door, not caring that you’d startled his cat into toppling off of the piano, or shocked him into slipping off-key with your sudden arrival.

Immediately, he stood, stepping towards you with an alarmed frown. “Y/N? What’s—”

Tossing your cargo of a square cardboard box wrapped with a ribbon onto his coffee table, you dumped your purse on the hardwood floor and jumped into his arms, coat and all.

The moment you buried your face in his chest and breathed in his familiar scent, a flood of words spilled out of you, fully tearing down the collapsing dam that was constraining your emotions. You told him everything. From the meeting with your stepfather to the message notifying you of your successful audition.

After the bitterness of your mother’s situation, it felt good to talk about something positive again, like your incredulous delight about the audition result and the scholarship that was now yours.

Jumin’s confusion was evident, but he sensed that you were in need of emotional support, so he let you ramble on, content to hold you while he listened silently.

Somewhere along the way, the two of you ended up on the floor together. Legs outstretched, he reclined with his back propped against the heavy piano stool behind him. His arms were wrapped around your waist under the coat, holding you sideways on his lap, chin resting on top of your head.

“See, I told you not to worry.” The words were calm but firm, like he was stating something he was convinced of beyond a doubt, a piece of his very mind. “I knew you would make the audition. Besides, I was ready to sue them if they were to fail you.”

Hearing the mirth in his voice, and knowing his gaze would be sparkling with mischief if you looked up now, you laughed softly, but your own eyes filled with moisture. “Thank you.” Suddenly it was difficult to speak through the knot of raw emotion in your throat. “This is all thanks to you. I wouldn’t have reached this point if you hadn’t convinced me to apply.”

Above you, Jumin shook his head, rubbing his jaw over your hair with the back and forth movement. “Nonsense. I barely gave you a nudge. You would have made it here yourself, sooner or later.” His chest vibrated against your side with withheld laughter. “You were on the right track, but moving at the pace of a turtle. I just helped speed things up a little.”

Oh, yeah, he was having fun silently laughing at you.

Rolling your eyes, you let him have his moment and rested your head against his shoulder, satisfied with just being close to him. Your emotional strain and stress levels had been through the roof lately, like a physical load made even heavier by the day’s wearisome events. But now parts of it were crumbling, falling away piece by piece as you relaxed in Jumin’s healing embrace.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N.” Whispered words that held all of his affection for you, and the quiet, fierce joy he felt over your success.

Your bottom lip quivered. Biting down on it, you turned your face into his chest and hugged him close, unable to deal any other way with how deeply his support affected you.

His arms tightened around you in return. For a good while, neither of you stirred much. It once again surprised you how comfortable and not at all awkward it now was to be physically close to Jumin. Despite the thick layer of winter wear, you felt the warmth of his body surrounding you. It was a comforting, cozy position you were quite reluctant to move from…but in the heated apartment, with your coat still on, and his furnace of a body pressed into yours, it soon became uncomfortably warm.

You were just getting ready to slowly, sneakily get rid of your coat without breaking the hug, when Jumin cleared his throat. “Uh, Y/N…your mystery box is bleeding all over my coffee table. Did you want to cool whatever’s in there?”

Forgetting all about the hug you didn't want ending, you jumped up with a gasp and scrambled to save the celebratory ice cream cake you’d completely lost sight of.

The small cake you had spontaneously picked up from the convenience store while waiting for the bus was starting to melt inside the box, and the formerly frozen ice cream filling had begun to leak through the now soggy carton packaging and made a mess on top of the table.

With a muttered curse, you whisked the few folders sitting dangerously close to the runny ice cream away to the safety of the sofa and hurried to get paper towels.

Chuckling quietly, Jumin got up to help you. As you cleaned up the coffee table, he carried the cake into the kitchen and put it in the fridge to stop it from liquefying even more before you would get to eat it together. Only after you had wiped the glass surface clean of the sticky melted ice cream, did you realize you were still wearing your coat. You’d have to wash your hands first, before you could take it off.

Jumin was waiting for you in the kitchen, with two glasses and a bottle of champagne instead of the wine you had developed quite a taste for. “This suits the occasion better,” was his response to the questioning eyebrow you raised upon entering the kitchen, now coatless and with clean hands.

You grinned, deciding to tease him back a little. “Funny. And here I thought the fancy pool at your father’s party would have ruined your appetite for champagne.”

Jumin clicked his tongue in faked indignation, pretending to be offended. “Wasn’t it enough that it ruined my phone?”

His dramatic words drew a laugh from you as you accepted the empty glasses from his hands. “So now it’s the pool’s fault? And not the fault of the one who dropped his phone in the pool on purpose?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jumin turned up his nose at you, but his eyes twinkled with humor. “Now hurry up and show me your letter of acceptance. I don’t know how much longer the cake will survive on life support.”

Snorting at that, you retrieved your phone from your purse and pulled up the message. Jumin stepped closer until the heat of his body scorched your back, his arms on either side of your body caging you against the counter the champagne flutes sat atop.

You fought the blush warming your cheeks and resisted the urge to lean back into him. Instead you raised your phone to where he could see it too and cleared your throat softly. “It says that this is just the initial notice of passing the audition. The actual letter of acceptance will be sent by mail. And any further information on what happens now should be in there…”

Although you were happy, you did feel a little lost. A small part of you was tempted to just skip your now redundant final exams entirely, but reason reminded you that wrapping up the term properly was the least you could do for your own personal peace of mind and proper closure of your current academic situation. And leaving Nami to fend for herself after all the studying you’d done together, and were still going to do later that night, felt like betrayal.

You’d made it this far. You could manage another week of exams before saying goodbye to business school for the foreseeable future. And after finals, you would hopefully figure out all the new stuff that came with switching not just your major, but your entire career trajectory.

You just weren’t sure yet if you should wait until after finals to tell Nami about it as well.

The clinking of glass roused you from your musings. Jumin had brought out the cake, a sorry sight of misshapen chocolate and runny cream, and was now pouring champagne for you and him. “This kind of small celebration does in no way measure up to the occasion’s significance, but it will have to do for now. At least until I can arrange something more appropriate.”

He seemed prepared to hear you object to that. The moment you opened your mouth to protest, he scooped up a bit of ice cream with a spoon and fed it to you, effectively keeping you from voicing any disapproval.

When you swallowed the mouthful and went to tell him that no, he didn’t need to do anything special or fancy to celebrate your achievement of a scholarship—he did it again.

And again, all the while maintaining a perfectly smug smile to counter your scowl that grew darker with every new foiled attempt to complain.

Until you stepped away from that damned spoon in his grip and held up your hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. I won’t say anything…for now.” Giving him one last warning glare for good measure, you licked your lips for any residue of cream before reaching for the second spoon. “Your turn. Can’t eat the entire thing myself…”

Jumin stared curiously as you scraped up a mouthful of cake with the utensil and held it up to his lips. He took it, but his gaze stayed on your face the entire time. “A little too sweet, but it tastes better than I thought.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Especially being fed by you personally.”

Rolling your eyes, you put your phone down and reached for the plates to portion out a slice for each of you, but decided against it. Dirty dishes aside, decimating the entire thing with just spoons seemed more fun right then. You didn’t think Jumin had ever gotten to do something like that before.

“Convenience store ice cream cakes are usually my go to for birthdays and small occasions. Might be a bit too cold for that in October, though. Good thing this one isn’t frozen anymore.” Swapping spoons, you tried a piece of the collapsing chocolate dough. Before melting, the cake had looked like one huge, round ice cream sandwich with thick layers of a crumbly dark crust at the top and bottom. Now that the ice cream filling was melting, along with the dent you and Jumin had dug in there with your spoons, the top was caving in on one side. It looked more like a clam now, half open and filled with vanilla bean ice cream seeded with tiny pieces of chocolate.

Jumin was right, it was a tad too sweet. Maybe dusting some dark cocoa powder on top would cut some of the sweetness. Or you could just wash it down with the champagne waiting for you to drink it.

Jumin realized your plan and grabbed his own glass, holding it up for a toast with a soft smile. “Here’s to more of our dreams and wishes coming true.” He held your gaze as you touched your glass to his, the warm glint in his eyes setting off a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “Maybe you can help realize one of mine too.”

There it was again, the tender look he seemed to reserve only for special moments with you.

You took a quick sip, then rose on tip toe and cupped his face in both of your hands. His clean-shaven jaw was smooth against your palms. Closing your eyes and not allowing yourself to chicken out, you lightly brushed your lips over his.

He leaned in, arms naturally winding around your waist to gather you closer. You felt his smile in the curve of his mouth against yours as he deepened the fleeting contact into a true kiss.

It didn’t last very long, but it was sweet, and not just from the cake you could taste on his lips. And when the kiss ended, it left you dizzy with a breathless kind of exhilaration that had your stomach doing somersaults. That brilliant smile that made your heart clench from the intensity of emotion contained in it was still there, prompting you to rub your nose back and forth across his, like a cat nuzzling someone’s face.

It drew a soft chuckle from him, a bright sound that seemed extra pure and carefree in the intimately close vicinity you were in.

The giddy, almost euphoric feeling following that interaction lasted through the rest of the evening. The two of you ate as much as you could of the cake, to avoid having to refrigerate it again. After the short lesson you managed to squeeze in, which was mostly Jumin doing an excellent job of playing whatever piece came to mind instead of sticking to the schedule he was supposed to be following, you took the rest of the cake with you to Nami’s.

Only there, Nami’s perpetual, knowing grin brought you back down to earth, making you reach for your phone to check for how much longer you’d have to endure her smugness before it was appropriate to go to bed…and only then did you realize you had forgotten said phone on Jumin’s kitchen counter.

Oh, well. You’d just have to drop by to pick it up sometime tomorrow. Nami would surely understand if you asked for a few minutes of your day together to go collect your phone from Jumin.

Your phone…and maybe a few more kisses.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

After the intense final study session with Nami left you in a strangely wistful mood for the rest of the night, morning brought with it laughter and lighthearted banter as the two of you prepared a late brunch together.

The study-free day ahead was a welcome change to the back-to-back stress of the past weeks. As per your tradition, you did your best not to think about college anymore and to just enjoy your Sunday together. By the time Nami carried the plates of syrup-drenched waffles to the table while you set up the movie you’d picked out in advance, you were already breathing easier, your mind clearer, although you had yet to put the exams behind you.

You were actually excited to spend a whole day with Nami again. Ever since the sleepover weekend, most times you’d met up had involved studying and exam prep, so one careless day of chick flicks and fun activities was much needed to calm your nerves before the final sprint. Nami and you spent the next two hours giggling your way through a rom-com and what was basically dessert for breakfast. Fueled by copious amounts of sugar, you followed up with a walk through the neighborhood and ended up trying out a newly opened indoor ice rink nearby. You left with bright smiles and a few minor bruises, because neither of you had gone ice skating in a while, and afterwards warmed yourselves up at a cozy café Nami had been dying to take you to.

Seated in a window booth with steaming mugs of coffee in front of you like that, you wondered briefly if this was the right moment to tell Nami of your scholarship and impending career change.

Across from you, your friend cocked her head curiously, as if sensing your pensive mood. “You have something on your mind, don’t you?” She gingerly cupped her hands around her frothy cappuccino, eyes sparkling despite the way her cheeks still glowed a healthy pink from the outside cold. “Is it the same thing as the other day? Or about Johan and your mother?”

The fact that she hadn’t mentioned Jumin once all day meant she was being serious for your sake. You remembered her concern when thinking you were in trouble, and her readiness to have your back should you need her to. But although this was the perfect opening to finally tell her, you found yourself deciding to wait until after finals were over with. “Sort of. It’s just…I don’t like change. And I’m anxious because some things are about to change for me.”

You met her inquisitive gaze and got the distinct feeling that she knew what was going on. That this was your last semester together.

“Everyone’s scared of change. It means you won’t be in control of your life for a while, but Y/N…you’re strong. You’ll adjust in no time. I know you.” Nami raised her mug with an encouraging smile, toasting to you, then taking a sip. You bit back a laugh when she set her coffee back down with a milk foam mustache on her upper lip. “It’s normal to worry, but don’t do it too much. Use your energy to enjoy the new things you get to do instead. You’ll be fine.”

Your sides were starting to hurt from holding in your laughter. It was kind of hard to take her motivational speech seriously when she looked like a certain plumber in overalls from the old-school video games you played as a child. What made it worse was that she wore a beret to go with her fancy new winter coat, both a vibrant red to fit the theme, and what gave you the rest was when she ended her sentence with an enthusiastic thumbs-up gesture.

You lost it. Dissolving into a fit of giggles, you laughed until your eyes watered and you tasted salt on your lips, your hand shaking when you handed a puzzled Nami a napkin. “Fix your mustache, Mario.”

Blinking, she fumbled a pocket mirror out of her purse and soon joined your wheezing with a good-natured chuckle of her own, wiping her mouth clean before it could set you off again.

~~~

Afterwards, you went back to Nami’s, deciding to just stay in, watch more movies, and make dinner together. Upon Nami’s request, you wrote down everything you needed for two people’s worth of chocolate lava cakes, then excused yourself to go pick up your phone from Jumin’s place while she went grocery shopping for your plans of homemade hotpot.

It took only twenty minutes to get to Jumin from Nami’s apartment. Although it wasn’t far off, you wondered if you should have called ahead to make sure Jumin was home. You weren’t scheduled to meet today, so you hoped you weren’t making the trip in vain.

But your worries were groundless. The door opened soon after you rang the bell.

“Hi.” You smiled tentatively, drinking in the sight of your favorite person in comfortable clothing. Like he’d just been lounging around at home, soft cotton pants and slippers and all.

“Y/N?” Jumin appeared confused for a moment, before his frown smoothed out. “Ah. Your phone.” He waved you inside and ducked into his bedroom while you went to check in the kitchen, where you remembered leaving it. But it wasn’t there.

Then Jumin returned with your phone in his hand and the closest you’ve seen to a sheepish expression on his face.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

He cleared his throat. “Last night you got a call from a certain…Mr. Dickhead?” Jumin scratched his head, looking somewhere between guilty and adorably confused. “I’m not familiar with my new ringtone yet, so I mistook your phone for my new one and accepted the call, but the gentleman seemed quite upset at hearing my voice…”

Shin? Why now?

You heaved a sigh. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t care about Mr. Dickhead’s feelings. And he’s most definitely not a gentleman.” The fact that Shin was contacting you again after you thought you had made yourself clear spelled potential trouble. What the hell was he trying to do now?

You were half-worried, half-relieved that Jumin had been there to answer in your place, but unless he tried again, you wouldn’t pay any mind to Shin right now. You had other things to worry about.

“Thank you.” Accepting the phone when Jumin held it out to you, you rose on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His arm came around your waist as if it was the most natural thing to do, steadying you against his side. Then Jumin surprised you by bending his head and bumping his forehead gently to yours. “Is the guy bothering you?”

You closed your eyes and leaned into him, realizing you had missed him although you’d been together the entire previous evening. Spending time with Nami was relaxing and fun, but only Jumin could make the ever-present anxiety that was buzzing at the back of your mind lately feel insubstantial. Just being near him took a chunk of the pressure off your shoulders, like he was sharing the weight of your worries with you instead of letting you get crushed carrying them all on your own.

You allowed it, but only because you planned to pay him back in kind.

A few deep breaths in Jumin’s arms, and you were already feeling better. So you figured you’d trust him with a little bit more of your mental burden. “I’ve told you about Mr. Dickhead before. Remember when you asked why I was playing up a storm that first day we met?”

Leaning back to get a good look at his face, you caught his inquisitive gaze.

“That Shin Young person?”

You nodded, face twisting into a grimace. “He doesn’t seem to be taking no for an answer.” You recounted Shin’s strangely pretentious attempts to win you back, vaguely describing his scheme to drug you during the karaoke night disaster, the new rumors of how he was blackmailing girls into sleeping with him, and how he continued to pester you even though you had repeatedly told him to stop.

As you spoke, you witnessed Jumin’s face shift from neutrally curious to mildly perturbed, flashing through a split-second of visible irritation before it settled on a hair-raisingly calm expression. He seemed indifferent at first glance, his usual poker face—until you noticed his eyes. A flat, cold gray that could only be described as murderous.

“And he keeps trying to contact you.”

You shivered at the controlled fury in the statement. It sat heavy in the air like electricity, raising goosebumps on your skin and making you glad it wasn’t directed at you.

“He approached me on campus too.” You sighed. “Hopefully he’ll stay away now that he’s heard your voice.”

“Finding out a woman is taken shouldn’t be what stops someone from pursuing her.” Jumin glowered, gentling his voice when you winced at the razor edge in his words. “If not your explicit rejection, but you being with another man deters him, he has no respect for you as a person. It means he only sees you as an object currently in someone else’s possession.”

Although the air remained tense, you nuzzled at his jaw in an effort to make him relax. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. He’s acting like he has any right over me just because we used to be an item once, ages ago.” Tired of standing on the balls of your feet despite Jumin supporting you, you lowered yourself back down and rested your cheek against his shoulder instead. “But if that gets him off my back, I’m grateful either way.”

Jumin’s fingers found your chin, disturbing your short-lived rest by gently tilting your face up until your noses were mere inches apart. “I need you to promise me to be careful from now on, Y/N.” The intense chill in his eyes startled you. He was still frighteningly livid, but he was hiding it so well, you would have missed it had he not made you face him like this.

You shuddered. “I am. I’ve been sticking to Nami and not going anywhere on campus or nearby on my own if I can help it.” You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, suppressing an uneasy tremor upon remembering the last encounter with Shin just days ago, when you’d rushed out of a lecture to get to Jumin. “He’s different from before. Now he actually scares me a little. His behavior lately is especially weird, like he’s wrong in the head or something. Trust me, I don’t want to be caught alone with him again.”

The firm but not uncomfortable pressure of Jumin’s hand on your jaw eased just the tiniest bit. “If you see him around, I want you to leave immediately.”

You nodded as far as his grasp allowed. “He’s never been violent, though. I think he’s too much of a coward for that.”

Jumin shook his head, his brows pulled together into an unhappy frown. “We’re not taking any chances. Please?”

“Alright. I promise…” A deep breath. “I promise I’ll run the moment I see him, if I’m by myself.” You bit your lip anxiously. Shin couldn’t very well try anything if other people were around. You didn’t think he had it in him to try anything, period. But as Jumin said, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Jumin’s expression finally softened. “Thank you.” His hand shifted to cup the side of your face, gaze following the path of his thumb across your bottom lip, freeing it from where it was still caught under your teeth. Then he bent his head and captured your mouth in a soft kiss.

It caught you off-guard, although you were getting more and more used to sharing your affection for each other with touch. But kisses were still rare, which made them all the more special.

You closed your eyes, feeling your face flush with heat and your heart pound in your chest as you mindlessly rose towards him, a flower unfurling its petals towards the sun.

Your sun smiled into the deepening kiss. But when he released you, it felt too soon, like you hadn’t basked in his presence long enough yet.

Jumin stepped back, a dusting of pink high on his cheeks. His eyes appeared darker than before, although the kiss had returned the spark of warmth you always found in his gaze whenever he looked at you.

“So, uh…” You licked your lips unconsciously, staring down at your feet because you needed to calm your racing heart. Considering Jumin’s face was the reason for that, you couldn’t look at him again. “I don’t like that Shin found out about us. I don’t want him knowing anything about my personal life.”

“If it means he will stay away from you, I don’t mind.” Jumin paused. Then a soft, almost embarrassed sound escaped him. “Wait, no.” He shook his head, hand gliding down your arm until he clasped your fingers in his. “What I meant to say is, even though we agreed to hold off on redefining this relationship for the moment, I wouldn’t mind Shin Young knowing I am your…lover…? Boyfriend…?” His forehead crinkled, like he wasn’t satisfied with his word choice.

Although it should be the right word for what he was to you, or would be soon, referring to Jumin as your boyfriend sounded strange. It was too mundane a word to call Jumin, but what else should you label him? Your partner? Your beau?

“…that I’m yours,” Jumin finally settled on, emphasizing it with a firm nod of his head.

You fought a grin and lost. It felt more right than all the other options.

Jumin’s lips curved in response to your own, but his smile held a note of something else.

Something lethal.

“Because he should be familiar with the consequences, should he ever lay a hand on you.”

~~~

You said your goodbyes soon after. You hopped on the bus back to Nami, although Jumin wanted to have his driver take you back. You declined that, though, reassuring him that there was no danger in walking around alone as long as you stayed away from campus, or the student dorms you knew Shin lived in. He couldn’t be following you everywhere you went, after all.

Nami and you ended the day with Japanese hotpot and some board games when you got bored of watching more movies, as well as your promised lava cakes. Seeing your best friend’s face light up the moment she scooped some of the gooey, chocolate-y dessert into her mouth was the reward you needed for fulfilling her dessert request.

Would Jumin like lava cakes too?

You shook your head slightly, fighting the treacherous blush that would give you away to Nami. You couldn’t think about Jumin or remember the kiss you’d shared earlier without feeling all warm and fuzzy inside…

Luckily Nami was too busy having a passionate love affair with her dessert. You snorted at the sight of molten chocolate dribbling down her chin from a too enthusiastic bite. Had she always been such a clumsy eater? It was too endearing, really.

You handed her a napkin with a teasing smile, but refrained from saying anything.

After wiping her mouth, Nami suddenly paused with the next spoonful of cake in mid-air. “Hey. Did I tell you my mom’s coming to visit tomorrow?”

Brows lifting, you shook your head no. “Visiting during finals?”

Nami rolled her eyes. “‘Finals are the exact reason she’s coming. She said someone needs to make sure the house is clean and I’m eating properly while focusing on exams.”

“Oh? But she didn’t come for midterms, or last year’s finals…” You gave her a meaningful look.

She made a face. “Yep. Remember when Namu showed up on my doorstep the other day, after fighting with my mom and dad again?”

You nodded, licking your spoon clean of the last traces of melty chocolate.

Nami had had to cancel a study date with you because of her runaway teenage brother’s surprise visit. You just didn’t know what that had to do with their mother visiting now, weeks later.

Nami bit her lip. “Well…he ran into Jaewoo on the way in. And then he must have blabbed at home.”

“Oh.” You scrunched up your nose in sympathy. “So your mom found out about your secret boyfriend, and now she’s coming to meet him?”

Nami gave a miserable nod as she pushed her empty plate away. But you weren’t sure what her unhappy pout lamented more, her mother’s visit or the end of her second lava cake. “All I know is that she’ll be here with a mission. And I can’t let her find out any more than she already knows.”

You didn’t try to hide your confused frown. “Is there something else she doesn’t know about? Aside from Jaewoo?”

Nami froze, then her lips formed into a perfect o, her eyes going wide as saucers. “Oh, gosh, I haven’t told you!”

You blinked slowly, realizing you were missing a crucial piece of information. “Told me what?”

Nami’s face flushed with excitement as she squirmed in her chair, as if the entire day’s worth of sugar you two had consumed together finally hit her bloodstream, all at once. “I got a job. Assistant manager at a first-class florist in Gangnam.”

You gasped, half shocked and half mildly indignant. “You landed such a huge step towards the career of your dreams, in one of the fanciest parts of town, and you forgot to tell me? Are you even Nami So? Who is this imposter!”

Nami squealed with glee when you rose to draw her into a celebratory hug, giggling as she pulled you to bounce up and down with her in a circle instead. You indulged her until you were both breathless from laughter, sinking to the floor to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. But now that you know…”

You smirked in response to the conspiring look she gave you. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure your mom doesn’t find out. But first, tell me more…”

~~~

Monday morning, you felt as ready as ever to put the first of three final exams behind you so you could finally begin a new chapter in your life. Although you kept an eye out for Shin all the way to the auditorium, after meeting up with Nami at the bus stop, he remained nowhere to be seen. Then the doors closed, you took your spots, and your many study sessions with Nami paid off at last.

After the exam, you pointedly avoided talking to Nami or anyone else about your performance, or even comparing answers, as it would only put a dent in the most diligent students’ confidence. Even if it wasn’t as important to you as to everyone else in your major down the line, you wanted to do your best until the very end.

You spent Tuesday afternoon at Jumin’s, trying to coax more powerful emotions out of his piano performance of Chopin’s Scherzo No. 1.

He was dexterous enough to keep up with the fast-paced rhythm of the pounding melody, but his frown gave away how he struggled to match the heated mood of the piece. “I don’t tend to lose my temper,” he explained when you repeatedly asked him to put more volatile emotion, more anger in it. “The closest I can manage is…”

“Shin Young.”

Jumin’s face shuttered instantly. The music turned biting, each note a shock of sharp sound, like he was jabbing the keys instead of merely pressing them. The transition was abrupt and jarring, but it meant he was finally getting personal.

“That’s it. Use it like a spice to adjust the taste of the music.” A pang of guilt pricked you upon seeing his tight expression, the cold in his eyes. You hated to use such a dirty trick, but it was the only thing you could think of that might provoke such a reaction, without mentioning his father, or worse, Rika.

You would never hurt him like that.

As an apology, you fed him petit fours you had picked up from a French bakery on the way, hoping the sweet pastries would erase the bitter taste of Shin’s name on your tongue. Then you parted ways with a lingering kiss that you took the initiative to lay on him this time, leaving you a flustered mess as you waved at him from the closing elevator. He saw you off leaning in his door frame, a languid smile on his face and his hair tousled by your enthusiastic hands.

You hoped it was enough to tide you both over for the rest of the week, as you wouldn’t be seeing each other again before Friday evening.

The entire next day, you and Nami camped in the library for revisions of the second exam subject awaiting you on Wednesday. And once again, your vicinity remained suspiciously Shin-free.

It confused you. Had the call been just one last attempt to reach you? Had Jumin answering it truly deterred him for good? It felt too soon to relax, but swept up in the stress of finals, you were too overwhelmed to pay him much attention anyways.

You breezed through the second exam without realizing you were more than halfway done. Nami and you spent the rest of the day cooped up in the library for one final bout of studying, so you could take the Thursday off for maximum mental recovery before the finishing exam. Near the end of it, Nami received an urgent phone call from her mother and had to take off early, leaving you to tidy up your workspace and sort the books back into the shelves by on your own.

You kept a lookout on your lonesome walk across campus, ready to take off running at a moment’s notice should you spy the familiar, unwelcome face of Shin Young. But though enough lamps were intact to provide sufficient light in the expansive space around you, you barely spotted anyone around this late. The library building was closer to the central train station than to the small bus stop you used every day, so it was normal for you to be on your own for most of the way there.

Then you crossed a dimly lit gap between two buildings and realized you’d made a mistake.

Shin hadn’t given up. He’d been laying low, waiting to ambush you. And your guard was so far down, you didn’t even see it coming.

Until a hand shot out from the narrow alleyway and dragged you into the shadows lurking inside it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 21.5

You opened your mouth before your eyes could adjust to the sudden absence of light. “Take your hands off me, Shin.”

Instead of complying, his grip on your upper arm turned crushing, setting off warning bells in your head at the same time that your nerve endings screamed in protest.

You gritted your teeth to avoid making a sound. Although his face remained swathed in darkness, since he stood between you and the only source of light outside this little alcove he had cornered you in, you glared up at him fiercely. Your attempts to pull away only made his hold tighten.

“Why? Do you think you're too good for a little chat with me?” Shin turned his head sideways in what struck you as a distinctly calculated movement, allowing a streak of light to cut through the murkiness masking his face. The strange glint in his eyes was more unsettling than his words, or the pressure of his hand that wouldn’t ease.

Every limb in your body froze up at once, minutely paralyzed by the primal fear sluicing over your mind like mud, thick and rancid.

“Careful, Y/N, or I might get the impression that you have something against me.” He played his free hand down your arm as he spoke, fingers skipping over the bare skin of your wrist almost sensually, as if he wasn't threatening violence.

Yet despite the casual act, he seemed more than prepared to deal with your resistance when you finally willed your body to move.

Before your fist could meet his nose, he yanked you forward and twisted your arm until you were forced to spin with him to ease the strain on your shoulder.

Your bag hit the ground with an audible thud, your notes and textbooks scattering everywhere. Thrown off balance by the quick turn, you couldn't even fight back before he shoved you into one of the brick walls framing the alleyway on both sides.

There was no time to be relieved he had loosened his vice grip on your arm. On instinct, you reached out to catch yourself against the wall, to keep your face and upper body from colliding with the hard brick. Then Shin’s body crashed into yours from behind, the momentum throwing you forward and catching your hand between your hip and the wall, bent back at the wrist.

You cried out as pain exploded, a sudden jolt of agony that had you rearing up against him frantically to release your abused wrist from the unnatural position.

It worked, but only because you caught Shin off-guard. He pasted himself against your back again a mere moment later. His breath puffed against your neck, too hot, too moist, making you shudder in repulsion as you cradled your throbbing arm protectively to your chest.

“Look at you acting coy with me now, not wanting to be touched even though you've been whoring around with other men.”

White-hot anger bubbled in the pit of your stomach, drowning out the fear, even the throbbing pain in your wrist. All at once, your vision tunneled, all-encompassing fury giving you the courage to act despite your panic.

“Mind your fucking business,” you spat, fighting a futile battle against his unbudging weight still crushing you against the wall. “I don’t owe you shit, Shin.” So why the hell did he keep talking like you were cheating on him, or otherwise had to answer to him? “Stop acting like I’m your—”

“Whore? Maybe you should be.” Suddenly, Shin’s hand was in your hair, tugging your head back roughly. It didn’t exactly hurt, but the aggressive tension in his hold tugged on your scalp unpleasantly. “Or is he your new boyfriend? I doubt it, but you did get over us mighty fast, don’t you think?” A chuckle that sounded closer to an unhinged sneer than any version of humor. “I wonder if you’d still refuse to come back to me even if I paid you to. Isn’t that what he did to get you in his bed?”

He had to be talking about Jumin. But how had things gone backwards like that?

Shin was supposed to give up now that he knew you were taken. Instead, against all your expectations that he was too cowardly to cross the line, he had turned into a damn psychopath.

“That's not—”

“Stop lying, Y/N. Why else would he answer your phone at two in the fucking morning?” More than just incensed, he gave your head a harsh shove, and your temple met the wall hard enough that your vision blurred for a moment. You hadn’t managed to counter his momentum in time, caught off-guard as you’d been by his sudden movement.

“You’re out here pretending to be Virgin Mary when all it takes is a few bills to get past the prude act.” He cackled like he’d cracked the most hilarious joke, but his hand was already wandering inside your open coat and skimming over your hip, to the waistband of your pants. The other one left the back of your head and palmed your chest, squeezing hard enough to rip your knit top and draw another cry from your throat. “Too bad I’m too cheap to pay for a worthless bitch like you.”

Panic filtered through the pain numbing your mind like layers of soaked cotton. Although your head throbbed and your wrist screamed with agony, you struggled against his hold again with all your might, trying to swat his hands off of your body.

Brutishly, Shin twisted you around and crowded right into your space again. The uneven bricks of the wall dug into your back when he grabbed your chin and forced it up.

You had no time to draw in a breath before he bent his head and crushed his mouth to yours. His palm slid over your jaw, fingers digging painfully into your skin when you resisted. Even as his other hand slid towards the crotch of your pants, he kept trying to pry open your mouth to deepen the cruel kiss.

You sunk your teeth into his lip as hard as you could.

Shin recoiled, spitting curses while he cupped a hand over his bleeding mouth.

But when you tried to rush past him, dizzy from the lack of air and the earlier blow to the head, he had his wits about him enough to lash out. His loose fist connected with your mouth.

The taste of blood drowned your senses as your bottom lip split, but as soon as he lunged towards you again, you brought your knee up into his crotch and aimed the base of your hand to his nose.

Shin doubled over with a choked howl.

The sickening crunch of his nose and sudden, coppery warmth on your palm turned your stomach. Ignoring the nauseating sensation, you took off running blindly, your bag’s contents left strewn on the floor. You didn’t even look back to see if he was following you.

You couldn’t stop shaking, not even after you jumped onto the first bus you saw, heedless of where it would take you. Although it was empty, you kept your eyes glued on the windows and doors whenever it slowed down at first, for fear that Shin had come after you after all.

You rode the bus all the way to its final stop, until the adrenaline wore off and you realized you were just a few blocks away from home. So you walked the rest of the way, numb to the October cold because an even worse chill had invaded your body, turning it into an unfeeling, frozen mass that moved with robotic mindlessness and temporarily shut down all feelings and thoughts.

The moment you entered your bedroom, you knew the night was far from over.

Your father sat on your bed, his head cradled in his hands, an opened envelope on his lap. Somewhere in your clouded mind, you recognized the emblem of Gongsang School of Music on its corner, multiple quarter notes forming the cursive letter G on a section of staves.

Your official acceptance letter.

You stared at it apathetically. There was no joy left in your soul.

Victor chirped and left his position on your pillow to greet you.

Your father raised his head at the sound, in time to the door falling shut at your back.

The look on his face told you he wasn’t nearly half as happy to see you as your cat was. He rose, stomping towards you with a viciousness to his every move that would have scared you any other day. Today, it merely bounced off of the raw, bloodied battleground that was your body and mind. Like an arrow missing its target.

You stood there, still trembling, and blankly watched him approach you like a bull running down a red cloth.

The heavy envelope hit your chest and fluttered to the floor.

“You auditioned behind my back.” He appeared blinded by rage, to the point he didn’t even seem to perceive your tattered appearance.

The blood on your face. Your swollen lip. Your torn clothes, and throbbing wrist, and the bruises littering your arms and whatever was exposed of your torso.

Your fight wasn’t over, you realized. You couldn’t break down yet, because this house was not a safe haven anymore.

You squared your shoulders and licked your cracked lips. It stung where Shin had split the bottom one open.

Then you marched past him and grabbed a cardboard box from your windowsill. Jumin’s miniature piano souvenir went in first. Then your music book, a small container of important trinkets you’d kept under your bed, and any other important items you couldn’t leave behind.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

Ignoring the snarled question although the noise made your head pound even more, you gave Victor a regretful look, following it with the silently promise that you would come back for him. You barely managed to hold the heavy box with your aching wrist. You wouldn’t be able to shoulder his carrier and a bag of his things as well.

Finally, you turned to grab the acceptance letter from where it lay by the door.

“Stop that at once!” Your father moved to snatch the envelope from your grip, but your hold on it turned clawed, refusing to surrender to him.

His unrestrained aggression as he tried to wrestle the letter from you sent a fresh wave of agony through your wrist, making you suck in a sharp breath and twist away. The sound of paper tearing ripped like thunder through the room, but you felt enough crinkled layers between your cold fingers to count towards victory. You gritted your teeth through the physical pain until it faded and the black spots disappeared from your vision. Only then did you turn to face the palpable waves of anger scorching your back like too much sunlight.

“I am not a fucking child anymore.”

Your father flinched as if you had struck him. Despite everything, you never dared to talk to him like that. Before.

But you were through with caring about his feelings when he had long stopped caring about yours.

Even though you were finally rebelling, finally fighting for your freedom, you couldn’t muster the strength to look at him while you saw it through to the end.

You turned, shifting the box under your good arm and gripping the door handle with the other, almost numb to the spike of pain it caused.

“Y/N—”

“You can't control my life like you used to. I am an adult, and I make my own decisions. If you can't respect that, then…” You drew in a deep breath and, somehow, banished the tremor from your voice. “I can't live here any more.”

Maybe he was too shocked, or maybe he saw no reason to. He didn’t try to stop you when you left your room with a single box in your hands. Then the apartment.

The door slammed shut behind you.

You made your way to the nearest bus stop, carefully setting the box down beside the seat you sunk into. Instead of taking the bus that would drop you off near Nami's, you let it pass, and fished your phone out of your pants pocket clumsily.

It took you three attempts to dial Nami's number, one-handed. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, Y/N. Sorry for taking off like that earlier. My brother got himself into trouble again. Mom and I are on our way to bail him out.” She spoke quickly, her words breathless and a little strained. Like she'd been running, and stress was catching up to her. “Can I call you back?”

You dropped your head into your hand. “Sure. Sorry to bother you.”

“No worries, babe. Talk later!”< She hung up.

You were glad to have decided against just showing up at her apartment after all. Spending the night with her mother around was one thing, but her brother too?

You cradled your swollen, tender wrist to your chest in hopes that it would stop aching as much. Now that you were calmer, your physical hurt was starting to outweigh the emotional.

And you finally felt the October night biting and slashing at your flesh like a rabid beast. You shivered, pulling the torn edges of your sweater together at the shoulder. Even with your coat on top, the cold pierced through the gaps anyways, like cruel fingertips prodding at a bleeding wound.

Your hands moved on their own, punching in a call to the only other person you could think to ask for shelter right then.

“H-hello?” Johan sounded even worse than you felt. He was hoarse, barely audible through the phone line.

You pressed a trembling hand to your face, feeling yourself slip within inches of your breaking point. “It's…me.”

“Y/N?” His voice shook more than yours. Then a harsh sob broke out of him, startling you into silence.

Your question was forgotten. Instead, your muscles tensed all at once, as if they knew what was coming and attempted to brace for it before your mind realized the same.

The bone-deep anguish in his next words drilled into your very core, etching through what was left of your sanity like acid.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 23

She's gone. Your mother…is gone.
She’s gone.
Your mother is gone.
She’s…gone.

Gone.

The sound of your shattered heart and the tormented wails of your mind drowned out the words repeating in your head like a broken record. The devastating tempest of emotion seemed audible, tangible even, filling the space around you the same way a faint electric charge made the air vibrate just before thunder boomed.

Then the strange buzzing of energy changed its cadence, rising in volume first, then slowing down, and you realized it was too melodious to be the mere harbinger of a storm.

Music. There was music around you.

But why did the music hurt?

Why did it sting your eyes, and burn your chest, and press down on you like a weight that was slowly, unyieldingly crushing you into a million pieces? Why did it feel not like an old friend’s gentle embrace as it always did, but harsh and unwelcoming, like an unpleasant handshake that left your hand throbbing from the excessive force of it?

The painful melody made you dizzy, your head pounding from the alien pressure against your senses. But at the same time, it felt like it was answering to the turmoil within you, like the empty space surrounding you was a strange kind of mirror, throwing the agony and sorrow you exuded back at you as sound waves.

Then the deafening roar around you died down, the emotional chaos in the music unraveling into separate notes that were calmer, quieter…clarity returned.

The vacant room you were in finally registered as familiar to your clouded mind. Jumin’s living room.

The music was coming from the piano in front of you, from under your own hands that trembled and shook on the keys. As if your brain had been missing the visual cue to connect the diffuse ache with its origin, the sight of your swollen and purple wrist sent a shock of pain through your body. Then everything hit you at once.

Shin’s ambush.
Your father’s mindless fury.
Leaving your home, and Victor, behind. Sitting out in the cold, trying to find a place to stay.
Johan’s words.

A fresh bout of anguish had the monochrome keyboard blurring into gray. It took you a moment to realize it was your tears causing the visual distortion, as they sluggishly trickled onto your injured hand. You lowered your head onto the grand piano, feeling numbness set in. Wrapping around you like a shroud. Not even the ugly, hollow twang from the cluster of keys your head hit could cut through the dense haze of your emotions.

You had no memory of how you’d made it to Jumin’s place…but did it even matter?

No wonder you’d thought you could hear your heart breaking earlier. But now the silence hurt even worse than your Tempest had. Your sore temple smarted from the hard edges of the keys, so you turned your head and let them dig into your cheek instead. Cradling your left arm against your chest, you closed your eyes. Although it dulled the pounding in your head a little, it did nothing to stop the flow of tears still seeping from under your lids and wetting Jumin’s precious instrument.

You couldn’t find it in you to care.

Yet your right hand was unable to stay still. All on their own, your fingers crawled over the keyboard, finding the notes to cajole the melody to your favorite Schubert piece out of the instrument. The music felt painfully incomplete without the accompanying chords from your left hand. The way you played it—unsteady and off-key and utterly without heart, only following the silent rhythm of your falling tears—the naked melody was merely a hollow shell of its original.

Just like you.

The apartment door opened behind you.

Your head felt too heavy for your shoulders to ever bear again, so you didn’t bother trying to lift it.

“Y/N! I wasn’t aware you were coming today…” Jumin’s voice trailed off. After a moment of hesitation, the sound of his footsteps tapped closer, too loud on your raw senses, circling around until you could hear the rustle of fabric somewhere in front of you. “…Y/N?”

Why had he not taken his shoes off?

You blinked your bleary eyes open to the sight of Jumin’s blank face. The sideways view of him made you dizzy, so you pushed off the keyboard until your aching head was vertical again.

Jumin took in your appearance—tear-stained and bloodied face, your torn sweater, the injured arm you kept clasped to your chest—and his eyes ignited with the same cold anger from before, the one that felt like it could scorch your skin and give you frostbite at the same time.

“Who did—” He cut his own question short without ending it, reaching out as if to touch you. “Shin Young.” His hand dropped to his side when you shrunk back almost imperceptibly.

You told yourself it was because of his words, and not because your mind seized up and replayed the memory of Shin’s forceful hands on your body.

You shuddered.

Though it must have taken a lot of effort to suppress his ire, Jumin’s expression softened. “May I see your hand?”

Unable to stop the tremors shaking your body, you raised your left arm numbly.

His touch was unbearably gentle. Carefully, he slid back your sleeve to examine the extent of the damage.

The area around your wrist joint was bruised and discolored, swollen to almost twice its size. Jumin exhaled sharply at the sight. “Can you move it at all?”

He waited for you to tentatively bend your hand inward. Although you flinched from the dull pain radiating through your forearm and the base of your hand at the movement, it was bearable. Teeth gritted, you moved it a little in each direction, even managing to bend your fingers the tiniest bit.

Relief colored his words when he spoke again, letting go of your arm and taking a measured step back. “I may not be very knowledgeable in the medical field, but I believe it’s a good sign that movement is possible. I don’t think it’s broken, but…let me take you to a clinic. Please.”

You met his pleading gaze, suddenly, sluggishly realizing he was keeping his distance because he thought you were scared of him.

Then your distraught mind caught at the word clinic, conjuring up images of a hospital bed with a faceless human shape in it, covered head to toe in a white sheet. She’s gone…your mother.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head back and forth. Renewed tears welled up, burning the inside of your lids like hot pin pricks, a physical manifestation of the pain trying to exit your body. A toneless sob wrenched out of your chest, your shoulders shaking from the force of trying to hold back.

“Y/N.” The way Jumin said your name startled you into looking at him. To find out why he sounded like he was in as much pain as you were.

He knelt in front of you. The depth of emotion in his expression felt like he had stolen the tempest from your soul and painted it onto his own face.

It should have scared you. The anger, and pain, and heartbreaking distress vying for dominance on a face that had barely begun to learn how to express itself. Or at the very least confused you. The way the overwhelming blend of contradicting feelings appeared just as real to you as your own.

Yet you found yourself stretching towards him instead, diving into his embrace like you were a shooting star and he was the sky you were falling into.

Jumin caught you, wrapping you in his arms carefully, as if you were a precious and fragile thing he didn’t dare hold too tightly lest he damage you. His hand on your hair felt safe, loving. Somewhere beyond the grief and anguish, a small part of you felt guilt for your involuntary reaction, for making him think you were afraid of him.

You sobbed into his shoulder, mutely at first. Then, somehow, you found the strength and the words to recount the sequence of disastrous events that had broken you down, turned you into a wreck of your former self.

Even when your tears finally ran dry, Jumin continued to hold you in silence.

Only then, lulled into a brittle calm by the steady beat of his heart against your ear and the brush of his palm over your hair, did you manage to breathe past the worst of it, your jagged sobs smoothed out by the peace you found in his arms.

A long time passed with both of you just holding each other, before Jumin finally broke the vulnerable silence. “The other day, you asked me about a time in my life where I felt overwhelming anger at something, and I couldn’t think of one.” Low words, murmured near your ear almost intimately. “But now…the bastard who did this to you is going to feel every last drop of my fury.”

The first thing Jumin did after you’d calmed down, was to rummage through his fridge for something to ice your swollen wrist with. He ended up just wrapping a bunch of ice cubes from his champagne cooler in a cloth, jokingly contemplating whether one of the leftover steaks from his steak cooking practice the prior week might be the better option, as it wouldn’t melt all over the place.

Your chest ached when you realized he was trying to distract you from the pain, even though his last words had proven he was in no mood to be joking around.

Later, he helped you into the backseat of his car, never breaking the contact of your entwined hands as Driver Kim took you not to a hospital, but to a private home in a posh part of town only twenty minutes from the penthouse, where a middle-aged, kind-looking woman invited you in with a cordial smile.

The Han family’s personal physician, Doctor Yi, had her own private practice, as Jumin explained. But her house was stocked with everything she needed for emergencies, in case a matter required immediate medical attention but was time-sensitive or too far from the clinic.

She assessed your wrist with professional gentleness, declaring it sprained and fortunately not broken, and applied stretchy bandages meant to provide support and stability to the joint while the surrounding injured tissue healed itself. You were to keep icing it every chance you got for the next two days, and were banned from using your left hand for the entire coming week, at the least.

When Jumin casually informed her that you were a pianist and had abused your poor wrist by playing right after suffering the injury—earning him some exasperated huffing from you and a heavy sigh from the kind doctor—she extended your period of rest to two weeks and told you to come see her halfway through, to gauge the recovery process and decide whether rehabilitation measures could be initiated.

Jumin’s reaction to your unhappy scowl had your irritation dissolving into thin air as fast as it had formed.

“Y/N.” Those vivid gray eyes burned with an incandescent intensity that caught you off-guard, a glimpse of his very heart in the fervent way he gazed at you. “You’re a brilliant musician. Your hands need to be in their best condition to keep doing what you do. I would prefer you take as much rest as necessary to ensure complete healing rather than ending up with long-term issues.”

He looked to Doctor Yi for support, and she gave him an approving nod. “If the ligaments and nerves aren’t left to heal properly, there’s a risk of neural compression, chronic pain, or probably worst for you, impaired mobility. It’s just a moderate sprain, but rushing recovery can lead to more issues than the initial injury.”

Thus faced with the serious consequences, you couldn't help your dejected sigh. It seemed that being stubborn about this would do you more harm than good.

“You don’t want me to have to replace my piano teacher, right?” Mirth danced in Jumin’s eyes like flecks of light, a startling contrast to the fierce intensity from before. And yet, his low words did nothing to conceal his worry.

Although you could see the shadows of anger lingering in those gray depths, lurking since you’d told him of Shin’s ambush, your lips twitched against your will.

Then Jumin leaned in to whisper in your ear, dealing the final blow to your resistance. “I will play for you, love. Anything and everything you want.”

~~~

Despite your protests, Jumin took you back to his apartment, insisting that you stay with him although you asked him to recommend a nearby hotel or two. Of course, he simply refused to let you go somewhere on your own.

Instead, he lent you a pair of his silk pajamas, helped you button them up over the tank top you kept on underneath, and tucked you into his own bed, in his own bedroom.

You stopped yourself from pointing out that he had several guest rooms you could sleep in. The truth was, you felt safer surrounded by his scent, and a strangely well-behaved Elizabeth The 3rd perched on the pillow next to your head.

And Jumin insisted that he wasn’t tired at all, that he still had some things to do. The wicked glimmer in his eyes alongside those words had you shivering, knowing you couldn’t stop him from executing whatever plans he had devised since your emotional breakdown.

Doctor Yi had looked at your other injuries as well, applying antiseptic and band-aids to the cuts on your lip and temple, and even requesting for Jumin to step out so she could talk to you about the assault.

Both Jumin and you had refused to be separated. Jumin already knew everything about the incident, and you hadn’t wanted him to leave your side, although Doctor Yi ‘s presence was gentle and calming.

And when, in the end, she had asked if you wished to formally report the incident as a case of sexual assault, it had been Jumin who answered in your place. “Yes. Report him. That scum isn’t getting away with any of this anymore.”

As you lay in the dark with only Elizabeth The 3rd’s soft purring as background noise, after Jumin had pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and walked out, leaving the door cracked behind him, you felt tears prick at your eyes again.

But none of it had to do with the physical pain, or the emotional wounds your parents—this entire day—had inflicted on you.

You cried because you were overwhelmed with love and gratitude for Jumin, who had somehow found his way into the deepest, most vulnerable part of your heart and was doing his best to protect it, protect you. He was taking care of you, fighting for justice on your behalf. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know what he had in stock for Shin, but every single one of Jumin’s actions and words today—his silly jokes, his anger for you, the quietly intense “good night, my love” he’d left you with—had helped ease some of your pain and brought a flicker of light into the murky abyss of your emotions.

As you fell asleep to the calming purrs of his cat, your mind was full of Jumin Han’s smiles, his rare laughter, the profound affection in his gaze whenever he looked at you.

And you hoped with every fiber of your being that you would get to spend the rest of your life receiving the precious gift that was Jumin’s love.

While giving him your own.

It turned out there was something—someone—other than music to adore in this world.

~~~

Jumin Han made a phone call.

He was very familiar with the dean of Y/N’s business school, as C&R International had a habit of offering internship positions to their students in exchange for alumni recommendations and representation at college-hosted recruitment fairs.

C&R also sponsored a big part of the collegial events and provided financial support to fund scholarships and material aids for the less fortunate students.

The dean was more than happy to comply with the small favor the director of C&R International asked of him.

Jumin Han’s face held a chilling smile as he dialed the next number on his list. And the next.

If he couldn’t make Shin Young cease to exist in the literal sense, he would do everything in his power to end the man’s existence in every other possible meaning of the word.

Bloodless murder concluded, Jumin Han shrugged on his coat and had his driver take him to Y/N’s house.

Despite the late hour, her father was awake.

Jumin Han did not care whether it was out of concern for his daughter, or merely the usual nighttime routine. He rang the door, willing his features into icy indifference, though he held just as much rage at Y/N’s father as he did at her scum assailant.

When the door opened, Jumin Han handed over his business card with a look that allowed no room for defiance. “I have come for my employee’s belongings.” He stepped past the perplexed parent and found his way into Y/N’s room, accompanied by the curious steps of her furry little companion.

Packing a bag for her was simple. He ignored the speechless gaze of her father uncertainly looming in the doorway, emptied half of her closet into a suitcase…and found himself compelled to bring more.

The cat—Victor, as he recalled—rubbed against his ankles once, twice, then entered his blanket-lined carrier as if silently asking to be brought along.

Had he been in any other frame of mind, Jumin Han might have smiled.

But all he did was secure the clever feline in his carrier, grab the full suitcase, and leave Y/N’s heartless home behind.

Outside, another surprise awaited.

A tall, lanky man leaned by the entrance to the apartment complex. It took only one look at his swollen nose and bloodied, torn lip for Jumin Han to recognize him. “Shin Young.” He placed the suitcase and cat carrier on the ground a safe distance behind him.

“Oh?” The scum’s eyes glittered with derision. “You must be the bitch’s new toy…or maybe she’s yours.” He sauntered closer, pretended to look Jumin up and down, taking in the wrinkled suit that had weathered a stormy day at work and a storm of the other, emotional kind, after. “You look like you have more money than her. If I were you, I’d lock away my wallet somewhere nice and safe when she’s around.”

Jumin Han’s smirk was so cold, it cut deeper into flesh than the October night chill. “From what I've heard, the one who was only after one thing was…you.” He didn’t bother with pleasantries, because this scum deserved none. “And I am quite certain it wasn’t money in your case.”

Shin Young’s face distorted into an ugly mask of anger, the fragile thread of his temper snapping faster than even Jumin had anticipated. He crowded nose to nose with him, a single finger prodding Jumin’s chest in barely withheld aggression.

Jumin Han’s expression hardened.

Only then did Shin seem to realize he’d been about to cross a line, one he would not be allowed to return from beyond.

The scum withdrew from the razor edge of violence, though his control of himself flimsy at best. “Friendly piece of advice. If you haven’t slept with her yet, better hurry up before she decides she’s too good for you.” Shin spat on the ground by Jumin’s feet. “Use that bitch like she deserves to be used, then get rid of her before she can throw you away.”

Jumin’s entire body tensed at the nasty smile that told him his opposite was imagining things worthy of a lawsuit.

Soon. Everything was set in motion already. Jumin just had to be patient now. Luckily, patience was one of his strong suits…but the scum went too far.

“That’s the only thing a whore like her is good for anyways. To spread those legs and—”

Jumin Han failed to recall making the conscious decision to move. The next thing he knew, his fist was throbbing, and Shin Young doubled over, gasping and wheezing as thick blood dripped from his shattered face like syrup.

Jumin Han searched for his usual composure and found it gone, frozen by the glacier of his fury. His face was a mask of ice that reflected the state of his mind when he grabbed Shin by the collar and straightened him against the stone wall at his back, not even attempting to be gentle.

The scum whined and whimpered, blood oozing past the hands he pressed to his nose and mouth.

Jumin Han patiently waited until he lifted his head.

Tears mixed with the blood on Shin’s face that was contorted with pain and fear, his expression matching the pathetic coward that he was, at last. It was a satisfying sight.

“You did me a favor by showing up here, though it makes you the worst kind of fool.” Shards of ice lined Jumin's every word, digging into the coward’s skin with the tactile sensation of razor-sharp icicles. “I had decided not to come looking for you for Y/N’s sake. But since you saved me the trouble and came by yourself, let me make one thing clear.”

Dangerous fury glittered in his eyes when he shoved the other man against the wall so hard, his head smacked into it with a thud that elicited a strained groan. More blood dribbled from Shin’s nose and bloodied teeth and onto Jumin’s patent leather shoes. And yet Jumin’s jaw was a hard, unyielding line that promised more pain should Shin make the slightest wrong move—now or in the future.

“I’m neither a proponent of violence, nor do I like to make my hands dirty, and since I already ended your life in every way that matters, I am letting you off with a generous warning right now. Too generous, really.” He let go of Shin’s collar, watched him slide down the wall and collapse in a trembling, sniveling heap by his feet.

With unhurried movements, Jumin Han pulled a gray handkerchief embossed with initials from the front pocket of his coat, and proceeded to wipe his bloody knuckles with it. Then he crouched, deliberately slow, to clean the blood off his stained shoes. He stayed there, eye to eye with the quivering scum once again as he gave his final warning. “Should you ever come near her, or lay your filthy hands on her again, I will personally make your life so miserable, you will wish you were dead.”

Jumin Han flicked the soiled handkerchief into Shin’s bruised and already swelling face and stood, turning on his heel and disappearing down the street with the cat carrier and suitcase in hand.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 23

You came awake in half-darkness, with the distinct sense that you weren’t alone.

Blinking against the strange interplay of faint light in the corner of your vision and dense shadows swathing the majority of what your brain belatedly recognized as Jumin’s bedroom, you attempted to sit up—and found a familiar weight on your chest.

A monochrome face peered at you from where it had been tucked under white-socked paws, drowsy indigo eyes holding a silent question.

Shock had you freezing in the middle of the motion, before you could straighten your torso completely and knock down the tuxedo cat resting on top of you. “V-…Victor!?” You sat up carefully, catching him on your lap when he slid down your front.

His response was a slow blink, after which he leisurely stretched upwards to lick the tip of your nose in greeting.

You blinked back, still shocked to find your cat here—in Jumin’s apartment—, but let him nuzzle your face. ”Hello to you, too.”

The sound of a throat being cleared.

You flinched so hard, you almost startled Vic into leaping off of you. And then you remembered the cat wasn’t the presence you had sensed nearby.

When you looked up, you found Jumin seated in an armchair by the window, framed by a halo of sunlight from a narrow gap in the heavy blackout curtains that effectively kept the rest of the room in near total darkness.

“Good morning.” His head remained lowered as he spoke, but the light caught in the glossy dark strands of his hair, making it appear lighter, soft honey undertones in what you’d thought was pure black.

You realized his hands were moving, glanced down to see him poke a square piece of silky gray fabric with a thick needle. A handkerchief? Not even awake for five minutes, and already you had made not one, but two shocking discoveries. What else did this day have in stock for you?

“Morning…” Although you were dying to know how Victor was here, your mind had other plans. “Is that embroidery?”

This time, he raised his head.

You found yourself staring when your brain registered the slim pair of frameless glasses on his nose. Strike number three. Jumin wore glasses!?

He hummed affirmatively. “Cross-stitching. It’s a hobby of mine.”

Closing your eyes, you rubbed the heel of your hand over them. And opened again. But Jumin was still there, wearing glasses and cross-stitching a handkerchief in a sunlit corner of the room.

This time, however, something else caught your attention.

A white bandage covered the back of his right hand.

Yet again, your tongue disconnected from your brain and acted all on its own. “What happened to your hand?” It was glaringly obvious with the way the white gauze seemed to reflect the sunlight. You had no idea how you could have missed it at first glance.

Cheeks dusted pink, Jumin flipped the gray handkerchief back over his hand, and you realized he’d been hiding it from you.

You relaxed a little. Until he answered your question.

“I wasn’t paying attention and got it caught in the car door.” He was avoiding your eyes when he said that.

“Sure you did.” You leveled him with a glare, not even bothering to hide your suspicion.

His stubborn refusal to meet the challenge in your gaze, coupled with the fact that his face was still flushed…it was kind of endearing.

You let it go with a sigh, though not without rolling your eyes and resolving not to let his charms disarm you in the future. “Whatever. How come Victor is here?”

Finally, he looked at you. The sun warmed his eyes into a shade closer to liquid silver than their usual calm gray.

It was such an unexpectedly captivating sight, you almost missed his next words in your fascination. So much for being immune to his charms…

“I brought him. And a suitcase full of your things.”

Then the words reached your brain and your jaw dropped. “You went to my house?”

A mute nod, his gaze back on the needlework in his hands. But he was fidgeting more than doing any serious stitching now.

The insistent buzzing of your phone saved him from the rest of the conversation. You checked it and found a message from Nami, asking if you wanted her to call you about yesterday, and if today’s study session was still on.

You texted back slowly, hindered by the stiff bandage keeping your left hand and fingers mostly immobilized. Rain check on today. Tell you on Friday. You ended with a heart emoji and had just hit send, when the tangible intensity and weight of a certain someone’s gaze prompted you to glance up expectantly.

“By the way…” Jumin’s carefully blank expression didn’t fool you, but he seemed to think it could. The change of topic came as no surprise. “You’re not required to go in tomorrow. I requested to have your final exam changed into digital format instead. I hope that was okay.” A whisper of hesitation in his eyes, as if he wanted to say more.

But though you waited, he lapsed back into silence.

Putting your phone away, you nodded slowly as Vic resettled himself on your blanket-covered thighs. “Thank you.” You sure weren’t looking forward to going back to campus and potentially running into Shin, not when he might blow up on you in front of everyone after yesterday’s incident…

You shuddered. If you had your way, you preferred to never see him again. Skipping tomorrow’s in-person exam was the first step to achieving that.

Even if it felt like abandoning Nami at the last hurdle.

You decided that you would just have to make it up for her afterwards, maybe with dinner, or some more homemade desserts.

Ah. You stared down at your bandaged wrist, resting on top of Vic’s silky black flank. There was probably no baking in your foreseeable future, at least until you were allowed to use your hand again. Unless…

Your eyes went to Jumin, who visibly flinched and turned his head away once more.

The feeling that he’d done something increased. He was acting so obviously guilty, it was almost comical. But you decided not to pursue whatever he was keeping from you just yet.

First, you’d get him to be your hands, play something for you as he’d promised, and possibly even help you with baking. Knowing him, he’d be keeping you here at least until your injury was better, so you’d have plenty of time to unearth his secrets.

Hoisting Vic up on your shoulder one-handed, because he didn’t seem to want to detach himself from you, you climbed out of bed and padded to the adjoining bathroom. You figured the little coward would leave as soon as you turned on the water anyways.

Jumin’s voice sounded from behind you. “There’s a bag of toiletries in the cabinet below the sink. If you want to shower, I left your suitcase outside. Would you like me to bring it?”

You turned, found him leaning in the doorframe, his hands buried in the pockets of the soft linen pants he seemed to prefer at home.

The glasses hung loosely in the V of his long-sleeved cotton shirt, leaving his face bare but for the warmth in his eyes and the smile flirting with the corners of his lips as he watched you cuddle your cat.

It seemed Jumin was done avoiding you. You liked him better this way.

It was impossible not to return his smile, faint as it was. “Yes, please.”

When he stepped out, you used the chance to smack a kiss on top of Vic’s head and put him down outside the bathroom, figuring you’d save him the trauma. “I’m just going to wash up, I’ll be back soon.” Purring, he brushed around your ankles a few times, and you realized you hadn’t thanked Jumin for picking him up yet.

You’d have to do that later. Right after you got him to make you breakfast. You briefly wondered what other perks you’d be able to squeeze out of him for as long as you were limited to one usable hand.

Hiding your grin when Jumin returned, you let him unzip the suitcase for you, having put it down just outside the bathroom door for easy access. “Thanks.”

He nodded in response, turned to leave, but paused mid-step. “Do you, uh…need any help?”

Feeling your ears burn, you shook your head hastily, though a part of you was amazed to see a blush transforming Jumin’s own face into a flustered mess when he seemed to belatedly realize what his offer implied. “Because…your hand…”

“I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, unable to look at him again. “But thanks.”

“I’ll be outside.” He turned on his heel and almost stumbled in his haste to leave the room.

Through your embarrassment, you realized that Vic followed after him, tail raised in a straight line. Forgetting all about you.

Grumbling under your breath about cats and their loyalties, you bent to grab a change of clothes from your suitcase.

And realized Jumin had packed you underwear, too.

Face igniting anew, you picked a few random pieces of clothing and slammed the bathroom door shut behind you.

After a clumsy but doable one-armed shower, you rejoined Jumin and a suspiciously clingy Victor in the living room, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants with your wet hair twisted into a makeshift towel turban.

To his credit, Vic came back to your side as soon as he saw you, acting like he hadn’t just been all over Jumin instead of sticking by his owner. You caught him staring at a particularly haughty-looking Elizabeth The 3rd where she sat on top of the piano in the middle of the room, even as he strategically situated himself on the leather sofa next to you in a way that allowed him to continue observing her.

Interesting.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Tearing your attention away from the cats, you turned back to Jumin who leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as he awaited your response. You noted how his gaze lingered on your temple and bruised lip, both of which you had removed the band-aids from before showering and not bothered to put new ones on. “Anything is fine.”

He nodded slowly, but you thought you saw a touch of familiar frost in his eyes before he looked away. “Coffee?”

“Sure.” You considered following to the kitchen to keep him company while he made breakfast, and to make sure he didn’t get himself worked up about Shin again, but Vic stretched his front legs across your lap as if disapproving of your thoughts. Somewhat reluctantly, you stayed put and petted him instead, until his eyes closed in feline bliss and he melted into the sofa under your touch.

Chuckling softly, you reclined into the cushions, good hand resting on Vic’s soft belly. That’s when your eyes caught on the handkerchief on the coffee table, a little distance away. You reached for it gingerly—to Vic’s drowsy meow of complaint—, managing to grab hold of it and lean back again without displacing your grumbling cat.

You straightened out the soft fabric to the best of your one-handed ability to properly inspect the details on it.

It was plain but for the bottom left corner of the dark gray silk square. There, two letters were embroidered in thick black thread, J. H., the elegant cursive font reminiscent of calligraphy. When you lifted the handkerchief to your face to take a closer look at the stitching, you noticed how the thread crisscrossed in dozens of tiny X shapes, the lines neat and perfect even from the back.

It seemed Jumin’s hobby wasn’t just a casual pastime. You hadn’t expected him to actually be this good at it. Wasn’t there anything this man didn’t excel at?

Lost in thought, you let the handkerchief glide back onto the table. “Jumin?”

A few seconds passed before his head poked out through the kitchen doorway. “Hm?”

You bit your bottom lip, winced when a twinge of pain reminded you the area was still tender. “Did…did my dad give you trouble when you went for my stuff?” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t imagine how that interaction must have taken place.

An almost smug expression as he shook his head, but you saw the minuscule way his eyes tightened. “No.”

Unspoken was the fact that your father couldn’t have done much to stop him anyways. As director of a huge enterprise, Jumin Han had a way of getting what he wanted, even when the odds were against him.

Sighing softly and not knowing whether it was in relief or something else, you let your head fall against the headrest. “Good.”

A while later, Jumin brought out two huge plates, putting both down on the coffee table in front of you. He disappeared again to return with a tray holding a steaming mug, sugar, cream, and utensils.

Then he proceeded to unplug a slim laptop from where it was charging beside the TV and sat down with it across from you. At your questioning look, he shrugged lightly. “I already had breakfast. I’ve been up for a while.”

Considering it had to be way past noon already, you were surprised that Jumin was at home in the first place. Then again, you suspected he hadn’t gone into work because he may have been reluctant to leave you alone after yesterday’s events…

Careful not to disturb a snoozing Victor, you turned towards the food waiting on the table. On one plate, rivulets of syrup ran down a stack of thick, fluffy pancakes loaded with thinly cut strawberries. On the other, two poached eggs sat on halves of toasted breakfast rolls, topped with a creamy yellow sauce and sprinkled with chives. Strips of crispy bacon and an expertly sliced avocado completed the dish you hadn’t even known Jumin was capable of making. A tiny pitcher with more sauce sat on the tray, beside a tub of extra syrup.

You went to dig in and remembered you could only use one hand. Both dishes needed two.

Jumin moved, setting aside his computer for as long as it took to scoot closer and grab the fork and knife, cutting up everything on the plates into bite-sized pieces.

You watched him as he worked in silence. “I didn’t know you could make eggs benedict.”

Once again, he looked like you had caught him in the middle of something illegal. “I, well…I didn’t know until yesterday.” He cleared his throat softly, then pushed the tray back over to you. His downturned gaze gleamed with unexpected shyness when he added, low-voiced, “…but the pancakes are my specialty.”

You blinked, confused, until the meaning of his quiet words finally filtered through to your stunned brain. Then tenderness filled your chest with the flutter of a thousand butterfly wings.

Once again, Jumin had learned something new for your sake, a by now familiar way he expressed his care for you.

Overwhelmed by emotion, you reached for the coffee to busy yourself, to overplay the fact your eyes had become watery at what was the equivalent of a love confession coming from Jumin. Two spoonfuls of sugar and a generous dash of cream later, you stirred and raised the mug to your lips for a taste.

Creamy and just sweet enough to cut through the natural bitterness of the coffee beans. Just how you liked it.

You raised your head with a satisfied smile and caught Jumin staring intently at your mouth. At first you thought he was looking at your split lip again, until you unconsciously licked the remnant taste of coffee from your lips and found that his gaze followed the movement.

Transfixed as he appeared, he seemed unaware of what he was doing when he leaned in the tiniest bit…until his hand cupped the side of your face and he caught your startled gasp in a soft, open-mouthed kiss.

You let your eyes flutter shut, startled by the electric feeling of his tongue against your parted lips, your hands lifting to grab hold of something—anything, him—when your world skewed.

It was a short kiss, unbearably gentle, as if he took special care not to aggravate your sore bottom lip, but sweetened by sugar and the curve of Jumin’s mouth as he smiled into it. And it ended as fast as it had begun.

Jumin sat back, and you had to let go of his shirt, feeling your face tingle.

You let out a husky chuckle, fixing your eyes on the breakfast tray in front of you until your scrambled brain cells realigned again. “You could have just asked if you wanted a taste of my coffee.” You took a shaky sip of said coffee, more to calm yourself than to drink, only to choke on the hot liquid at Jumin’s next words.

“It wasn’t for the coffee, but now I’ve found my new favorite kind—it’s Y/N-flavored.”

As you coughed awkwardly to try and clear your airways, you vaguely glimpsed Vic throwing you an indignant look through your teary eyes. Then he simply rose and padded to the other side of the sofa to continue his nap undisturbed by his silly human.

Barely a day here and he was already acting like Elizabeth The 3rd. Shaking your head as soon as you could breathe again, you picked up the fork and began your meal while Jumin returned to his laptop as if nothing happened.

By the time you finished, having eaten as much as you could from both scrumptious breakfast dishes, Jumin was packing up the folders and laptop he’d been working on, and took them into his office. He came back to clear away the plates and top up your coffee, as well as bring you a tall glass of water. “I have a meeting in five minutes, and two conference calls after that. Feel free to amuse yourself whichever way you want to until I’m done with work.”

He brought you the TV remote and showed you how to enable its wifi-mode to watch anything you liked. But instead of walking away after, he took a seat beside you almost cautiously, placing an ice pack and a paper bag with painkillers provided by Dr. Yi on the coffee table.

“Are you…how are you feeling?” Wary shadows in those gray eyes as they caught on the battered parts of your face again. At that moment, he looked more serious than you’d seen him since coming home to find you unraveling over his piano yesterday. The entire rest of the night, he had joked around and made sure to act deliberately lighthearted to cheer you up.

But now you realized that, underneath all that, he was still anxious for you, worried about your mental well-being even after doing everything he could to ensure you were physically taken care of.

“I’m feeling much better, thanks to you.” Unwilling to hide any part of you from him, after everything he’d done for you, you allowed the nervous chuckle caught in your tightening throat to escape. “A tad scared of the final exam, maybe. I should probably use the downtime today and do some studying…”

He searched your face for several long seconds. Whatever he found in your expression seemed to satisfy him, because he gave a firm nod and stood. “I’m leaving my office door open. If you need me, call. I will come.”

“Alright.” You gave him a genuine smile, hoping he could see in it how much his continued support meant to you.

“Take these if your head still hurts, and put some ice on your wrist. I will see you soon, love.” Pressing a tender kiss to your hair, Jumin withdrew into his office.

Leaving you to wonder when he’d gotten so good at allowing the emotions in his heart out into the world, in the shape of words and actions that overflowed with them and painted those they touched with the warmth of sunlight.

~~~

Using the smart TV to access the digital study materials on your college’s online education platform—after recalling the fate of your books at Shin’s feet—, you did some revising while holding the ice pack to your wrist for short periods of time in between. After, when you felt your brain had been stuffed full enough, you zapped through the channels for a while…but found something more interesting to watch outside of the TV.

Victor, you realized, was a cunning little beast. He showed you a whole new side of him when he finished his nap and decided to occupy himself getting close to Elizabeth The 3rd instead.

Eyes firmly on the object of his desire, who dozed elegantly on the rug just beyond the coffee table, Vic carefully positioned himself in the Persian cat’s blind spot. From there, he proceeded to prowl closer at a slow but steady pace, freezing in his tracks whenever she became aware of his attempts to sneak up on her. It was like a hilarious, more entertaining game of red light, green light, if not for the fact that Elizabeth was too absorbed in her nap—only broken by lazy episodes of grooming—to maintain her scrutiny of the brazen intruder for long.

That was how, a good half hour later, you found the two relaxing on the same rug less than a few feet apart. Victor appeared obviously pleased with himself for having gotten this close without being chased off, ears twitching while he sat with his black and white paws outstretched towards the standoffish white-furred beauty that seemed to have stolen his little heart.

You didn’t bother breaking said heart by pointing out Elizabeth The 3rd wasn’t protesting his impudent advances because she gleaned him not even worthy of paying attention to. You merely observed as he sidled up to her, over and over, with an impressive patience, even after she grew insulted by his vicinity and relocated to a different spot more than once.

At some point, Elizabeth came to sit next to you on the sofa, as if deciding that you were the lesser evil of the two. Vic stretched out to your other side, round eyes attuned to every sassy flick of Elizabeth The 3rd’s tail even then.

Yet that still wasn’t close enough for him, apparently. The sneaky tuxedo cat hopped onto the backrest and crept along the leather behind you, paw after patient paw, until he was perched one level above his target.

Right then, Elizabeth The 3rd finally seemed done with this little game. Making the most human-like face of annoyance, she placed a deliberate paw on your knee and glanced up at Victor, as if telling you to ‘do something about this nuisance’. “Isn’t he yours?”, her blue eyes seemed to say when she cocked her head in obvious demand for intervention.

Snorting in amusement, you grabbed Victor and cradled him in your arms like a baby while stretching out on the sofa with your head on one armrest. To his credit, he stayed put, too tempted by the prospect of taking a nap with you to keep stalking Elizabeth like the insistent admirer he was evolving into.

You ended up dozing off for a little bit, although you weren’t physically tired. But your eyes closed all by themselves, lulled to sleep by a chorus of purrs and the not unpleasant background noise of low voices coming from Jumin’s office now that the TV was off.

When you woke a while later, roused by soft piano music, you found Jumin playing with Victor on the stool next to him, one paw dangling casually in the air.

A tuft of fur tickled your face as you sat up. Elizabeth The 3rd was nestled on the armrest next to your head. You blinked.

The wrong cat, technically. But when had she grown so content with being this close to you? Before yesterday, she would barely even tolerate you two being in the same space together.

Taking care not to startle her, you reached out to tentatively run a finger over her soft forehead. She surprised you by closing her eyes and leaning into your hand just a little, as if she was allowing your touch only to personally put your petting skills to the test.

You smiled, feeling the beginnings of a purr vibrate within her chest as you expertly scratched behind her ears. It seemed you were starting to earn her approval.

Or maybe she was just trying to get back at Victor for hijacking her own human by doing the same back to him…

Snorting, you looked up and met two pairs of eyes trained on you unexpectedly, two tilted heads side by side wearing the same innocently curious expression.

Before you noticed, you were giggling at the sight. After months of secretly comparing the two in your head more times than you could recall, seeing them next to each other like that told you just how accurate that comparison had been.

The music stopped. “What’s so funny, sleepyhead?”

You waved him off with a grin, rising from the sofa to stretch until the stiffness left your limbs. “Just pondering the reason why Vic is so attached to you. Maybe it’s because you’re both into suits?” You bit the inside of your cheeks when your own joke, lame as it was, threatened to set you off again. But you managed to contain your amusement and walked over to tickle your tuxedo kitty’s chin, all the while avoiding the question contained in the clueless look on Jumin’s face. “Never mind. How long was I asleep for?”

His hands picked up the slow, ambient tune he’d been playing even as his head remained turned your way. “I finished work around half an hour ago. You were fast asleep by then, so I’m not sure exactly how long your nap was.”

Jumin’s smile awakened in you the urge to pet him too, like you had Victor. So you reached out to tap the tip of his nose with one finger, realizing too late that he may not appreciate being treated like a cat.

But Jumin, too, surprised you. Face scrunching up in playful complaint, he dodged your hand and snapped his teeth mischievously, aiming as if to bite your finger. “Meow.”

Laughter bubbled up inside you. You lifted your fingertip to his face again, delighted that he would play with you like this, while he continued his efforts to evade you.

Eventually, with the help of Victor who distracted Jumin by strutting across the keyboard noisily, you managed to land a hearty boop on Jumin’s nose, forcing him to admit defeat. In lieu of a white flag, he grabbed Vic and swung him in the air, all the while laughing at your visible indignation on behalf of the cat.

Rolling your eyes, you rescued your furbaby from the terrible abuse—notwithstanding that he seemed to be enjoying it, if you considered his continuous purring. Something told you he wouldn’t complain no matter what, as long as he was on the receiving end for Jumin’s attention.

It seemed he came after his owner…

Jumin tugged gently at a strand of your hair, summoning your absent mind back to the present. “Are you hungry? I was waiting for you to wake before deciding on dinner.”

You had done some studying before falling asleep on the sofa, so your day hadn’t been entirely spent just napping and watching TV. “I could eat something.”

Jumin smiled when Victor climbed up your arms and settled across your shoulders like a sentient scarf. “I can have Driver Kim pick up anything you want.”

“Hmm…” You nuzzled back when Vic rubbed his face against yours, steadying his butt with your hand to make sure he wouldn’t fall like he tended to during such overzealous acts of affection. “How about we just order pizza? Give poor Driver Kim a break.”

And you were pretty sure Jumin had never had pizza delivered before. He was probably used to eating pizza with a knife and fork in fancy, expensive restaurants that considered eating with your hands as barbaric and disgraceful behavior.

The more you considered it, the more appealing the idea seemed to you. “Yes, let’s.”

Jumin looked mildly daunted. “Are you sure?”

Judging by the way he ducked his head, your grin might have been a touch diabolical. “What’s your favorite pizza?”

~~~

Teaching Jumin how to eat pizza like a normal person ended up being more fun than you’d thought it would be. He was shocked to find out the delivery guy was paid and tipped for bringing ’just pizza in crude cardboard boxes’, and even more scandalized when you demonstrated how to eat it without procuring any cutlery first. After every measured bite, he would wipe his lips and hands clean thoroughly, only to look pained when picking up the slice once again.

You spent only half of dinner time eating, too busy laughing at his inconsolable expression after he asked for permission to use silverware three bites in and you joked that being with you meant that he’d have to eat pizza like a commoner for the rest of his life.

Afterwards, he kept his promise to play for you, serenading you to your heart’s content. He even asked for the sheet music of the piece you’d composed and performed at the audition, curious to attempt to play it himself.

Watching him play Heart’s Awakening off of the pages of your music book, listening to the melody you’d painstakingly crafted flowing from underneath his hands, was an experience you could only describe as magical. It was as if the piece needed his rendition to feel complete, much like it portrayed both sides of a love confession, the voices of two people sharing their feelings with each other.

Yours…and his.

He was clumsy at sight-reading and needed several minutes to get acquainted with the piece well enough to smoothly reproduce it. But then, as he played, his eyes kept skittering away from the sheet music and to you instead, simultaneously adding emotion to the music while the tune jolted the slightest bit off-rhythm whenever he lost sight of the notes, mimicking the way your heart seemed to skip a beat in your chest every time his gaze found yours.

When he’d reached the end, he looked almost bashful closing the fallboard. “It’s magnificent. I couldn’t do it justice, but you’ve created a masterpiece.”

The praise caused your cheeks to heat and your thoughts to stall. “It was you, you know.”

Only after taking in his bewildered expression did you realize you’d spoken out loud.

His forehead creased at the same time that he swiveled around on the stool. When he was fully facing you in your usual spot beside the piano, he tilted his head the familiar Victor-way. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. What was me?”

In an effort to calm your nerves, you rubbed a sweaty palm back and forth over the top of the piano, as if a genie might appear in a cloud of smoke and miraculously whisk you away from this conversation. But nothing happened. Jumin was still eyeing you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Trapped in this dead end, you now had to weather through the situation you’d thoughtlessly gotten yourself into.

You looked away, unable to meet his eyes as you laid your soul bare. “My muse.” A barely audible whisper, the hushed confession radiating tangible embarrassment into every part of your body. “You said you were jealous of whoever acted as my muse for this, but…” Your fingertips squeaked noisily across the instrument’s smooth surface. “…it was you all along.”

The ensuing silence unnerved you, so you dared glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

Jumin merely stared at you, uncomprehending, as if a bout of complete gibberish had left your mouth.

A few awkward heartbeats passed, making you wish you’d shut up after the first uncontrolled words you had blurted out with.

Jumin rose with no warning and almost hastily walked off towards the kitchen.

You stared after him, speechless, confused, and more than a little unnerved by his peculiar reaction.

When you followed behind, you found him pouring himself a glass of wine on the kitchen counter.

“…Jumin?”

Even though he couldn’t have taken a single sip yet, his face glowed a translucent red up to the tips of his ears.

You blinked. Was he…blushing?

“Y/N…give me a moment, please.” To your complete and utter shock, Jumin chugged the entire glass he’d just finished pouring while you looked on with wide eyes.

Then he put the empty wine glass down with so much force, you heard the stem of it crack.

You flinched at the impact. “J-Jumin!”

The smile on his face caught you off-guard. A husky chuckle broke out of him, before he grabbed your wrist and tugged you along, out of the kitchen.

You stumbled into his bedroom after him. There, he let go of your arm and knelt by the bedside dresser, clicking on a night light and pulling open the bottom drawer of the polished cherrywood chest that matched the rest of the furniture in this room.

A rectangular box emerged in his hand. You couldn’t contain your surprise when he lifted the lid to show you its contents.

Sensing the significance of the situation—he’d had to to steel his nerves with alcohol first, for God’s sake—you bent to take a closer look, breath held.

A belt lay rolled up inside, as wide as Jumin’s open hand, silken fabric of the palest yellow that you recognized instantly.

After unboxing Jumin’s most recent souvenir with Nami, she had pointed out how the kimono couldn’t be worn because there was no obi to tie it with.

Now you knew why.

Jumin lifted it out of the box carefully. As he unrolled it, you caught a glimpse of the rear side, dark gold brocade that contrasted nicely with the yellow of what had to be the front, judging by how he spread it out on the bed for you to see.

You gave a breathless gasp upon seeing the embroidery spreading out from the center of it.

Tiny, delicate flowers, familiar to you in appearance, though it took you too long to recognize why.

In the middle, a little bigger than the rest of the motif, white and yellow chrysanthemums sat surrounded by a wreath of basil flowers, crimson and cream-white. Your mind caught on this particular flower combination, willing you to recall where you had seen them before, although something seemed off about the mental image your brain associated with them.

Then that thought went lost in the chaos of your flustered mind as you took in the rest of the pattern. Though it was all on the same canvas, the new stretch of floral embroidery appeared different somehow, sharper lines and more vibrant colors, as if crafted by another person, or a deliberate change in style to set it apart from the center flowers.

Upon scooting closer to examine the details, you found you recognized these, too. White and blush pink, two different blossoms fanned out from the basil flowers like winding ribbons.

Suddenly, Nami’s voice replayed in your head, filling in the gaps for you. Lilies symbolize togetherness and geranium, happiness shared. With a trembling hand, you traced one fingertip outward from there. Chrysanthemum and violets, both yellow…bashful love and a subtle love confession. Past the yellow blooms, bigger petals of a haunting red shade scattered like drops of blood across the yellow silk. … red carnations—the flower of longing.

And on one side, where the embroidery stopped about one foot away from the belt’s edge so it wouldn’t go to waste in the length of fabric tied into a bow at its wearer’s back, a single red rose wrapped up the design like the final and most important words of the confession it spelled out.

A red rose means ‘I love you’, and a single one at that…a single one adds the promise of ‘forever’.

Exhaling shakily, you knelt to look more closely at the spread of flowers in the same shapes and colors as the love letter embroidered on the kimono Jumi had gifted you. And then you finally realized what was wrong about the picture, what your mind had been screaming at you for the past minutes.

The centerpiece appeared misplaced because your brain remembered it not linked to Jumin, but to someone else.

You turned to Jumin, bewildered. Because, how could he have known?

His smile was almost lopsided, cheeks still flushed from the excitement he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding. “I may have stolen the inspiration for that from someone you know better than me.”

Prompted by the blank look on your face, he continued. “A few weeks into our lessons, you came over with a flower bouquet peeking out of your purse once. I thought it had to have been from a lover—back then, I didn’t know chrysanthemums carried the meaning of friendship, too.” A soft chuckle, like he was embarrassed by his own behavior.

The small apology bouquet given to you by Nami on the day of your reconciliation after the first mess with Shin had included a purple hyacinth, the lack of which in the embroidery had thrown off your brain.

But of course, it made sense now. The obi held no hyacinth, because Jumin had nothing to apologize for.

Jumin took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs bent at the knees and his back against the dresser he’d retrieved the box from. “I never told you this, but I was wary even of our friendship at first. I couldn’t help it.”

As he spoke, his fingers stroked over the edge of the belt absent-mindedly. “Yet you kept showing up, feeding me sweets, and sharing your passion with me, and you never once expected anything in return.” His eyes gleamed with warmth, reflecting the light from the bedside lamp as he glanced down at his empty palm, forearm braced atop his knee. “Then you told me about your father, and how you kept the hope of following your dreams alive, of someday being happy doing what you love, despite the obstacles. And I found myself rooting for you. I wanted to help you achieve your wish.”

His voice gentled, turning almost apologetic as he let go of the obi and gripped the wrist of his other hand. “That’s why I kept pushing you to apply for the scholarship. I knew you could make it, you just had to be brave, and a little selfish.” He caught your gaze, let you see the desperation, the urgency, in his. “You more than deserved to be selfish for once. I wanted you to be selfish.” Dusky pink streaking his cheekbones, he turned his head away.

His next words were so low, you had to strain to hear them. “And not just when it comes to music.”

Before you could react to the unexpected hint of vulnerability, Jumin picked up the obi from the comforter. Shifting until he sat cross-legged, he framed the center part with Nami’s flowers between his hands, letting the rest of it dangle down past his fingers and onto his lap. “I intended it to be a present out of friendship first. I wasn’t certain if you spoke the language of flowers, but I wanted to express how precious our friendship was becoming to me, so I took inspiration from the bouquet I saw you carrying that day. I had planned to give it to you when you made it into the college of your dreams.” He glanced up through the strand of hair that fell over his forehead. “Because I knew you would.”

That bone-deep intensity in his eyes again, his unflinching conviction that you weren’t capable of failure. It shook you to your core, realizing how deeply he had believed in you all this time. The epiphany left you reeling, your face in flames, so that it took you a moment to notice when he was speaking again.

“But then, the more time passed, with every night we spent together, laughing and sharing more snippets of our lives with each other, even our burdens and fears…I found myself adding more flowers.” He slid his hands outward along the fabric slowly, until the more vivid flower patterns matching your kimono gradually surfaced, one by one.

Your mind went blank. Finally, the nagging piece of information just out of reach at the back of your mind finally surfaced, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

Up close, the flower design had proved made up of hundreds of little X’es, just like the initials he’d cross-stitched onto the handkerchief.

Jumin had embroidered the obi himself.

You rocked back onto your butt as the realization hit you like a physical blow to the chest. It left you unable to do anything but sit there and stare at him in utter shock.

“I didn’t understand how meaningful these changes inside me were, until…” When the red carnations appeared from under his fingers, he halted in his motion, leaving the final stretch of stitchery in the shadows. “…until I was in Japan, describing to the boutique owner my custom design for a matching kimono, and realized something was missing.”

When the single rose came into view, your heart pounded so loud in your ears, you were sure Jumin had to be hearing it too.

He raised his head, eyes luminous like sparklers, matching the fireworks going off inside your chest. “I was in denial about being in love with you at first.” His lips curved, then parted in full-blown amusement as a soft chuckle escaped him. “I went to great lengths trying to convince myself that you weren’t interested in me, personification of your hated business-career that I was. That someone as brilliant as you could never put up with a mediocre pianist like me. That my father wouldn’t approve…”

He paused to draw in a breath, the strands of hair kissing his temple trembling with the movement of his head. “And I realized I didn’t care about his approval. And that I’ve never believed in my life that I wasn’t good enough. So why was I starting now?” A quiet scoff, before he shoved a hand into his hair roughly, visibly frustrated with himself.

“Then one day, in a moment in which my mind found calm for the first time in forever, I finally recognized what had been missing, on the kimono and in my head.” He paused, stealing a sheepish glance at you from the corner of his eyes. “The rose was a last minute addition I made myself when I finally understood my own feelings.”

Jumin began rolling up the obi with painstaking care, his gaze cast down onto his hands as he handled the fabric almost lovingly. “All I knew was that I wanted to keep spending more time with you. No matter how. I was prepared to do anything it took, even if I had to hide my feelings for you and go on pretending we were just friends.”

Nose wrinkling in brief displeasure at his own desperate thoughts, he threw you a furtive look as he bedded the neatly rolled up belt in its decorative box again. “And then you ambushed me with a kiss out of nowhere, and I didn’t know what to think anymore.” When he retook his position against the dresser, that familiar fond smile warmed his features again. “Of course, you ran away before I could even decide how to react. Though I do concede that my state of mind that day may not have allowed for a very rational response.”

Suppressing a shudder, Jumin pushed both hands into his hair in an uncharacteristic display of discomposure, as if the memory of his father’s birthday party upset him all over again. “My father’s actions pushed me to admit out loud what I’ve been thinking deep inside, even with all the confusion and alcohol in my system. What vexed me was that it happened during an argument with him, and not at my own pace, confessing what I felt for you, to you.”

Taking a deep breath, Jumin reached for your hand, intertwined your fingers and his together. This time, his smile held his unhidden heart, a rare touch of vulnerability you didn’t often glimpse on his face. “So I figured, if I had to marry anyone, it had to be you.”

Before you could process his words, or the easy, affectionate kiss he pressed onto the back of your hand still in his hold, the corners of his eyes crinkled with an edge of mischief. “A friend once told me she would rather marry someone based on friendship, or ‘more’, than on money. I think I should take her up on that, seeing that we’re past the ‘blurred lines’ of friendship, and firmly in the area of ‘more’ now.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 25

Left in a strangely fragile state of mind after Jumin’s concession of his feelings, you found you had no capacity for any more excitement that day, let alone shocking discoveries. So, after watching Jumin place the box with the obi on top of the nightstand, you trudged off to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of wine from the bottle he’d left on the counter in his earlier haste.

Jumin fixed himself a measured half glass and joined you on the sofa, where you both sipped in silence. It wasn’t awkward, but there was a certain sense of self-consciousness in the air between you, a newfound emotional vulnerability that made being together like this feel equally exhilarating and embarrassing.

Maybe it was the wine that helped you shake your nerves and relax, going from stealing glances at him through your lashes to scooting along the empty seats, until you could tug him closer by the collar and steal a kiss…or three. You only parted from him when you were both breathless and dizzy, and the cats were noisily complaining about the lack of attention.

Afterwards, he tucked you into bed and walked out with a smile, ignoring your words of protest about giving you his own bed and sleeping somewhere else again. You were stubbornly determined to go after him, but the cats ganged up on you as if Jumin had paid them their weight in treats to make sure you stayed put.

Vic immediately rolled up on your chest, while Elizabeth The 3rd settled on the pillow next to your head, one (threatening?) paw on your shoulder. Their purrs lulled your already sluggish thoughts to sleep better than sleeping pills, which wasn’t a huge feat after Jumin’s wine-drunk kisses had infused your body and mind with a pleasant warmth and dulled the discomfort in your wrist that had been slowly returning after you’d stopped icing it.

With the next morning came your final exam. After a quick breakfast together, Jumin let you have his office to ensure a quiet environment without him or the cats disturbing your focus as you took the digital exam on his work computer.

Drawing strength from the scent of old books and Jumin’s cologne that hung faintly in the air around you, you finally put to use all those countless hours of studying with Nami and alone, and utilized every ounce of knowledge your two years in the business and economy program had relentlessly drilled into your head.

When the three hours were up and your answers submitted, you lingered in the doorway to the living room, hesitating at the sight of Jumin working on his laptop in silence while the cats lounged nearby. There, while taking in the files and papers neatly stacked on the coffee table beside the notebook he was nimbly typing on, the realization hit you like a slap in the face.

That this part of your life was finally over. That there was no more need for pretense and secrecy, and prolonged efforts to finance your true goals. That the path to your chosen destiny—the reality you wished for—lay just ahead now, waiting for you to take the first steps toward your long fostered dream.

You didn’t expect to feel so empty now that you were beyond that uncertain crossroad of make-believe, past your father’s vision of your future and striding towards your own at last.

As excited as you were to finally spin the threads of your own life, the first deep breath filling your lungs after cutting off the knotted mess of your father’s control, like a net you’d been tangled up in until now…it hurt, unexpectedly, after years of being forced to breathe shallow so you wouldn’t run out of air.

Alerted by the sound of your leaden footsteps, Jumin raised his head in time to catch your lower lip quivering, to understand why your face crumpled as your eyes grew hot with unexpected moisture, before rising to pull you into his arms.

You buried your face in his chest as the warmth of him enveloped you.

Jumin’s palm slid up to cup the back of your head at the same time that he curved his body over yours, jaw settling lightly against your temple. “It’s over, love. You’ve done well.”

~~~

Jumin took you out for lunch. It was originally meant as a reward for finishing finals—until a short but impactful phone call from your stepfather took away some of the post-exam lightness. So, Jumin insisted on going out to help get your mind off things before you had to face the burden of reality.

As you munched your way through a nearby street food market you’d been wanting to visit, your phone buzzed with a series of messages from Nami, ever increasing in urgency and the amount of emojis and exclamation marks used.

What you managed to glean from her frantic and barely coherent texts, ranging all the way from ’Where are you, finals are about to start??’ to YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE!!!!!!!’, was for one, that you’d forgotten to inform her you wouldn’t be physically there to take the final exam, and two, that something significant enough to warrant Nami’s Code Red mode of messaging had occurred.

Jumin, who was holding your bowl of spicy rice cakes while you checked your phone—you had turned it off for the duration of the exam, and only remembered to turn it back on during the short drive to the market—raised his brows at the device’s ceaseless vibrations.

“It’s Nami,” you explained while clumsily getting started on a response. After three hours of typing for the exam, your fingers were protesting the abuse. “I forgot to tell her I’m taking the exam digitally…and apparently there was an incident I need to know about.”

Jumin was quiet for a moment. There was something suspicious about the way he seemed interested in your rice cakes suddenly, although he had proclaimed he wasn’t fond of spicy food just a moment ago.

You paused in your typing to watch closely as he ate a single rice cake drenched in fiery-red sauce, chewed…

It was impossible to contain your laughter at the visual developments taking place on his face. He seemed surprised by the flavor first, perhaps even in a positive way, until the spice hit and his expression shifted to one of torment. Flushing red, instant sweat beading on his forehead, his jaw worked at record speed to get rid of the bite that was clearly too much for his untried taste buds.

You handed him a bottle of water to wash the spicy mouthful down with, keeping an eye on his struggling form as you dialed Nami’s number, figuring it was faster than replying to all her messages with your bandaged hand restricting your movement.

Nami picked up on the first ring.

Trusting your gut feeling, you preemptively held the phone away from your ear.

Your instinct, born from two years of experience with your excitable best friend, ended up saving your eardrum from a terrible fate.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEY, WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU????????” She was already out of breath after just this one, shrill question.

Wincing, you glanced up to catch sight of a Jumin who froze in the middle of dabbing at his tongue with a napkin and somehow still looking graceful doing it. His eyes crinkled with sympathy even while stuck in his own spicy dilemma, telling you he had heard her too.

“Hi. Uh…” You purposefully pitched your voice lower, hoping she would get the hint and calm down before the entire market heard your business. “I forgot to tell you, but I had a bit of an accident yesterday. Jumin arranged for me to take the exam digitally.”

“ACCIDENT!?”

You hissed softly, remembering too late to keep the phone off your ear. If this was on speaker, she would be bursting eardrums left and right like an opera singer shattering glass. “Calm down, please. You’re hurting my—” everyone’s “—ears.”

“SORR- sorry!!” Her whistling inhale was audible through the phone. “ButI’mjustsoexcitedIhavetotellyouwhathappened!!! You missed the entire SHOW!”

You were having trouble following her, but at least she wasn’t forgetting to breathe in her excitement.

Rolling your eyes at the familiar drama, you caught Jumin’s meaningful smile, his face almost back to normal. He seemed to have recovered enough to have his composure back.

And enough to make you lose yours.

“Do invite her over for dinner. It seems the three of us have a lot to talk about.”

~~~

After the street food lunch, Jumin and you dropped by the nearest grocery store to buy everything needed for dinner. Jumin offered to order—undoubtedly expensive—takeout for everyone, but you resolved to cook a simple but hearty meal at home with Jumin’s help.

You couldn’t survive on takeout forever, and though Jumin was used to fine dining and business dinners, he had already announced that there would be less work outings to attend for as long as you were living together. He was reluctant to leave you alone at the apartment, so he was arranging to mostly work from his home office for the foreseeable future, and would be cutting back on extra work time spent on occasions and events outside the office.

For once in his life, Assistant Kang informed you that afternoon when she stopped by to deliver some physical files Jumin needed for work, he was keeping normal office hours at reasonable times, and not working himself and his team into late overtime and an early death.

You exchanged pleasantries with her while Jumin finished up the latest meeting he’d been called into. Your request for her contact information earned you an astonished look from the smartly dressed assistant who was clearly accustomed to Jumin’s blunt and impersonal ways.

It took some convincing on your part—for some reason she seemed a little reluctant—but when she finally handed you one of her business cards, there was just enough time left to hint that you might require her assistance soon. Jaehee’s boss appeared for his files before you could elaborate, dismissing her with a nod of thanks and immediately turning to retreat into his office for the next conference call.

Jaehee waved goodbye and retreated, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the cats.

Dinnertime was still a few hours away, and Jumin had specifically asked you to wait for him and not try to do anything on your own—he really was being overprotective, refusing to even let you help with the smallest things for dinner, like the sauce for the bibimbap you planned to guide him through making.

Now, there was nothing to stop your thoughts from circling back to the phone call Jumin had temporarily banished from your mind with the lunch date.

Needing the comfort of it, you sat at the piano and laid your head on the uncovered keyboard, keeping your achy wrist cradled against your chest. More out of habit than conscious decision, your left hand ghosted over the keys, too light to produce sound, but the notes played in your head, matching the tune of your heavy heart.

Johan had called to share the details of your mother’s funeral.

The bone-deep resignation in his voice had caused your eyes to water, a hollow, haunting echo of emotion that had burned so hot, not even ashes of his former despair remained now. He sounded utterly defeated, numb even. Like there wasn’t enough of him left to properly mourn. Like his soul wasn’t present even as his body resumed working on auto-pilot.

Still, Johan had given you the option to refuse. He had understood and considered your feelings, even through his own tragedy and the hard time he and his daughters had to be going through.

It hurt your heart to think about it. You’d been trying not to, because the choice would be a painful one either way. But faced with your thoughts as you were now, you realized what your response would have to be.

Strong arms wound around you from the back, pulled you against a familiar chest.

Your walls crumbled. “I can’t go, Jumin.”

Without letting go, his body lowered onto the stool beside you. His chin found your hair, brushed back and forth over the top of your head soothingly. “It is alright, love. You don’t have to.”

As you leaned back into the warmth and acceptance of his touch, your lower lip quivered. You bit down to stop the traitorous outbreak of feelings you didn’t deserve to have, over someone you never got to love, after hating for too long.

You had been in her life— known her—a long time ago. Offering your final goodbyes along with dozens of other people she had shared her life with, friends, acquaintances, her new family, when you were still mourning her departure from yours all these years ago and never had the chance to come to terms with the complex mess her betrayal had left in your heart even while she was alive…it felt wrong. To go while harboring such negative sentiment.

It felt unfair too. All the other guests had known her more than you had. You were a mere remnant of her old life. Your emotional baggage had no place among those people who held genuine love and affection for her.

And you…you did not want to, could not , share your complicated grief with a group of strangers.

Jumin’s breath tickled your ear, a soft puff of air carrying quiet words. “We can go see her whenever you are ready. I will be there with you, if you want me to.”

Sniffing quietly, you gave up the fight and allowed yourself a moment of weakness in Jumin’s safe embrace.

A part of you wanted to attend the funeral only to be there for Johan. His daughters couldn’t be much support or comfort for him, processing the loss of their mother as they were.

But as bad as you felt for him, and though you couldn’t help but relate to his situation—your inner child insisted that he and you were the same, because your mother had left him too —you would refrain from intruding into the matters of another family. Especially your mother’s new family that she chose over you.

Although work had to be waiting for him, Jumin held you for as long as it took to pick up all the pieces. He held you, until you found the strength to reach for your phone and type a message to Johan. Every letter brought a new wave of pain, alternating in your chest and your throbbing wrist.

Jumin disappeared towards the kitchen. You were done and tossing the phone on the leather couch just as he returned with an ice pack and a glass of water.

Your frown was met with the sternest look you’d seen him give anyone other than Victor earlier that day, when the cheeky tuxedo cat had been caught getting a little too close to Elizabeth The 3rd’s royal backside.

“I know you’re hurting, Y/N. Be good and take your medicine.”

You reluctantly sat when he nudged you towards the armchair, let him place the cold pack on your wrist. You grumbled and whined at the pill he handed you to go with the water, but took both under his stubborn, watchful gaze.

Jumin rewarded you with the softest brush of his lips against yours, and a smile that took the edge off the heaviness in your chest. “Now give me a smile, love. Some motivation for this last meeting I have left before I can come back to you for the rest of the day.”

~~~

Teaching Jumin to cook proved easier than teaching him to play the piano. He knew how to handle ingredients, how to work the stove, and had good culinary senses.

The problem was that his culinary senses were carefully calibrated to finer things than home-cooked anything you could make with your humble skills.

You had deliberately chosen a dish that was easy to make, where only a few of the ingredients needed extra processing. Bibimbap , with its reputation as a ‘salvage any remaining leftovers’ type of meal, could be quickly whipped up with a selection of vegetables, side dishes, and condiments you had picked up from the grocery market together after lunch.

Clad in a sleek black apron, Jumin carefully followed your instructions on how to set up a pot of rice on the stove, for lack of a rice cooker in his kitchen. Afterwards, he proudly demonstrated his steak-making skills with the two frozen steaks left in the fridge from when he’d made you the pasta dinner that day.

You took him through the preparation steps for a basic miso soup, then briefed him about how much of each condiment to measure for the bibimbap sauce as the kelp stock simmered away in the background. While you kept an eye on the rice, he chopped the kimchi, blanched the vegetables, and sliced the medium-rare steak into thin strips.

Whenever you tried to help, even something as slight as cubing the soft tofu for the soup, he shooed you off. You had one hand that functioned perfectly fine, but Jumin was there the moment you even reached for the ladle to stir the soup, tugging you away and back to the barstool he had dragged there for you to sit on and observe from.

You felt more than useless, unable to contribute to dinner preparations with more than just the directions you gave him.

By the time he had dissolved the miso paste into the finished soup and moved on to assembling the individual bibimbap bowls, all that was left was to fry some eggs to top each masterpiece with.

The doorbell rang, making you flinch in the middle of collecting cutlery from the drawer.

Jumin clicked his tongue at you, abandoning the frying pan long enough to reach over and take the things from your hand while the oil heated. “Go greet your friend, love. Leave everything else to me.”

Pouting at how even your plans to help set the table were thwarted, you turned to leave the kitchen. Just then, you remembered something. “Oh, no.” You whipped back around to Jumin.

His brows rose in mute question as he casually cracked an egg into the pan.

A frustrated groan escaped you. “We forgot about dessert! I was going to make Nami something special…” You’d been counting on sugar to soften the blow when you told her about your change of career plans. Now it was too late to start making dessert, and there was no time to get something ready from outside.

A soft chuckle, his deep timbre as smooth as the smug smile his face shifted into. “Don’t worry about it. I took care of dessert. Go let her in.” He gave your back a gentle nudge, lips twitching at the suspicious look you threw him over your shoulder.

When the hell did he have the time to do that? You grumbled to yourself as you hurried to open the door for Nami. You hadn’t seen anything in the fridge, or any traces in the kitchen indicating that he’d been preparing something before your dinner adventure together.

Knowing Jumin, he might have just ordered something fancy—and pricey—from the most high class pastry shop in town…

You picked up a nosy Victor to keep him from escaping when you opened the door.

“Y/N!!!” Nami descended on you like a tornado, pulling you into an exuberant hug without stopping to put down the bag in her hand, or notice the cat on your arm.

Upon finding himself squeezed between two humans, Vic made a quick escape with an indignant squeak that sounded too much like he had learned it from Elizabeth The 3rd.

You endured the enthusiastic greeting, cold hands, wet coat and all, and grinned at the way shock widened Nami’s eyes as soon as she let go of you to take a look around, until they took up nearly half of her face.

“What did you say your boyfriend does for a living?” She left her shoes and bag by the entrance and shrugged out of her coat and scarf, all the while craning her neck to take in the view.

You cringed a little at the word ‘boyfriend’ as you pointed her to a cozy pair of slippers to wear inside. “He’s, uh…” You turned to hang up her coat, realizing you were getting quieter with every word. “…director of a company…”

“Okaaay…” Nami rolled her eyes at your tone but didn’t question your muttered response. “So you got yourself a rich boyfriend and didn’t even tell me. I probably should have guessed from the expensive, custom-made gift…”

She crouched when an inquisitive Elizabeth The 3rd padded over to scrutinize the unfamiliar guest. “Hello, you.”

Elizabeth gingerly sniffed the hand offered to her, then turned up her nose and strutted off.

Nami’s crestfallen face made you snicker. “That means you’re not worthy of her attention. Don’t worry, I’ve been through that too. She’s a worse snob than her human.”

Nami giggled. “I have to say…” She took a few steps into the living room, stopped beside the grand piano to play a hand over its glossy surface. Her grin turned teasing. “Cats, pianos…I can already tell why you fell for him.”

Your mouth fell open. “Are you calling me materialistic?”

Nami snorted, eyes twinkling with wicked amusement. “No way. I’m just saying…” Trying to suppress her laughter, she waved her hand meaningfully, an encompassing gesture meant to indicate everything around you. “I would be head over heels too.”

When you took a threatening step closer, she hid her cheeky grin with her hand, backing away from you and the warning glare you leveled her with.

“Fine! I’ll stop joking.” She chuckled lightly. “I’ll just have to judge for myself what made you fall for him.” She came over to sit on the couch, sighing with pleasure when her body sank into the buttery soft leather. She was so short, her feet didn’t touch the floor while seated. “More importantly. Did you move out or something? I dropped by your house last night and you weren’t there. This morning again after the exam, I rushed over but no one opened the door. Not even your dad.”

“Oh?” You took a seat next to her, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you contemplated your answer. “Last night was probably too late. You know my dad sleeps early…” You peeked at her from the side. “Why did you come by anyways?”

Leaning forward, Nami squinted warily at you. “My mom didn’t want to leave for home without seeing you. I thought it might be okay to go for a quick visit and check in after your call yesterday.” She was having some suspicions, alright.

Out of nowhere, her expression changed and you groaned, already knowing what was to come.

“Did you perhaps…” Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively. “…spend the night here?”

Time to fight fire with fire. “I…”

“Yes, she did. Was she not allowed to?”

The challenge came from Jumin who, still in his apron, strode over to where you and Nami sat, familiar poker face in place.

Before you could intervene, or catch Nami’s jaw as it dropped, he continued speaking. “Though I did ask her father—” Not entirely true, but you let it go. “— it seems that I should have requested permission from you instead.”

A tentative smile replaced his mask, too late to save the joke from its deadpan delivery.

Nami blinked slowly. She threw you an uncertain look, as if not sure how to react.

You squeezed the bridge of your nose, torn between wanting to laugh and wondering if crying wouldn’t be a more appropriate response. “He’s joking, Nami. We’re still working to make his face match his sense of humor.”

After a beat of silence, Nami cracked up. "What the hell.” Her giggle sounded half startled, half hysterical. “That’s going to be a lot of work.” Her laughter escalated, until her eyes watered and she was holding her stomach.

“Sorry, that was just… so unexpected.” She pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes before her makeup was ruined, then hopped off the sofa with a good-natured grin, looking Jumin up and down. “So you’re the fabled Jumin?”

Smile deepening, Jumin held out his hand. “And you must be Nami. I have heard a lot about you.”

Nami laughed her way through the handshake. “Then it seems you know more about me than I know about you. Y/N prefers to keep you mysterious.”

You snorted at the affectionate quip. “No, you’re just not satisfied with anything less than, and I quote, ‘all the juicy details’.”

To your surprise, Nami blushed all the way up to her ears. “What can I say…” Suddenly shy, she played with one of the dark strands of hair curling around her shoulders, rubbing the tip of her slipper over the carpet she stood on. “I like to stay in the loop…”

Reeling from the fact Jumin’s presence had managed to make your shameless best friend feel embarrassed, you glanced at him. “Did you mean to keep the apron on?”

Jumin looked about half as sheepish as Nami had a moment ago. “It slipped my mind.” He turned to Nami. “Please excuse my inadequate attire, there was no time to change after we concluded dinner preparations.”

Grinning over how he slipped back into his formal manner of speaking after the banter just exchanged, you stepped behind him to tug the neatly tied strings open for him.

“Thank you, love. It will be just a moment.”

It was your turn to flush a flaming scarlet at his use of the term of endearment in front of Nami.

You caught his clumsy but not any less adorable wink as he retreated to the kitchen, already rolling your eyes before you could meet Nami’s sparkly-eyed gaze.

“Oh, my…” Nami sidled up to you with an unmistakably pleased expression, fanning herself with her own hand. “He’s hot! And he can cook? Wow. How did the two of you meet again?”

“He can not,” you corrected, ignoring the rest of her excited rambling on purpose.

“Y/N!” Not letting you brush her off again, she took hold of both your wrists to keep you from running away—and jumped three feet in the air at your pained hiss.

“Oh, sh —…what’s the matter with you?” She pressed her palm to her chest. “You scared me!”

As soon as she let go, you rubbed your throbbing wrist gently.

“…Oh.” Her gaze dropped to your bandaged hand. “Right, you did say something about an…accident?”

“Try assault.” Now without the apron, Jumin again returned in time to add some spice to the conversation.

Nami froze at the glacial tone in his voice. Then her own eyes ignited with cold fire. “Don’t tell me…that piece of shit Shin actually dared put his hands on her?”

Jumin’s jaw clenched at the name, his face iced over with his unsettling brand of calm, hair-raising fury. “The meal is ready. Let us talk over dinner.”

Despite the tense atmosphere, Nami managed to swoon at the sight of Jumin pulling back the chairs for the two of you to sit next to each other at the kitchen dining table. “He’s handsome, a gentleman, and he comes from money,” she whispered to you as he stepped away briefly to serve the soup. “You, my friend, must have saved the country in your past life to be this lucky now.”

She was giving you too many reasons to roll your eyes today. You’d thought she was your friend, but she was slowly being converted into a fan of Jumin’s instead, spouting lines straight out of a TV drama.

You huffed in mock outrage. “Just for the record. He did the cooking, but only because he wouldn’t let me help because of my injury. It was all under my instruction and guidance.” Emboldened by Nami’s presence, you stuck out your tongue at him. “Otherwise all he can make on his own so far is pasta, steak, and strawberry pancakes.”

Nami took in the picturesque dishes Jumin had placed on the table—cooked vegetables and sliced meat, artfully arranged in a circle on a bed of glistening rice and topped with egg, roasted sesame seeds, and green onion—and pointedly glanced back at you, unconvinced.

Her wordless disbelief made you bristle. “I’m being serious!”

Done with serving, Jumin chuckled, his eyes luminous with warmth as he seated himself across from you. “Today, I learned this. Tomorrow, Y/N can teach me whatever else she wants to eat.” He casually reached for your bowl and proceeded to break the fried egg into bite-sized pieces, then mixing everything together for you as was customary with bibimbap.

Still infuriatingly mindful of your injured hand.

He placed the bowl back in front of you a moment later, expression relaxed, though hints of his earlier laughter lingered. The curve of his lips, the brightness in his gray gaze. “I will learn to make that for you, too.”

You were glad you’d managed to melt his icy mood a little, but it came at the cost of your own calm.

The way he was looking at you now, and in front of Nami, made your face feel as hot as the skillet he’d cooked the steak on earlier, your heart bubbling over like a pot of soup left unattended.

You ducked your head, glimpsing Nami’s eyebrows wiggling again from the corner of your vision. “Just eat already…”

Thankfully, they obeyed and saved you from further embarrassment.

You dug in as well. The soup was light and full of umami flavor. Between the slight crunch of the seaweed and the soft, bouncy tofu in mouthfuls of mild miso broth, it was the perfect accompaniment to a stronger-tasting main dish.

The bibimbap fulfilled that role perfectly. The rice was cooked through but still firm and a little starchy, so you could feel every individual grain in each bite.

Jumin had mixed it well. Every spoonful brought a balanced variety of textures from the different ingredients: the leafy spinach, the chew of the mushrooms, the snappy beansprouts, the juicy steak strips. Shreds of fried egg with runny yolk added creaminess, and the sauce brought everything together with nutty sesame oil, sweet and spicy fermented chili paste, roasted sesame seeds, and freshly chopped green onion.

With kimchi and extra sauce on the side to add as needed, it was a hearty and satisfactory dish that catered to all five senses.

Towards the end of the meal, Nami spoke up. “So, care to tell me what happened now?”

With a heavy sigh, you began recounting Shin’s ambush on campus two days ago, and because Nami already knew about the ongoing conflict with your father, described the aftermath at home as well.

You explained how things led to you temporarily moving in with Jumin (“Scandalous!” Nami exclaimed, giggling. “I better not tell my mom about that when she asks where you went…”) and that you were under a strict piano playing ban until your recovery, which Jumin took as justification to not let you use your hands at all.

Then Nami took over and narrated, down to the juiciest detail as was her habit, what had happened after Shin showed up to the final exam that morning with a busted nose.

“And then he got busted again by the cops.” She cracked up at her own pun. “And campus police, too.”

You listened, numb, as Nami cheerfully prattled on.

Apparently, moments before the exams could begin, two kinds of police had come for Shin.

The city police had brought an official warrant to search his phone and bag, and subsequently arrested him on multiple accounts of sexual assault, extortion, theft, and battery, after a high credibility, ‘anonymous’ tip.

At that part, you glanced at Jumin to find his features schooled into a blank canvas. He noticed your gaze and reached for a sip of his water without avoiding eye contact.

The proof for Shin’s extortion schemes had been right there in his messages. He’d been stealing exam solutions from his brother, who was a professor at the same faculty the three of you studied at, and selling them to his fellow female students in exchange for sexual favors. Many of these dealings started out as consensual but descended into a dynamic of blackmail and coercion after Shin threatened to spread pictures and recordings of the girls, which he had produced without consent.

Enough of his victims had stepped forward to testify since the statement had been made public.

At the same time that morning, Nami reported, the university officials had found him to deliver his suspension notice.

That surprised you. You would have assumed he’d get expelled from the start.

“No, no,” Nami assured, eyes sparkling with vindictive joy. “This is good. Listen!”

On evidence of the solution sheets discovered in his possession, Shin Young was failed in all midterm and final exams of the current semester, and banned from the last one he hadn’t yet taken. His suspension was in effect for as long as he was under investigation for deception—but that was just a formality. His breach of the Academic Integrity Policy was already noted in his file, and the appropriate measures taken.

His scholarship had been rescinded, his high-potential internship position for the upcoming semester break revoked, and his reputation on campus forever ruined, as the dean had decided to make an example out of him for everyone to learn as a lesson.

You looked at Jumin again.

There was nothing but calm in his gray eyes…but you knew him by now. You’d seen past the facade, witnessed all the shades and patterns his expression could be painted with. You needed but the tiniest speck of color, the merest hint of movement, to tell that he was maintaining a deliberate mask again, and hiding all else underneath.

“And the best part is—he’s locked up.” Nami’s smug smile rivaled that of the cat that ate the cream. “He was handcuffed right in front of us, and taken into custody. His brother refused to help him ‘cause he tried to falsely accuse him of complicity the moment he was backed into a corner.” A capricious chuckle as she scraped her bowl clean. “He has neither money for a good lawyer, nor bail, nor any sympathy left after the announcement was made. Even the place where he works part-time fired him.”

You took note of the content gleam in Jumin’s eyes, knew you had found your own proof. Sighing, you put your spoon down. “Fess up, Jumin. I know you did this.”

Caught off-guard by the abrupt change of topic, Nami stared uncomprehendingly, rice stuck to the corner of her mouth. “He…did this? Did…what?”

Jumin reached for his napkin, the very picture of calm and collected. He dabbed at his lips, smiled, and said: “Indeed. So…who would like dessert?”

Your jaw dropped. This shameless… “Why did you go that far? You could have just—”

A gasp from beside you. Then Nami’s jaw joined yours on the floor. “He…did that to Shin?” She gaped back and forth between the two of you.

Jumin’s eyes closed for the span of a single heartbeat. When they opened, it was to reveal the glaciers behind them. “He hurt you. He’s lucky to be alive.” Though nothing but civilized, his smile this time felt like a baring of teeth.

It was the closest thing you had seen Jumin to feral.

Nami chimed in, practically vibrating in her seat. “What exactly did you do to him?” In her enthusiasm for details, your best friend sounded more bloodthirsty than you’d thought her capable of.

For the next few minutes, you sat listening to Nami and Jumin bonding over their shared contempt for Shin Young.

Jumin, you realized, was at least as cunning as Victor. His own report of what else he’d done last night showed you a whole new side of him.

“Is that why there were bloodstains outside of Y/N’s house?”

Jumin nodded.

A matching set of grimly satisfied faces flanked you at the table.

You never thought you’d ever see Nami and Jumin make the same expression. Your five foot four best friend who you had once labeled ‘timid’, and your clueless and emotionally awkward, well, boyfriend.

It was terrifying.

“Awww, man.” Suddenly, Nami looked genuinely dejected. “I wanted to have a go at him too…” Her pout dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the excited gleam in her eyes as she turned to Jumin again. “On a scale from one to ten, how satisfying was it to bust his face like that?”

Jumin seemed amused at her enthusiastic question. “…I believe an 8.5 would be adequate.” Although his smile held, his gaze lowered to the hand he was flexing on top of the table.

His knuckles were scabbed over in some places. It looked a little tender, and you could have kicked yourself for not noticing earlier.

Then you realized that you had. You gasped as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “That’s why your hand was bandaged yesterday! I knew you looked too guilty to have just ‘caught it in the car door’!”

Jumin’s face took on a familiar stubborn edge, his jaw clenching at your accusing tone. “He deserved that and more. I will not justify myself about this.”

Somewhere to the side, Nami stood and started to pick up the dirty dishes to take them to the sink. An excuse to escape the rising tension.

You blew up your cheeks in frustration. “I’m not mad at you for punching him! I know too well how punchable Shin is. I’m just upset that you decided to hurt yourself getting back at the worthless bastard, and then keep it from me!”

“It is nothing.” Jumin’s expression softened, his fingers balling into a fist. “Don’t worry about me. This is a small price to pay for your safety.”

“You already took care of that thoroughly.” Gritting your teeth, you rose from your chair and went to help Nami.

Jumin stood in your way the moment you reached for the empty plates. “I will clean up. You go sit down.”

You rolled your eyes at the return of his overprotective attitude. Or was it ever gone? Way to make you feel deficient…

But one question continued to burn on your tongue. “Why not just get him expelled?” Hip propped against the edge of the table, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Why do all that covert work to have him locked up, only to give him the chance to return once he’s out?”

Jumin remained quiet, his lips pressed into a bloodless line as he collected the rest of the dishes in frosty silence.

Oh, now he was holding back? You scoffed. “Either way, I wouldn’t have run into him again because I’m not going back to campus next semester. So…why?”

Over by the sink, Nami’s face fell. “…What?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 26

Oh no.

You felt the blood drain from your face. This was definitely not how you’d planned on breaking the news to her.

Nami put the dishes down and turned. Her perturbed gaze flitted from you to Jumin and back, growing distraught when neither of you responded. “What do you mean by that?”

Biting your lip, you threw Jumin an uncertain look. His only response was to arch a brow, a puzzling non-answer to your wordless plea.

The enigmatic reaction confused you. Did it mean that he didn’t know what to say, or that he didn’t feel like helping you out after the little heated exchange the two of you had just had in front of Nami?

You didn’t think he was that petty…then again, you hadn’t thought you’d ever catch him punching someone in the heat of the moment either.

The tense atmosphere in the kitchen shifted to awkward silence.

“Y/N?” Nami took a step towards you, her next words low, pleading. “What aren’t you telling me?”

You winced. The guilt you’d managed to repress, that had been eating at you since before your audition, returned in full force. “I…”

“I convinced her to audition for music school.” Jumin’s steady declaration drew Nami’s wide eyes back to him. “She made it in, so now she’ll be leaving her current studies to pursue what she should have been doing all along: following her dream of music. She will be a professional pianist.”

The unflinching announcement, your new reality spoken out loud at last, made your knees feel like they were the precarious texture of jello. You gripped a nearby chair for support, just in case.

Nami inhaled sharply. “Are…are you serious?” She didn’t bother looking at you, her stunned gaze fixed firmly on Jumin.

He nodded.

Only then did her eyes widen, lips forming a shaky o.

The next moment, Nami dissolved into tears.

Guilt consolidated into a terrible knot in your throat as you pulled her into a hug, patting her back weakly. “Hey…” you croaked. “…Don’t cry…” Again, you threw Jumin a look desperate for help. Wasn’t this his fault anyways?

He shrugged lightly in response where he stood a suspicious distance away.

You remembered that he wasn’t good with feelings. It seemed that, despite his own progress with expressing emotion, he still struggled with other people showing too much of theirs in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have told you sooner than now.” You squeezed your best friend reassuringly, feeling her body shake with the force of her sobs.

It took you a moment to realize the choked noises coming from her sounded weird, too bright in tone, as if she wasn’t crying but…

Laughing?

You blinked and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away an arm’s length to get a good look.

Tears glistened on her cheeks, looking completely misplaced over a frightening, lopsided grin. She gasped in a lungful of air and let loose, a strange mixture between wailing and unhinged giggles.

You exchanged a glance with Jumin. “I think she has finally lost her mind…”

Jumin coughed theatrically.

Nami wrapped her arms around your neck, now cackling like a witch. “Oh, my, GOD, I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!”

Still confused, you tried to extricate yourself from her grasp in a futile attempt to save your ears yet again.

She only held on tighter. “I MEAN IWASSADYOU’RELEAVINGMEATFIRST—” Lower lip wobbling abruptly, she sniffled and withdrew one arm to scour her pockets for a tissue.

Ever the gentleman, Jumin handed her his silk handkerchief wordlessly, then retreated back to the safety of his previous spot on the other side of the dining table.

Nami noisily blew her nose before continuing. “—BUT YOU’RE FINALLY REALIZING YOUR DREAM!!” She clutched your arm, eyes sparkling from tears and joy both.

Her face was flushed, from excitement? Crying? You couldn’t tell…

Caught between one overemotional idiot, and another awkward human who seemed to be having an allergic reaction to sentimental outbreaks, you didn’t know what to do with yourself, or either of them.

To your immense luck, the doorbell saved you from having to see the end of this strange situation.

Still patting Nami’s back distractedly, you frowned at Jumin. “Are you expecting someone?”

His expression brightened, as if someone had flicked a switch in the background. “Please excuse me for a moment, ladies.” He looked entirely too relieved to be able to flee the scene and answer the door instead of witnessing the emotional breakdown taking place in the kitchen.

Sighing, you used the chance to sit the sniffling Nami down on a chair and bring her a tall glass of water.

Maybe something stronger would have been more appropriate, though.

While Jumin wasn’t breathing down your neck about resting your wrist, you swiftly took care of the table, putting away dirty dishes and leftovers and tidying up what Jumin hadn’t yet gotten around to after the cooking session.

Nami wiped at her eyes with the handkerchief as she watched you busy yourself around the kitchen. Her makeup was beyond saving at this point, but she didn’t seem to care too much.

As before, it felt like she was seeing right through it, your pretense of trying to distract her—and yourself?—from your own mental turmoil by keeping physically occupied.

“That’s what the thing you couldn’t tell me before was? The changes you were afraid of?”

You turned around at the sink to meet Nami’s earnest gaze, her red-rimmed eyes bright yet unusually solemn.

Giving up on wiping the dining table down a second time, you perched on the edge of the seat next to hers instead, kitchen towel still in hand as you nodded hesitantly.

Nami was very rarely this serious. She was someone who laughed like she was paid double rates to do it, took most things with good nature, a light heart, and genuine joy at life, and smiled even through pain when her old timidness returned from time to time.

So when a moment came that the ever-present smile disappeared and she became quiet and firm like this, you sat down and listened. Always.

“You know my plan was more long-term than this,” you began slowly, twisting the towel in your hands as you spoke.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Nami nodding.

“Jumin disapproved of that.” You chuckled softly. “He tried to convince me for weeks, to abandon my original objective and be spontaneous instead. He pushed me to apply right away instead of waiting another year or two, and he gave me courage when I was unsure about auditioning and on edge about what would come after.”

Something in your chest squeezed upon remembering how Jumin’s quiet but steadfast support had helped you push through the anxious fear that things would go wrong if you tried to pull ahead of your original plans.

How he had believed in you in those moments when you yourself had been too afraid to trust your skills, and too scared to hope you would get lucky should your skill prove insufficient after all.

Too terrified to go against what your father thought, parts of which you had unknowingly internalized over the years.

“I wanted to tell you. I wanted to, so bad…but I was too scared it wouldn’t happen after all.” Finally meeting Nami’s eyes, you switched the towel to your good hand to avoid straining the injury more after all the trouble Jumin was going through to help you recover. “I suppose I was worried I’d jinx it, and I didn’t want to brag before anything was official.”

You managed a soft, apologetic smile, your unraveling nerves held together only by the hope that she would understand why you hadn’t been able to make her your first priority this time. “Jumin…I felt like I owed him for allowing me access to his piano, so I told him about me and my dad pretty soon into our friendship.”

Nami’s brows crinkled. “I’m really happy you’re finally following your dreams, but we really need to talk about your habit of keeping all the details to yourself.”

Gasping in exasperation, you tossed the kitchen towel on the table behind you and rose. “You go all serious on me over abandoning you and get me all stressed out that you won’t forgive me, but it’s the lack of juicy details that upset you the most?”

Nami threw her head back and laughed. “Do you blame me? The first time I even heard of Jumin was when he gave you the kimono.” Her scowl looked very real but you knew it was all drama.

“Back then, despite the expensive confession, you called him your ‘employer-turned-good-friend’, but not even three weeks later now, you act like a married couple that’s been together for a decade or two.” She huffed in feigned outrage. “Excuse me for feeling like you’ve been keeping just a few of the important details to yourself…”

You failed to hold back your amused snort at her theatrics. “Okay, fine, I get it. You want me to explain from the top? I will tell you everything.”

Before you could launch into your tale, Jumin re-entered the kitchen with a big box in his hands. “Apologies for the delay, ladies. Dessert was supposed to be here an hour ago, I have been informed that there were difficulties with the delivery.”

Curiosity piqued by the weirdly familiar-looking logo on the glossy black box, you hurried to find a set of small plates and dessert forks for everyone.

“Ahhh, I almost forgot!!” Nami jumped up and dashed out of the room.

You heard her mumble to herself in the living room and turned to Jumin, deliberately pitching your voice low. “You really didn’t have to trouble Driver Kim with this. We could have just ordered something or gone out for ice cream together.”

Jumin smiled innocently. “Not to worry. Driver Kim wasn’t the one having trouble…the pilot was.”

“The who—…what?” Wondering if you’d heard him wrong, you took a closer look at the box in time to see Jumin open the lid.

Your brain took embarrassingly long to process the sight of the cake inside, but you finally realized what had thrown you off on the first glance.

The logo had seemed familiar although you were so sure you hadn’t encountered it in person before…because you’d been seeing it all over the internet.

The previously unknown Spanish tavern that was hailed as the birthplace of ‘San Sebastian cheesecake’, or ‘Burnt Basque cheesecake’, had grown immensely famous online and drawn visitors from all over the world.

And it was located in the old town of San Sebastian, Spain, and nowhere else.

Which, in hindsight, framed Jumin’s comment about a pilot in a completely different light.

Utterly aghast, you turned and stared at him, while he nonchalantly produced a knife from one of the drawers and proceeded to slice the unusual-looking cheesecake into generous pieces.

“Jumin.”

He barely reacted to the voiceless call of his name, a mere whisper on your shock-frozen lips.

It was hard to breathe past the impact of it. Of realizing your boyfriend was a terrible snob, a worse snob than Elizabeth The 3rd, after all. “Ju—…JUMIN HAN!”

This time, finally, he glanced up. “Hm?”

He had the audacity to sound completely unbothered, as if you weren’t on the verge of a mental breakdown in the middle of his kitchen.

“You did not import a single freaking cake all the way from Europe.” Your voice shook. “You did not.”

“Of course I didn’t. The delivery included other things as well.” Neatly placing a piece on each plate, he smiled at you, mirth dancing in his eyes like sentient sparks of light. “Short of putting you and Nami on my private jet and taking you there myself, how else was I to procure you a taste of the original?”

You wanted to cry, but once again, hysterical laughter rose in your chest like an air bubble underwater. You buried your face in your hands instead, groaning with everything inside you.

Nami chose that moment to return with a bottle-shaped paper bag in hand, throwing you a questioning look as she approached with caution. “Whaaaaat is going on?”

Infinitely glad you had at least one functioning hand left, you pinched the bridge of your nose to keep from blowing up. “This man used his private jet to fly in a cake from Spain. Instead of ordering local delivery like a normal person. HE IMPORTED CAKE FROM SPAIN.”

Face painted with astonishment, Nami blinked back and forth between you and Jumin. “He has a private jet? And you tell me that now?”

Jumin put down the knife and raised a finger. “As a matter of fact, it wasn’t my private jet. The cake was transported on a commercial aircraf—”

“IS THAT THE POINT RIGHT NOW, JUMIN HAN!? AND YOU, NAMI? WHY IS NO ONE BUT ME FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW??”

Through your own breathless exasperation and Nami’s cheerful giggles, you could hear Jumin chuckle quietly. “I suppose not.”

Not knowing where else to channel your frustration, you plopped down at the table, pushed one of the cake pieces towards Nami—feeling personally insulted when it jiggled merrily on its plate—and dragged another over for yourself.

From the outside, the cheesecake looked all kinds of burnt and misshapen. Little bumps and shallow craters covered the surface where the batter had blistered from the heat, ranging from slightly golden to deep, dark brown. In contrast, the inside was a creamy white, beautifully even and appetizing.

You accepted the fork Jumin handed you and cleaved off the corner of your piece unceremoniously. You’d been meaning to attempt baking a San Sebastian cheesecake at some point. Might as well try the original and see how it’s supposed to taste, to know how to make your own as authentic as possible…

The first bite had you groaning in annoyance. “Why the heck is this so good? How?”

The cheesecake was so incredibly soft, it melted on your tongue even without chewing. The inside appeared dense to the eye, but it was luxuriously light and creamy, like a cloud in dessert-form, or a less viscous and more airy egg custard.

Despite knowing there was a significant amount of heavy cream involved, you found nothing about it heavy. The cream cheese you could taste in it added some freshness to the cake that was rich and sweet and a little eggy, but far from too sweet, thanks to the slightly bitter “burnt” outside that brought smoky, caramelized notes to the flavor profile with every bite.

It was the perfect dessert- for any time of year. If you could, you’d eat it every day. There was no way you would ever get sick of this taste, or the texture.

Irked at your own thoughts—you could never say them out loud around Jumin, never—you took another bite. And another.

Nami was making her pleasure known next to you, a symphony of happy noises pouring out with every forkful she ate.

Across the table, Jumin observed you cautiously, his own cake yet untouched.

Letting go of your frown, you scrunched up your nose instead, too embarrassed to smile after the little outbreak you’d had. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

Jumin simply smiled, reaching for his fork.

“Wait, I got us something to drink.” Nami remembered halfway through her slice to pull out the bottle she’d retrieved from the living room.

“Remember how I told you my mom was visiting me for finals? Well, she brought me a bottle of champagne ‘to share with my boyfriend’.” She rolled her eyes. “She really thought I would fall for that trap. As if I’d go ‘Okay, hold on, let me call him over right now so we can drink it together’.” Snorting with laughter, she left her chair with the bottle in hand. “Where do you keep your glasses? We might as well celebrate Y/N’s career change with this.”

Jumin helped her open the bottle and fill up three champagne flutes from the cupboard. When he handed you one, his expression was diffuse, curiosity and confusion tangled in his gray gaze. “…Is she in a secret relationship?”

Nami’s laughter pealed like a set of wind chimes. “Oh, no, honey. Not secret. It’s basically impossible to keep secrets in my family, so I stopped even trying. The issue is how nosy they are.”

Retaking his seat at the table, Jumin blinked uncomprehendingly.

You chuckled. “Her mom is the type of person who wants to know everything down to the last detail. Wonder why that sounds familiar…”

Jumin raised his champagne glass to hide lips twitching with amusement.

Nami smacked your shoulder on her way back to her chair. “Ha ha, funny. The problem, as you well know, is that she asks for details to pass judgment. I just like to be—thoroughly—informed.”

You rubbed your shoulder absently. “Yeah, her mom collects information in order to approve or disapprove of what her children do. And when she disapproves, she is a little…pushy…about it.”

Mrs. So loved her family, but like many Asian parents, she was strict to the point of overprotectiveness. If she felt that any of her children’s choices or their current path in life weren’t optimal, by her standards, she took it upon herself to change them.

Even now, Nami experienced trouble asserting herself over her mother’s iron will. She was steadily and arduously growing more comfortable standing up for herself when it came to her future, but flying her love life under her mother’s radar? She could well be called an expert at that by now.

Nami heaved a lamenting sigh. “Which is why I’m trying to keep her away from Jaewoo. She’s already driven off a couple of my previous boyfriends. I was hoping to keep my current one, indefinitely.”

Jumin nodded empathically, though his brows remained furrowed. “Understandable.”

Nami turned to you rather abruptly, forehead wrinkled in a frown that matched Jumin’s. “Wait. Speaking of my mom, what did you call about the other day? You never said.”

The change of topic nearly gave you whiplash. Feeling the familiar burn of unshed tears in the back of your throat, you stiffly reached for your champagne. “Can we finish dessert first? It’s…not a happy topic.”

Nami fell silent. Her gaze briefly flitted to Jumin, before she rose to her feet. “In that case, let’s toast.” She raised her glass towards you with a fledgling smile, delicate and hopeful. “To dreams becoming reality, and our destinies being everything we want them to be.”

The clinking of glass drew the cats into the kitchen.

Victor entered first, tail raised inquisitively as he padded straight to where you sat. Elizabeth The 3rd followed soon after. Clearly skeptical, she sniffed the air, then decided she was perfectly fine staying by the door, far away from everyone else. Including her human, who was currently surrounded by too many others.

Nami caught the way Jumin’s expression softened at the sight of his pet, and grinned.

Vic hopped onto your lap, propping his front paws against the table. You put down your glass after half a sip, already knowing you’d need to fight him off or he’d bury his nose in cake.

You slung him over your shoulder, one-armed, to save your dessert. Because you weren’t completely heartless, though, you scooped a tiny bit of the soft cheesecake mass onto your finger and offered him a taste.

He lapped at it as if he’d been starved for the past three days.

All the way over by the door, Elizabeth The 3rd made the most impressive face of disgust, then turned—obviously, deliberately—to sit with her back towards the kitchen, as if she couldn’t endure watching Vic slobber over cake.

With a dry chuckle, you wiped Vic’s nose after he was done trying to drown himself in cake, and scooped him up in your arms. “I think it’s time for their dinner too.”

Jumin stepped over and plucked Vic out of your hold. “I will go feed them while you two take as much time as you need to catch up and finish dessert.” He dropped a light kiss on your hair and winked at Nami when a little squeal escaped her at witnessing the easy affection. “Call if you need me, I will be in my study.”

Nami was visibly dissolving in hysterics by the time Jumin and the cats left. She turned back to you, fanning at her teary eyes and clutching your good hand in absolute zeal. “Oh, my god, Y/N. Spit it out already. How exactly did you guys meet and when do I get to make the bouquets for your wedding?”

~~~

A good hour later, Jumin rejoined you in the living room to see off your best friend—who proceeded to turn down his insistent but well-meaning offer to have Driver Kim take her home.

“No, no, no! Don’t worry about it. I’m meeting Jaewoo on the way home.” Nami gave you a meaningful look, wiggly eyebrows and all. “Now that mom left, the coast is clear for him to be around again.” Her giggle sounded more suggestive than anything you’d ever heard out of her mouth.

You ushered her to the door with an enervated eye roll.

She handed you her purse while she bent to put on her shoes with a saucy grin. “Nothing like some late night exercise to help you sleep. You guys should try it sometime~”

The heat warming your cheeks had nothing to do with the bottle of champagne you and Nami had put a significant dent in together over the past hour. She always turned extra playful and teasing—sometimes borderline inappropriate—when she was tipsy, or after being especially emotional, both of which were currently the case.

After squealing and gasping her way through your retelling of how Jumin and you had become first friends, then more, Nami had warily inquired anew about the call you’d given her the night of Shin’s ambush.

You had told her everything, finally. Nami shed tears of her own as you shared the details of Johan’s phone call and his reason for reaching out again that afternoon. The matter with the funeral that you couldn’t bear to attend.

The two of you had cried together for a while, washed down the tears with plenty of champagne and cake, then cried again because of how cruel it was that, after tonight, this particular cheesecake would be out of reach an entire continent away.

By then, the alcohol had obviously started to take effect already…

And now it was unfurling its full potential by turning Nami completely and utterly shameless.

You stole a quick sideways glance at Jumin, wondering if he was as embarrassed as you were.

He was pointedly avoiding even your general direction, gray-eyed gaze stuck on the keys dangling by the door, high above Nami’s head. His pale face, calm all evening, was now suspiciously blank yet vibrant, streaked a translucent pink that made you glad you weren’t on your own.

And simultaneously increased your abashment even more.

You were ready to jump your best friend and slap your hand on her mouth should she even think about opening it again—

Vic chose that exact moment to attack Nami’s ankles, having discovered the fringed edges on the pants she wore.

Still busy with her shoes, Nami startled and lost her balance, her shriek ringing in your ears as she crashed backwards into the coat rack.

You managed to hold it together until her coat fell on top of her, burying her squirming form. Your sudden cough was a futile attempt to mask the laughter that made it past your throat.

Jumin's grin in the periphery of your vision was the same type of obvious failure to suppress his amusement at Nami’s predicament.

You couldn't not rib her a little. “I don’t think that’s how you wear a coat…” You took your sweet time detaching Vic’s claws from Nami’s pants while Jumin helped her to her feet.

Brushing messy strands of hair from her face, Nami scowled at you.

You cracked up in the middle of settling Vic on your arm. “Oh, I wish I did that on purpose. But I didn’t.” Snickering, you scratched Vic’s chin. “Even Victor knew you were talking nonsense and needed to be shut up.”

Jumin’s quiet chuckle made Victor squirm in your hold. You let go, and he jumped on Jumin instead, draping himself over his broad shoulders like a scarf.

It was your turn to scowl, betrayed.

Nami’s laughter was dripping with schadenfreude as she shrugged on her coat. “At least I won’t be you-know-what-blocked by my own cat tonight.”

Your jaw dropped. “No one will—” For lack of words, you looked at Jumin to see if he had a better comeback, only to find him not paying attention at all.

Vic appeared to be in absolute bliss as Jumin, eyes closed, rubbed his jaw and cheek over the feline’s head that—with the way Vic had positioned himself—was tucked against the side of his neck.

You heard purring, but thrown off by the oddly endearing visual, you could barely tell who of the two the sound was coming from.

Jumin’s shirt was already covered in a million tiny black hairs. You knew he didn’t mind, what with the literal collection of lint-rollers you’d found stacked in his walk-in closet after moving in. Fair-furred Elizabeth the 3rd and the dark-color suits Jumin liked to wear wouldn’t be a good mix if not for a reliable method to deal with the generous amounts of fur she constantly shed.

But now, Jumin and your cat cuddling in front of Nami while you were trying to prove a point their ill-timed PDA was not helping with?

No amount of lint rollers would fix the layers of betrayal sticking to your skin like cat fur on a hot, sweaty summer day.

You scoffed, able to sense Nami’s astronomical levels of smugness without needing to see her face. “Excuse me. Can you two stop making out for just a second so we can send off our guest here? Before she starts spouting even weirder stuff.”

Ceasing their overly snug affections, Jumin and Vic slow-blinked at you in tandem. “Goodnight, Nami. Do visit again.” It was Jumin who spoke.

You weren't sure why your brain felt the need to specify.

You heaved a deep sigh while unlocking the front door. “Bye, Nami. Say hi to Jaewoo, if you’re not too distracted for the rest of the night.”

Nami snorted in amusement. “Don’t worry. We won't be up too late today, since I have to wake up early tomorrow. They gave me the opening shift in the flower shop I work in.”

But as always, she had to say too much.

The mischievous giggle already clued you in on the nature of her next words. “Tomorrow, though…tomorrow we’re gonna have fun aaaaaaall daaaay looooooong~”

Groaning, you shoved her outside and shut the door in her cackling face.

~~~

Like the night before, Jumin concluded his evening routine with tucking you in and dimming the lights after blessing your forehead with a kiss. Your protests and the offer to help with the cleanup bounced right off his armored smile as he left you in his bed with the cats and the order to rest while he took care of everything.

You resigned yourself to your fate, trapped under a surprisingly stubborn Elizabeth The 3rd who refused to budge even when you rolled over to settle more comfortably on the mattress.

Just as you started to doze off, your phone dinged with an incoming message somewhere off to the side.

You were tempted to leave it at first, close to falling asleep as you’d been. Yet Nami had to be…preoccupied with her boyfriend right about now, and aside from Johan, who had exclusively communicated through phone calls so far, your tired mind failed to think of anyone who might be trying to contact you, especially this late.

Unless Shin had gotten hold of a phone while in police custody. Which gives the word 'cell phone' a whole new meaning…

Snorting at the comedic atrocities your sleepy brain was committing, you managed to maneuver one arm free of the cats and fished your phone off the nightstand to check the displayed notification.

Surprise knocked any trace of drowsiness out of your system in an instant.

The message was from your father.

We need to talk. I will be waiting at the corner café tomorrow, twelve o'clock.

The wording alone roused the stubborn, spiteful side of you that urged you to ignore what was clearly a summons. But you were no longer alone in this, you remembered.

Carefully shaking off the cats that were now too relaxed to complain, you padded outside to find Jumin seated in an armchair, reading a report on his tablet with only a nearby reading lamp illuminating the otherwise dim living room.

He took off his sophisticated frameless glasses when he saw you. “Can’t sleep, love?”

You perched on the armrest of his seat and leaned your heavy head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I was woken up…” A yawn interrupted you. “We are being summoned.”

Jumin’s brows lifted. Then they knitted together into a pensive frown as you showed him the message.

“Can you—”

“Of course. You need not even ask, love.”

You let go of the breath you’d been holding in. “Thank you.”

Jumin rested his head on top of yours, having placed the tablet and his glasses on the side table. His hand grabbed your bandaged wrist, gently turning it over to trace over the lines on your palm with his fingertip. “You never told me Nami was the friend of the flower language.”

Caught off-guard by the question, your laugh came out sounding as startled as you felt. “I thought she would out herself soon enough.” You raised your head, curious. “Why, did you want to ask her about it?”

Jumin’s eyes gleamed with silent laughter that turned his quiet smile vivid. “I may have something to discuss with her…”

You grinned, rising to your feet reluctantly. “I’ll remind you the next time we see her. Don’t stay up too late, darling.” Leaning down, you laid a quick but firm kiss on his lips and turned to head back to bed, certain he’d seen your face flush with flustered heat over your first attempt at endearments.

His low chuckle, breathless and perhaps equally flustered behind you in the dark, accompanied you all the way back to the room.

~~~

At noon the next day, Jumin and you reached the café at the corner by your house to find your father already seated at a small table inside, a steaming mug in front of him.

There was only one empty chair. He clearly hadn’t expected you to bring anyone.

You pulled up a second chair for Jumin from a nearby unoccupied table and plopped down without a word. Jumin took his seat more elegantly.

A spark of recognition flickered in your father’s eyes upon finding himself faced with an extra person. “You are…”

“We met on Wednesday evening.” Jumin’s nonchalance, coupled with his impenetrable poker face as he gave a curt nod, felt cooler than the deepening winter chill lurking outside the windows.

You sighed as you reached for the menu, already dreading this conversation that had absolutely zero chance of not going wrong. “This is Jumin, my boyfriend.”

The expected shock dyed your father’s expression an unpleasant shade of red. “He said—”

“Yes, I know.” Another sigh. “He said that I work for him but all I was doing was, well…giving piano lessons.” You decided it was a better idea not to mention that you started out as Jumin’s maid. Bringing up music again was already more than enough to incense him.

The beginnings of that familiar rage flared in your father’s eyes as his face shifted closer to purple instead.

You passed the menu to Jumin, not even in the mood for coffee when your nerves were already this frayed. With how bad your anxiety had been, you’d barely managed to stomach breakfast that morning…

“And now I’m staying at his house…” You figured you might as well add the rest of your tinder before he could explode.

Jumin’s efficient mindset was really starting to rub off on you. Or…maybe your feelings had been hurt so many times that, now, going on the offensive was easier than wasting effort and energy setting up defenses that wouldn’t hold.

You squared your shoulders. “…until the new semester starts at Gongsam. Because, yes, I made it in and…hm, how did you put it again?” Grasping your chin, you pretended to think.

“Ah.” You held up one finger and cleared your throat. Although you knew you were being petty, the same wounded spite that had tempted you to ignore your father’s message now made you unable to stop. “‘If you’re so determined to screw up your future because of a silly ambition, you’ll have to do it without me in your life’.”

For a shocking moment, the fury your father had been exuding gave way to a startled kind of consternation, like he was distressed by your words, instead of angered. “But...it wasn’t meant...I didn’t think you’d…”

“You didn’t think I’d take you seriously? You thought your words would cow me and make me give everything up just so I wouldn’t lose you?” Your scoff was more bitter than the black coffee the mug on the table was undoubtedly filled with. “You can’t speak your mind and then be surprised when I understand the real meaning behind the ambiguous words you choose to hurl at me.”

Expression going dark again, your father looked like he wanted to speak, but a warning gaze from Jumin silenced him.

Jumin knew you weren’t done yet. And as always, he had your back, even now against your own father. Your eyes skipped to him for a second, chest warming with gratitude for his quietly protective presence at your side.

With a deep breath, you forced your attention back to the person opposite you. “There is nothing you can say right now that will dissuade me from pursuing music for myself. Or to make me come back home. It was never your right to decide for me.”

At this point, you could see the figurative thunderclouds rumbling above your father’s head.

But he didn’t say what you thought he would.

“You have not once mentioned to me that you have a boyfriend.” Disapproval narrowed his piercing gaze when he looked from you to Jumin with obvious distaste. “How long have you even known him for? Is that what you’ve been doing while I wasted money paying for your college?”

The unhidden aggression in his words had your hair standing on end, but you gritted your teeth and endured the uncomfortable tension.

“If you think I’m letting you move in with some guy you just met—”

“Oh, no, you’re misunderstanding something.” You could tell how much your interruption enraged him by the way his lips pressed together in silent affront.

Though it stressed you out, you did your best to ignore it. “I’m not asking, I am telling you. I am done asking for your permission. Like I said on Wednesday, I am not a child anymore, and it’s about time you stopped treating me like one.”

You met his blazing gaze head on, nerves steadied by Jumin’s hand that had covertly moved to rest on your knee as soon as your father raised his voice. “Moving out was the first step. The next is this: if you hope to stay a part of my life, you will respect me and my feelings, and stop trying to force your will over mine.”

You took a moment to breathe, trying to stop yourself from being overcome by the rising emotions. Sometimes, even anger could lead to tears. And you still had things to say.

Your father did too. “Everything I’ve said and done has always been with your best interest in mind.” His voice was tight with tension, with the audible effort to keep from shouting.

Your laugh ground in your throat like sand between cogwheels. “No. You were scared you would have to see yourself fail a second time if I did, so you tried everything you could to take away the one thing that kept me sane after mom left.”

Your father’s face blanched at the mention of your mother.
,
For a painful moment, you wondered if he knew…

“You almost crippled me.” Your voice shook; Jumin’s hand squeezed your knee lightly. “For years, you would rather see me unhappy than face the fears you were projecting onto me. Don’t tell me you did it because you cared. If you cared, you wouldn’t have missed this—” You slammed your bandaged wrist on the table. “—and you’d have stopped to notice what I looked like on Wednesday night before you ripped into me for trying to live a life that did not make me miserable.”

Your father’s eyes dropped to your injured arm. His face contorted, shifted through conflicting emotions like the pages of a flip-book. Anguish, then rage, then despair. When it returned to your face, his gaze was heavier, more acute. Suddenly, he seemed to see the scabbed over cut along your temple, the remnant fading bruise at your lip.

Everything he was blind to before.

Too late. Tremors shook your body from the force of your fury.

“Do you know who noticed? Do you know who was there for me after I was assaulted, and who helped me deal with the bastard who did this to me?” Your vision blurred from the angry tears you could no longer hold back. Your clenched fist shot pain through your wrist, despite the painkillers you had swallowed at breakfast. “Jumin did. Because, as it seems, Jumin cares about me more than my actual father does.”

A sharp inhale from across the table. You could no longer see clearly enough to decipher what was going on on your father’s face.

“Jumin encouraged me to follow my dreams, no matter the chance of failure. He believed in me and told me I was good enough when your doubts, your fears, had started poisoning my own mind despite all the fight I put up. He wanted to come to my audition, and he celebrated with me and told me how proud he was when I received the acceptance letter. What did you do?”

You dashed at the tears when they brimmed over, hoping they reflected the wrath they were born from. As long as your voice didn’t falter before you’d said your piece, you didn’t care if he saw you crying.

You’d shed enough angry tears while hiding away from the world and from your father. This time, you wanted him to see how deep your fury ran, to realize the extent of damage he’d been refusing to acknowledge.

His wide eyes and slack jaw told you that he did.

Good. There was no more need to hide.

Swallowing hard, you lifted your chin to look him square in the eyes. “Besides, you told me to choose, remember? Well, I’ve made my choice. If I stay and let you control my life, we’d remain family in nothing but blood and name while resentment festers between us.” Your hand trembled in your lap when you unclenched it. It burned, feeling the blood flow back into your fingers. “You would drive me away like you did my mother.”

You hadn’t intended to bring her up, not when the wound was still this raw, her ghost unburied.

But the shock of sorrow flashing in his eyes told you what you needed to know.

He knew.

The words wouldn’t come without a fight, grating past your constricting throat like gravel. “That’s why I’m leaving now, of my own will, and maybe if you can let go of your poisonous fears long enough to see how you’ve been smothering me with your personal nightmares, there might yet be hope to salvage this relationship.”

Jumin rose at your stiff nod, taking your hand in his when you got to your feet, still shaking.

Although you teetered on the verge of dissolving, you stopped by your father’s side of the table to give him one final look, let him see the weight of your emotions. “Goodbye, Dad.”

Then you left, Jumin at your side.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27

Living with Jumin made the days pass by in a blur, the warm glow of affection and warmth and laughter dimmed only by the grief constantly pulsating under your skin, an ever-bleeding gash carved from the loss of your mother.

The worries that hounded you before were now distant memories, in the past with everything else you’d once held on to to keep from crumbling. You were rid of Shin, and the question of your uncertain future had been resolved, the conflict with your father laid to rest. For now.

But the complicated emotions you experienced trying to deal with the knowledge that your mother was gone, and with her any chance at reconciliation?

You didn’t know why it all got worse after the day of her funeral.

Most nights, it took you hours to quiet your restless thoughts and fall into unrestful sleep.

Underneath the anguish of it—of knowing you would never see her again, never get to have her in your life again—the anger was still there, white-hot and vicious, because how dare your mother decide that being without her was better for you? Hadn’t she left because your father tried to do the same, in a way? How could she condemn your father for his actions and end up repeating his sin, only with far bigger damage and worse consequences?

How could she remove herself from your life, lying to herself and others that she did it for your own good? And claim to have suffered as much as you had.

How could she just die and leave you behind again, confused and broken-hearted with neither a reason or justification to continue resenting her, nor the possibility to make up for the past?

And how could she do the same to three more little girls, who had known no mother but her, and were too young to be scarred the same way you had been?

You were angry at yourself too, for putting finals before going to see her. Had you known you’d end up missing your chance, you would have prioritized a visit to the hospital over the cursed exams that now were nothing but a useless, unfinished milestone on your resume.

It was a chaos of what if’s and why’s in your head, disrupting your routine during the oddest times and making it hard to breathe at night when you should be sleeping soundly.

Twice now, Jumin had come into your—his—room to find you hyperventilating after a nightmare, clutching at the blanket like it was your mother’s hand slipping irrevocably from your grasp.

He would hold you then, tightly in his arms, whispering soothing words to calm your racing heart and quiet your shaken mind.

Despite how terrifying the feeling of making yourself vulnerable and sharing your deepest sorrows with someone had been at first, Jumin was your safe place through it all.

You tried to keep your composure, because it was frightening not to be the master of your own emotions, but sometimes the grief hit you even during the day. It would wash over you like a tidal wave, causing your knees to buckle and your chest to go tight.

One time, you sat watching classical music performances on Jumin’s TV while he worked, when an old memory resurfaced, from a time in your childhood you had repressed after your mother’s leaving.

Of how the piece used to be your mother’s favorite to hear your dad play. A cheerful, fast-paced waltz by Chopin, the springy notes bouncing and bursting in your memories like soap bubbles.*

She’d been so proud of you when you started learning it, for her. The piece proved a little too advanced for your skill level at the time, but you would have happily practiced a thousand repetitions of each progression just to see her eyes light up the way they did when she recognized the beginning chords resounding from under your small hands.

She would instantly reach for your father and pull him up, to barefoot-dance through the apartment while you provided the music to their affectionate waltz.

You would watch them and giggle and make mistakes that no one cared about in their joy to just be spending time and having fun together.

Brought back by the familiar tune, the memory hit you out of nowhere, so detailed and clear as if merely ten days had passed since then, instead of ten years and more.

Though it was suffused with sunlight and smiles in your mind, there was nothing but an empty home and dreary clouds in the present, pouring rain like the drops of moisture slipping down your face unnoticed.

You curled up on the sofa and cried. You cried so hard, you didn’t notice that the music continued, to the end. Until the orchestra fell silent, the dance concluded, and the room was filled with only your sobs, toneless and harsh, instead of the bubbling laughter of a small family.

You discovered another thing to mourn that day. All those lost memories, happy memories, hidden away by the little girl you’d been when she found herself incapable of dealing with the hole in her chest, in her life, caused by her mother’s departure. Not while still remembering the good times.

Unable to stop crying, you’d been the one to seek out Jumin in his study. You lingered in the doorway, wiping at your face gruffly, intending to leave should he be in a meeting—but he spotted you right away, abandoning the keyboard he’d been typing on and striding over to pull you to his chest.

There, comforted by his warmth and his scent, you finally managed to calm down. He had this confounding but welcome ability, to quiet any upset within you and wipe the sadness from your aching heart, with tender fingertips and his monogrammed silk handkerchiefs.

“I’m sorry for bothering you during work…” Your broken whisper carried the guilt of having interrupted his work and wet his shirt with your tears.

The shake of his head made hís chin rub over the top of your hair. “Don’t be. I can and will always take a break for you if need be.”

His words caused your eyes to well up again. You pressed your face to his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his ruined shirt as you held on. “Thank you.”

Jumin took you back to the sofa and made you tell him about what happened. He asked you to speak about your feelings almost every time you found comfort in his arms, convinced that it would help you process your grief if you put everything into words instead of bottling it up inside you.

You were half certain he’d acquired that particular information from Doctor Yi, on the day he’d taken you back in for your scheduled checkup a week after the Shin incident.

Doctor Yi had examined your wrist thoroughly and prescribed you another week of rest, at the end of which you were permitted to finally remove the compression bandage in order to start rehab.

Every night since then, Jumin would sit you down before bed and take your hand in his, to help you through the stretching and mobility routine Doctor Yi had specified for you.

He’d start off by gently massaging a warming cream into your wrist, to loosen up the tissue and muscles stiff from being immobilized for two weeks. Stretches and strength exercises followed, rotating your wrist this way and that in his careful grasp while he told you about his day and the latest developments at the office—which Assistant Kang had required he visit at least twice a week.

Jumin remained reluctant to leave you alone, moreso considering the unexpected twists and emotional turns your grief was taking you through. He was so concerned for you, it made your heart ache. His way of caring for you even when he was at the office working.

He’d text you at least once an hour to make sure you were alright. Sometimes, it struck you as a little too much worry—like the overly cautious ban on using your wrist he’d imposed back in the first two weeks after your injury—but you still appreciated how much he thought of you and took time out of his busy schedule to ensure your well-being.

Though it didn’t ease the pain of your loss, his support helped you deal with your own feelings better, in a more healthy way.

And it made you want to do something nice for him even more.

One of those days that Jumin left early in the morning for work, you called Jaehee and asked her to come over around noon, finally intending to set your plans in motion.

You ordered lunch and made sure everything was ready before she arrived. Knowing Jumin, his subordinates most likely didn’t dare to take lunch breaks while he continued working. You hoped to tempt Jaehee into staying and having a meal with you, so you’d have enough time to lay your intentions bare and request her help.

When she arrived, you got the distinct impression that she wasn’t happy to be there. Her poker face rivaled that of her boss, carefully composed and obviously cautious, and she wore her black business suit like armor.

You waved her inside while wrangling Victor away from the door. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet?”

Jaehee’s apprehensive nod confirmed that this would be a challenge.

“Great, then you can help me out.” You started towards the kitchen, hoping she would follow. “See, I ordered too much, thinking Jumin would make it back for lunch today. Have a seat.”

Putting Victor down outside the kitchen door, you went to wash your hands in the sink. It felt good being able to move your arm properly again, though it was still a little stiff after a mere couple days of rehab.

Even when you were done and drying your hands, the kitchen behind you stayed quiet. No footsteps or the sound of a chair being pulled back from the table.

Figured this would be more difficult than expected.

You turned and found her standing just inside the kitchen doorway, arms crossed in more than mere reluctance.

Though subtle, your intuition told you that the angle her face stayed tilted at was deliberate, causing the kitchen lights to glare on the lenses of her half-framed glasses. Yet even without seeing her eyes, the stern frown carved into her forehead was enough to make you feel chastised. Almost.

“Look, Miss…”

“Y/N. Just Y/N, please.” You offered her a smile, although her attitude was rattling your nerves. “I am just an ordinary person. No need for titles or formalities with me.”

“…Y/N.” Jaehee looked decidedly uncomfortable addressing you that casually. “I am to fulfill any request you make, as Director Han instructed me to, and I am not one to shirk my duties. But if I may ask…what is this about?”

You motioned for her to sit again, were met with more professional stubbornness. Her cute pixie cut stayed perfectly in place even through the very resolute shake of her head.

With a sigh, you sat down and poured water into the two glasses you’d set out. You would just have to be straightforward and hope she wouldn’t immediately refuse. “I would like to ask for your help, to throw Jumin a—very late—birthday party.”

Jaehee’s frown eased, her brows lifting instead. Disbelief? Amusement? You didn’t yet know her well enough to tell.

“A birthday party?”

You nodded. “I know he already had a birthday dinner with his father, but from what I’ve heard, it didn’t go very well. So I want to throw him a party and invite everyone from RFA for a little surprise reunion.”

Jaehee’s shoulders dropped, her defensive stance dissolving like bubbles in the sparkling water you’d poured. She took one, two halting steps and sank into the chair opposite you, visibly shaken. “He spoke to you…about RFA?” She clearly hadn’t expected you to know.

You nodded slowly.

Her pupils shook when she met your calm gaze. “How much did he tell you?”

“Everything.” Your smile was barely there, soft with empathy and sadness alike.

“Even about—”

“Yes.” Bittersweet memories, as you thought back to the day he had broken down in front of you and allowed you to become his comfort, to ease his pain.

You could well imagine being the first one outside of RFA that Jumin had talked to about V’s fate and Rika’s betrayal. Knowing him, he may not even have told the others all the details back when it happened. So you could more than understand Jaehee’s shock.

You were hoping that, now that she knew Jumin trusted you to that extent, Jaehee would let go of some of the reservations she clearly had about you. Getting along with her was important for your relationship with Jumin, and crucial to the success of your plan.

“…Which is why I want to do this for him.” You fiddled with the napkin in front of you, unsure whether to say more. Was it okay for you to speak your mind, or would Jaehee think you were meddling and shut you down?

There was no other way but to find out for yourself. “He may not admit it, but I know he misses everyone and…I’m sure he would regret losing contact for good.”

Jaehee’s eyes were a little dull when she looked at you again. “I miss it too. How we all used to be together.”

Your heart ached at her melancholy, the way her voice went all thin and lifeless on those words, like it was the first time she allowed them outside of her heart.

You hadn’t expected her resistance to fail this quickly, but were glad the gentle approach had worked out. Dealing with vulnerable emotions like sadness was easier than facing someone’s wrath for believing you a nosy outsider overstepping your bounds.

Or maybe anger had always been too precarious a thing for you to dwell on, what with your ticking time bomb of a father.

Biting your lip, you slid the square bento box you’d ordered closer to her. “Please, eat. I’d hate to be wasting your time when it’s supposed to be your lunch break.”

Across from you, Jaehee grabbed her chopsticks and picked up a piece of egg roll.

You watched her take a bite and sighed in relief. At least she wasn’t being stubborn anymore.

Hopefully Jumin, too, was eating the bento you had sent to the office and not just leaving it to go cold while he sat in on back-to-back meetings.

Driver Kim had recommended this restaurant to you. They specialized in making fresh bentos with high quality ingredients that were practical enough to eat on the go but still constituted a full meal that would satisfy various palates with their variety.

Everyone would find something they liked in these bentos. It was why you had decided on them after spending too much time racking your brain over what lunch menu had the least potential for failure if you invited someone you barely knew to eat with you.

A sliced chicken cutlet, still crispy despite everything, lay draped over a bed of glistening white rice in the biggest compartment of the traditional wooden box. The main dish was flanked by an impressive selection of fresh sides, including kimchi, candied stir-fried potatoes, beef bulgogi, spicy cucumber salad, rolled egg omelets, octopus-shaped sausages, pickled bean sprouts, and dumplings.

The two of you ate in silence for a while. The bentos were delicious, like a hearty home-cooked meal after too much takeout, oh irony. The only thing that would have made lunch even better was if they came with a side of soup, especially in this frigid and dreary end of autumn weather.

You made a mental note to include some soup the next time you placed an order with them.

Jaehee ate with methodical precision, steadily decimating her portion at a tempo that told you she was used to eating under time pressure.

You felt bad knowing Jumin’s staff was always in a rush, because Jumin himself prioritized work over everything else.

Not everything, the little smug voice in your head whispered, secure in a cocoon of Jumin’s love like a cat rolling in catnip.

Knowing you were his sole priority made you feel even worse for Jaehee and the others he worked with…

The least you could do, you thought, was to invite Jaehee out for lunch more often, if nothing else than to save her from being driven to an inevitable burnout by Jumin’s rigorous governance of his employees. Maybe there was even a way to ensure he’d have more mercy on them in the long run.

Seeing that Jaehee was nearly done with hers, you left your half eaten bento and rose. Some tea would hopefully help prevent a stomach ache after she downright inhaled her food in record time.

You rummaged through the polished wooden box Jumin kept his loose leaf premium tea collection in, mumbling to yourself as you contemplated which kind Jaehee would like.

Just when you were about to cave and ask her instead of guessing, she surprised you.

“Coffee. I prefer coffee over tea.”

You turned and found her dabbing her mouth with a napkin, chopsticks and spoon neatly stacked in the empty container.

“C-coffee?” Your gaze jumped to the big, shiny coffee maker residing in the corner of Jumin’s kitchen, intimidating you with its imposing presence since the day you’d been assigned to clean the apartment.

At home, your father used recyclable paper filters to make hand drip coffee for his morning cup. Nami and you enjoyed cappuccino or iced coffee when you went out together, or the canned convenience variety from campus vending machines.

Since you’d started living with Jumin, he would make you a mug of café au lait every morning you spent together. With his fancy, sophisticated machine that made perfect café-quality coffee. The monstrosity that was capable of basically everything, from grinding the beans, measuring them out, brewing espresso, and frothing hot milk, all on its own.

Soon a month would have passed, and you still hadn’t figured out how to use the damn thing with all of its functions. And not just because Jumin had barely stopped hounding you about resting your wrist not even a week ago.

It was just such a complicated little (big!) robot, it was impossible to keep track of everything the machine could do, and how to get it to do it.

So, Jaehee’s unexpected request sent you into a crisis.

Hoping none of your panic showed on your face, you retrieved a matching cup and saucer from the cabinet and fearfully approached the metallic monster. Your hands might have been shaking, even.

Behind you, a chair scraped over the kitchen floor.

Jaehee stepped up to the counter by your side, her movements measured and with purpose. Her earlier composure was back, posture radiating confidence and quiet professionalism.

Instead of the neutral expression you expected, she wore a simple smile. It looked shallow, but your gut told you it was genuine.

“Allow me to help you.” She took the cup from your hands and beckoned you closer.

Shocked into silence, you went.

Step by step and with surprising patience, Jaehee Kang walked you through how to operate Jumin’s monster coffee machine to make a cup of foamy milk coffee.

And then, while sipping hers, she watched you make a second one for yourself, on your own, according to her teachings.

You had the distinct impression that she was laughing at your jittery incompetence the entire time, even though none of it showed in her demeanor. But she seemed more cordial than before, like she’d let go of her efforts to come across as intimidatingly strict and professionally aloof.

When the coffee was done and you were wiping down the mess you’d left in the process, you offered Jaehee an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to make you do this. I’m taking up all of your lunch break time too…”

Appearing amused for some reason, she waved you off from where she leaned with her hip against the counter, unhurried as she enjoyed her coffee. “It’s alright. I will just tell Director Han your name when he asks what kept me away from work for so long.” Her gold-brown eyes, having warmed up over the past half hour, sparked with unexpected mischief behind her spectacles.

That pulled a startled chuckle out of you. Was that…progress? Jaehee Kang, making fun of you, or making the best of the situation you’d landed her in?

Either way, you preferred this to her trying to ice you out like earlier.

“Now that we‘ve got the coffee out of the way…” She set her mug on the table and left the kitchen, leaving you and her sentence hanging. Not even half a minute later, barely long enough for you to even grow confused, she returned to her seat at the kitchen table, a slim tablet computer in hand.

And pulled back the chair beside her, patting it invitingly.

Not quite sure what was happening, you mug and your sat.

She opened a blank page in the notepad application, nudged her glasses higher on her nose, and gave you a conspiring smile. “…we have a very late birthday party to plan.”

~~~

It took a couple of weeks and more than a couple of strings pulled in Director Jumin Han’s name to organize a belated surprise party for Jumin’s birthday.

You met Jaehee multiple times in secret during the process of planning and exploring options, insisting on being hands-on and involved in every step, up until you reached the stage of ‘paying people to do the work for you’, as Jaehee had aptly put it.

It was also Jumin’s preferred method of handling many things, as you’d been told.

As soon as the venue and date were set, Jaehee had promised to contact the RFA members and make sure they would come, no matter what.

Satisfied with the division of labor, especially after having witnessed her thorough and insistent spirit firsthand, you had left the matter of the guests in her care and thrown yourself into planning out the details.

Cake, decorations.

A gift.

Your original plans saw the party itself as his gift, but you couldn’t just show up empty-handed when everyone else was most likely—hopefully—giving him something tangible to unwrap?

It took a great deal of racking your brain to come up with the right present for Jumin. Because, what could you gift someone who already had everything, and possessed the money to buy anything he might want beyond that?

In the end, it was Nami who sparked the idea in your mind, while practicing her bouquet-making skills during one of the sleepovers you’d taken to schedule on some of the days that Jumin worked at the office until late. Since you lived with him, there were very few opportunities for you to engage in your suspicious outings with Jaehee without tipping Jumin off about your planning something behind his back.

Jaewoo, Nami’s boyfriend, stopped by to deliver a care package in the early evening, containing goodies from his parents’ tea plantation in Jeju-do to share with Nami and you.

You didn’t know what to be more shocked about. The previously mysterious man himself—tall and imposing, with the brawn and sturdy build of a professional martial artist and an impressive array of tattoos that were discernible in spite of his winter-appropriate attire—, or the fact that a man this rugged-looking supposedly came from a family of tea farmers.

And that cute, short, bubbly, sweetheart Nami called him her boyfriend.

When you’d opened the door at the behest of your best friend whose hands were full of flower petals, crinkly foil, and string, you had nearly jumped out of your skin at the unexpected sight.

Until Nami’s squeal hit your eardrums, making you jump in fright instead.

Jaewoo gave you a curt nod—was that a pierced eyebrow you’d peeked behind messy jet black hair a tad longer than fashionable?—and stepped inside, ignoring your outstretched arms to take the parcel from his hands.

You stood and stared as the man you’d almost mistaken as a shady delivery guy slipped off his heavy boots and the tough guy scowl on his face and leaned way down, to receive the kiss Nami stretched to smack on his stoic lips.

He put the package down, shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped his arms around Nami’s waist from behind.

Your jaw hit the floor with a thud. Oh, no. Just the front door falling shut from the wind.

As you stood there and watched—a very stunned and speechless fifth wheel—the hulking bear of a man bent and folded himself forward until he could rest his chin on a giggling Nami’s head. A slight shudder shook the solid mass of him. His lips ticked up the tiniest bit at the corners.

It looked...surprisingly cozy.

Nami shivered and squirmed in his grasp. “You’re c-cold, babe.”

Jaewoo’s face had been tinted red from the frigid air outside, but when he blinked slowly and languidly like a self-contented cat, his sun-kissed skin appeared to glow with a different kind of warmth.

~~~

Jaewoo Jeong stayed long enough to steal Nami’s body heat and the little bouquet she finished working on despite his chilly embrace—along with a few more kisses that thoroughly corrected the first impression you’d had of him at the door.

The man looked like he rode bikes and broke bones for a living, but he was secretly an overgrown puppy who melted like snow to Nami’s sunshine, quite possibly the biggest walking contradiction you had ever come across.

And as a couple, the two of them made for a striking sight. Playful and talkative Nami who was small but energetic, bouncing around people like a bumblebee buzzing about between the flowers she so loved. And Jaewoo, who towered a full foot taller than her and twice as wide, with his gruff demeanor and average of 5 words uttered per hour.

Yes, you had counted.

The package he’d brought contained a selection of teas and tea-themed items from the plantation’s gift shop, including some winter-exclusive products and expensive-looking special blends that lacked a price tag. Thankfully.

As Nami rummaged through the contents and showed you all the wondrous things that seemed quite high-quality, with a single pink flower stuck in her hair from Jaewoo’s parting gift, your vision for Jumin’s birthday present began taking on shape.

It took a few unscheduled visits to local specialty shops to acquire one half of the present, and a special request delivered into Jaewoo’s calloused ”but very capable hands,” a smug Nami assured, to organize the second.

Though cutting it close, the gift was ready in time for the big day.

Worrying that Jumin would have something scheduled despite Jaehee’s commitment to closely mind his calendar until then, you’d made him promise to keep his Friday evening clear of any obligations three days prior, and reminded him again each following night.

You were so full of nervous energy, between last-minute preparations and the fear that something might go wrong—or Jumin would find your behavior suspect, the surprise be ruined—that you barely caught a good night’s rest the entire second week. The only reason your wrist rehab continued every day, was Jumin’s stubborn insistence that you stick to your prescribed recovery plan and go through your routines under his watchful gaze and gentle guidance.

And then the day of the party came, and it was up to you to ensure Jumin’s timely arrival at the scene.

Jaehee had made sure to delay him at the office so he would arrive home in a rush and not have the time nor presence of mind to notice what was missing from the apartment.

You played along, already dolled up and frantic, worried you might miss your implied reservation if he didn’t hurry.

Having picked his outfit for him yourself, you were all restless and jittery by the time he came out dressed in the tailored dark suit over a black silk shirt. It could have been nervousness or cupid’s arrow, but your heart hammered against your ribs and your fingers trembled when you rose to undo the top two buttons of his shirt, no tie, and handed him a gray scarf instead. “It’s cold outside, so wear this.”

Instead of taking it, Jumin blessed you with a silent smile and bent his head for you.

A shaky chuckle escaped you. You would never get used to the enormous size of these feelings swelling inside you whenever he smiled at you like that.

You wrapped the scarf around his neck and pushed your hand into his hair to pull him further down for a quick, breathless kiss.

His eyes sparkled like Christmas lights afterwards.

You shoved his coat into his hands before he could reach for you. You saw that in his eyes, too.

“Your hair was looking too perfect,” you announced, short of breath, and turned to walk out the door. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

Quiet laughter behind you, but he followed.

Driver Kim, too, fulfilled his part perfectly. Less than half an hour after your departure, he dropped you and Jumin off downtown, in front of a nondescript two-story building that vaguely resembled a warehouse.

Suppressing a smile at Jumin’s questioning glance, you waved to the retreating car and took his hand to pull him towards the entrance.

The heavy door inlaid with the unfinished stained glass image of a sleeping cat swung open to absolute darkness.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Jumin sounded definitely alarmed now.

Feeling cheeky, you winked at him and dragged him inside, walking slowly and carefully so neither of you would trip over something—or someone.

In the depths of unlit space ahead, a sneeze made you flinch even before a small furry something brushed your ankles out of nowhere.

Jumin squeezed your hand suddenly, as if something had startled him too. You bit your lip to hold back from making a noise.

Then the lights came on and six people jumped out with a cheerful “SURPRISE!!!”

You turned with a huge grin, and found yourself cracking up with laughter.

If he’d been a feline, Jumin’s fur would be standing on end right now. He blinked, his gray gaze flitting around the room filled with balloons, and streamers, and kitties.

A fluffy white cat sashayed out from under a nearby table and wound itself around Jumin’s pant-clad legs.

“Princess?” He bent to pick her up and cradled her in his arms like a baby. Holding Elizabeth The 3rd seemed to steady him a little. “Y/N…” He threw you a wide-eyed look of bewilderment. “…what is all this?”

A slender boy with dyed blond hair, maybe a couple years younger than you, stepped forward to blindside Jumin with a hug. “Happy birthday, Jumin!! We really missed you!” A tearful sniff accompanied his candid greeting.

Jumin first froze under the unexpected assault, then shifted his grip to awkwardly pat the boy’s back, after making sure his cat wasn’t being squished. “Ah…hello, Yoosung. Have you been well?”

As you’d guessed, the boy was Yoosung Kim, the youngest of the group and Rika’s cousin. Jaehee had briefed you very vaguely on the other RFA members during the planning stages of the party. After all, it wouldn’t do to host guests you knew nothing whatsoever about.

As soon as Yoosung withdrew, Elizabeth The 3rd hopped out of Jumin’s arms and strutted away, tail swishing with attitude.

Your lips twitched. It seemed that her Highness enjoyed participating in unsolicited hugs about as much as her owner did.

Beyond the unfamiliar faces, Jumin’s friends of old, Nami and Jaewoo stood by the snack tables lined up against the wall of the tastefully decorated room. You plucked Victor from a nearby pile of cat-safe confetti and joined your best friend and her beau to watch the reunion unfold.

“I can’t even believe it.” A lanky red-head with funny patterned glasses approached next, hands in the pockets of his well-worn hooded jacket. “You’re telling me that Director Jumin Han aka. Mr. ‘I’m not interested in women and wish to avoid them’ has a girlfriend. And before Superstar Zen, at that?”

He whistled a single drawn-out note, a teasing, full-faced smile creasing the corners of his eyes behind the zebra-striped yellow frames. “Guess our Jaehee here was right all along.”

Jaehee chuckled from where she stood off to the side, a pack of party hats in her hands. “I told you many times that Mr. Han isn’t gay. You wouldn’t believe me.” She approached and piled a party hat on top of his choppy carmine hair, and you could swear you caught her rolling her eyes.

You chortled, not having expected that Jaehee could have a witty and humorous side too. Even throughout your cooperation in organizing the party, she’d been mostly professional, rarely ever going below formally casual in any of your interactions together.

Jumin cleared his throat pointedly, giving both of them a disapproving look from narrowed eyes. “Luciel.” What should have been a word of greeting contained a world of warning instead.

The man who had to be Seven, or 707, as Jaehee had unhelpfully elaborated upon sensing your confusion about the strange name, clicked his tongue in mock displeasure. “Poor Elly must be so upset to have to share you with a human woman. Don’t you worry, I shall do my very best to cheer her up!”

He patted Jumin’s back with a cheerful grin, before setting off toward the flock of cats grouped on the opposite side of the room, away from the noisy guests. “Good to see you, happy birthday, and all that,” he called over his shoulder without bothering to turn back. “But really, thanks for the invite! I really wanted to see my cute Elly again~”

“Stay away from Elizabeth The 3rd!” Jumin glowered after him. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m not the host of this event, or I’d be rescinding your invite and having you escorted off the premises right now.”

“Wait!” Next to Jaehee, a frowning Yoosung looked adorably befuddled as he snuck a peek at Jaewoo, who kept to the edge of the room, arms crossed and intimidating as ever. “I thought that scary guy over there is a security guard, but he’s a guest too?”

A wolfish glint ignited in Jaewoo’s dark eyes. The fiend snapped his teeth at Yoosung, who startled and almost knocked Jaehee down as he stumbled back in fright.

He even bumped into you on his frantic path to escape, causing Victor to leap from your arms and disappear among the decorations and cat furniture scattered around the room.

Nami was having trouble keeping a straight face. Thankfully, she at least nudged her boyfriend in the ribs in silent admonition. Even if he probably didn’t feel it…

You went to introduce yourself and your friends to Jumin’s guests to resolve any possible misunderstandings, when a heavy, leather-clad arm landed across your shoulder, making you jump.

Zen, reminiscent of an albino with his unusual appearance of silvery white hair and red-tinted eyes, was a flirty charmer. Jaehee had made sure to warn you ahead of time, though it sounded less precautionary and more appreciative back when she’d said it…

“Yo, trust fund jerk. Missed me? I thought you might be miserable without my handsome face to bless your monotonous robot life, so I stopped by today…but turns out you’re not that boring anymore if you’ve been hiding a cutie like this all this time.” Although addressing Jumin, he winked at you, unusual-hued eyes twinkling with mischief as he pulled you against his side with playful nonchalance.

You tipped your head back to look at him, almost as tall as Jumin but with none of the refined elegance that your director had about him.

For all his remarkable beauty, Zen felt rougher around the edges, both personality and appearance-wise, with his obvious preference for leather and fashionable accessories. And the way he held himself, his manner of speaking—even his provocative smirk—radiated the confidence of someone who thrived in the limelight.

He was like an uncontrolled wildfire next to the sedate warmth of Jumin’s candle flame. A deliberately performative individual, perfectly at home in the world of entertainment that was his bread and butter.

In some ways, he reminded you of Nami’s passion and fierceness, her untamed core beyond the shy exterior—if not for the narcissistic streak that set him firmly apart from your quirky and lovable best friend.

Before you could do it yourself, Jumin stepped forward and tugged Zen’s arm off you, face tight.

You stayed tucked to Jumin’s side instead of moving away. And slipped your arm under his coat, to slide your hand into the back pocket of his suit pants, and flashed Zen your brightest wattage smile.

If you knew one thing about people like him, it was that they never expected someone to try and outshine them.

Surprise flickered across Zen’s face. Professional actor that he was, though, he recovered his composure swiftly, and gave an amused snort. “The truth is, I wouldn’t have bothered coming if Jaehee hadn’t insisted I be here, tasteless as the location is.” He wrinkled his nose in feigned disapproval, alluding to his surroundings with a wave of his hand and barely veiled disdain.

You scowled.

Jumin wrapped his arm around your shoulder as if to appease you.

“I so hate disappointing my lovely fans.” Zen reverted to his earlier smirk, although his gaze lingered on Jumin’s arm a little too long. Then his sparkly eyes returned to you. “Or wasting my good looks when I could be showing them off to beautiful women.”

Before you could object to his criticism of your party, or scoff at his vanity—it was irritating how full of himself he was—a sneeze tore out of him, violent enough to whip his pale ponytail over his shoulder.

Right. Jaehee had mentioned allergies.

Zen blew his nose with a handkerchief, then fixed Jumin with a look you could only describe as crabby while backing off towards a nearby window. “I took allergy meds at the highest dose medically allowed without harming my precious health, but if anything happens anyway, trust fund jerk, you will be responsible for my hospital bills.”

Jumin seemed more amused than offended by Zen’s theatrics now. “Believe me, if there was a way to remove your cat allergy and transfer it to Luciel, I wouldn’t spare any expense to achieve that.”

His expression darkened on the heel of those words. He turned his head to where Seven was doubtlessly harassing a cat somewhere behind your back.

When you had insisted on including your pets in Jumin’s surprise party, Jaehee had concurred with your idea of renting out a cat café solely for this matter. Having multiple cats present, she reluctantly agreed despite her personal dislike for felines, would divert Seven’s undivided attention from Elizabeth The 3rd, thereby granting both her and Jumin some relief from his unwanted affections.

There was no way Seven could resist when about seven other cats waited to be showered with love as well. It was the perfect plan and poetic justice in one, according to Jaehee.

And Jumin’s birthday should first and foremost consider his own wishes and concerns, before anyone else’s.

You’d found it silly back then, because how bad could this infamous Seven and his overwhelming fondness for Elizabeth The 3rd be?

Now, as you glimpsed him chasing a harried-looking Victor around the room, you finally understood the gravity of the situation.

You grabbed one of Jumin’s hands and pressed a tender kiss to his palm. Right now, he should be enjoying himself to the fullest, not fantasizing about serving Seven a lifelong sentence to pet offender prison. “Relax, Director Han. Jaehee promised to keep an eye on him and Elizabeth The 3rd.”

Sighing when your efforts to reassure him seemed to fall on deaf ears, you rose on tiptoe to playfully headbutt his chin, much in line with the party’s theme.

You were feeling rather silly with love for him.

Forgetting all about the serial cat heckler, Jumin faced you with a strangely vulnerable look on his face. He tugged you close and pressed his forehead to yours, oblivious to who might be watching the display of affection—or maybe he simply didn’t care. “This…all of this. Thank you, Y/N.”

Putting all you had into a special smile for him, you pressed your lips to his cheek and wished you could kiss him properly. “Happy birthday, Jumin.”

~~~

After a quick round of introductions to get everyone acquainted, the snack tables, previously covered up with plastic to stop the cats from partaking in the feast, were declared fair game.

There was food, and wine, and cake, and conversation. Almost everyone voted to leave the party games for later. A reasonable choice with this much catching up to do.

You had intended to bake the cake yourself, but it would have been impossible to keep a project like that from Jumin in his own house, considering you hadn’t been to Nami’s for the past few days.

You’d taken some of your recipes to a dessert shop instead, and commissioned a cake with all the flavors Jumin had liked about your baked goods and the sweet memories the two of you had made together.

The two-tiered work of art was part dark chocolate brownie, part salted caramel cookie, and part decadent ice cream cake. Stenciled fondant in the shape of cats and tuxedos adorned the exterior, with icing on top that spell out NYAPPY BIRTHDAY, JUMIN!

As everyone sat together at the big table Jaewoo and Zen quickly set up now that there was no risk of anyone tripping in the dark anymore, you mostly stuck with your best friend as to not intrude on Jumin’s quality time with his friends.

It quickly became obvious that Seven and Zen were a comical duo, making fun of Jumin and bantering back and forth with practiced ease.

From what you could tell, the other RFA members seemed to have stayed in contact to some extent. Yoosung invited Jumin to join him and Zen on one of their runs sometime. Jaehee mentioned meeting Seven for the occasional cup of coffee, in the rare event that he left his hacker’s lair to rejoin the outside world.

Seven ribbed Yoosung about his unhealthy gaming habits, and Yoosung cheeked back that Seven would someday turn into a bag of chips himself, considering at least 60% of his body had to be junk food with the way he never ate anything nutritious.

All in all, the gathering felt natural and warm, like watching family rather than just friends.

Jumin and Jaehee did their best to involve you and Nami in the conversation as well, while Jaewoo was perfectly happy remaining silent next to his ladylove the entire evening, the flimsy party hat on his head a striking contrast to his unsmiling demeanor.

You were more than shocked to realize there was no trace of Nami’s usual timidness around strangers, and something told you that it had to do precisely with Jaewoo’s presence.

You even caught them inconspicuously holding hands under the table.

At some point, after a few games that shifted the mood from fond reunion to lively festivities, Jaehee brought out a karaoke machine and handed Zen the microphone, batting her lashes and pleading for him to sing one of his musical numbers.

“There is no piano here, or else Y/N would be in charge of the entertainment for tonight.” Jaehee’s offhand comment caught you off guard.

You didn’t remember talking about your hobby or future profession around her, so…

You snuck a furtive glance at the man beside you.

Jumin seemed drunk on the atmosphere, his eyes shining with an intensity you had experienced but a handful of times before.

He noticed your gaze on him and smiled, reaching out to pull your chair closer to his with startling ease. “My Y/N will be even more famous than Zen someday, mark my words.”

You blushed, aware of multiple pairs of eyes widening when Jumin reached for your hand and threaded your fingers together.

Zen was the first to recover. “That is a bet I will not lose.” He tossed his party hat at Jumin’s feet in lieu of a knight’s gauntlet. “You better be ready to pay up then, trust fund jerk.”

Jumin’s smug but somehow still cryptic smile in response to the challenge caused everyone to erupt in cheers and clapping.

~~~

The party dragged on longer than anyone expected.

Even Zen, who had announced his departure a few hours in, “because the allergy meds are wearing off,” could be persuaded to stay until the final event of the gift opening—though he grumbled and griped and sneezed about it enough to get on everyone’s nerves.

You were excited and also nervous to finally give Jumin your present, and impatient enough that watching him open the others’ first felt like sitting on burning coals.

Seven gifted him a box of limited edition Honey Butter Chips that he looked aggrieved to part with, and a voucher for a couples’ & cat’s spa day at a new and unique wellness center just outside town.

“I would be more than happy to go in your place, should you be too busy to take our Elly to a due pampering~”

You had to stop Jumin from whacking Seven over the head with the box of chips—which may have been Seven’s intended aim in the first place.

Yoosung’s offering was a thick book of puns and dad jokes that, for some reason, Jumin appeared incredibly pleased to receive.

Zen callously pushed a slender box and an envelope into Jumin’s hands, which contained an expensive custom fountain pen engraved with the initials T. F. J. H.—”’Trust Fund Jerk Han’, so the business world knows who they’re selling their souls to,” and a blank contract with Zen’s binding signature, to be affirmed for one advertising project of Jumin’s choice.

“Now that I have made it beyond musicals and cheap acting gigs, I can afford to be a little more generous with my talents. Even towards you. More people deserve to see my beauty.” A statement that matched the pompous nature of the one who uttered it.

You rolled your eyes at the by now familiar display of vanity. At least the pen was pretty…

Jumin politely thanked Zen, which seemed to piss him off even more, and moved on to the next gift-giver.

You hid your grin behind your wine glass.

Nami and Jaewoo presented him with an elaborate, hand-woven flower bouquet of Nami’s specialty, and tea-infused truffles from Jaewoo’s family business.

Jaehee had booked him a wine tasting trip to an up-and-coming young vineyard with the potential to become his next promising investment.

And then it was your turn, and your hands shook as you placed the wrapped box on the table in front of him.

His hands brushed yours when he reached for the wrapper and carefully tore it open.

You watched, heart in your throat, as he unveiled a heavy crystal glass teapot carved intricately with flowers all along the top and bottom edges. Only the sides of the pot were smooth and translucent, like little windows that focused the eye on the inside of the pot.

Ooh’s and aah’s sounded from all around the table.

You had rushed from one vintage store to the other to find something like it, something that would help you convey yourself to Jumin and fulfill the vision you’d created in your mind.

“Open the rest,” you urged a delighted Jumin, still tense with nerves. The other half was yet to be revealed.

The teapot was securely bedded on a cushion to ensure its protection, over an enigmatic box with an engraved logo on it.

Jaewoo’s family branded their products under the name Jeong Deul Cha - Grow Fond-tea, which combined their family name, a clever catch phrase, and a pun into one memorable expression.

Jumin opened the box and froze. “Is this…tteokcha?”

Only real tea enthusiasts and connoisseurs knew about tteokcha, an artisanal Korean fermented tea that looked like dry herbs formed into a cake-like shape, hence the name.**

You nodded, unable to contain your excitement from painting a huge grin on your face. “Would you care for some tea?”

At Jumin’s nod, an ever-prepared Jaehee brought a kettle with hot water as Jumin unwrapped one of the several tea bundles with reverent fingers.

He placed it inside the vintage teapot and accepted the kettle from Jaehee to pour water over it himself.

Aside from yourself, Jaehee and Jaewoo, everyone else seemed confused but observed curiously nonetheless.

Seconds, then minutes ticked by.

Slowly, gradually, the tight tea cake expanded, tinting the water golden as it unfurled into a bed of woven tea leaves resembling a lotus pad, and previously hidden, a single crimson blossom bloomed in its center.

You caught a glimpse of Jumin’s stunned expression, before your best friend’s shriek caused you to jump.

Nami’s noise cut off into a strangled gasp when Jaewoo put his arm around her neck to keep her from ruining the moment. He winked at you, looking rightfully self-satisfied when his gaze returned to the teapot while his girlfriend tried to pry off his hand from over her mouth.

Even so, her voice rang inside your head, crystal clear.

“A red rose means ‘I love you’, and a single one at that…a single one adds the meaning of ‘forever’.”

Before you could turn back to face him, he reached for you and drew you into a deep, passionate kiss that set you aflame, all the way to the soles of your feet and the tips of your ears.

Squeals and whistles erupted all around as Jumin bent you backwards over his arm and responded to the public declaration of your love in kind.