Seorin sat frozen, her body stiff against the worn seat of the truck, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat. Hae-Jo's hand rested against her stomach, warm and steady, yet trembling ever so slightly, as if he were barely holding himself together. She could feel her pulse hammering against her ribs, every heartbeat deafening in the quiet space between them.

She swallowed hard, her dry throat making it difficult to form words. "Um." It was the only thing she could manage, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered from the road ahead to the driver, then back to Hae-Jo—the man she had loved with every fiber of her being, the man she had lost, and now, the father of the child she carried.

The weight of his gaze was too much to bear, so she looked away, trying to keep herself from crumbling. "Can we talk about this later?" she asked, her voice so soft it almost disappeared into the hum of the engine. "In private?"

Hae-Jo didn't speak. He only gave a slow nod, his face unreadable, but his hand never moved. He kept it there, a silent declaration that he knew—had known. That thought alone sent a wave of panic crashing over her. She had thought she had more time, had thought she could find the right words before he figured it out on his own. But now, she had nothing but this silence—this unbearable, suffocating silence.

What was he thinking? Was he angry? Was he hurt? Did he regret everything? The questions swarmed in her mind, but she didn't have the courage to ask them aloud.

Hae-Jo suddenly turned to the driver, his voice calm, steady—too steady. "Sir, is there any chance you could take us to the port and drop us off at the freight terminal?" He lifted his wrist, sliding his expensive watch from his hand, holding it out as an offering. "It's real, and it's worth a lot."

The driver glanced at the watch, his eyes lingering as if weighing his options. The air inside the truck felt thick, heavy with unspoken words and things neither of them were ready to face.

Seorin swallowed again, her hands pressing lightly over her stomach as if shielding herself from the unknown. Her heart ached with uncertainty, but what scared her the most was the way Hae-Jo hadn't pulled his hand away.

Not yet.

The truck rumbled to a stop, the tires grinding against the gravel before settling into eerie silence. The driver muttered a halfhearted "good luck" before pulling away, leaving Seorin and Hae-Jo alone on the vast expanse of cracked concrete. Towering shipping containers loomed around them like silent sentinels, casting long, foreboding shadows under the dull glow of overhead lamps. The air smelled of salt, rust, and gasoline—a scent heavy with something unspoken, something on the verge of breaking.

Hae-Jo wasted no time. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his phone as he studied the image of the calendar he had taken. Without a word, he turned on his heel and started walking, his strides purposeful, controlled—too controlled.

Seorin hesitated before lunging forward, catching his arm. "You're really going to look for him?" Her voice was steady, but the way her fingers clung to his sleeve betrayed her fear.

He stopped, his body going rigid under her touch. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. His eyes flickered downward, landing on the subtle curve of her stomach, the life growing inside her—his or not, he wasn't sure, but the thought twisted his insides all the same.

For a fleeting moment, something in his expression softened, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, anything—but then, like a switch, his features hardened once more. "Just wait here," he said, voice clipped, emotionless. "I won't be too long."

Seorin bit the inside of her cheek, her grip tightening on his sleeve. He was angry. Angry at Jae-Geun for betraying them. Angry at himself for trusting too easily. Angry at the fact that the money—his last way of securing something, anything, for her and the baby—was gone.

But more than anything, she could see it in his eyes.

He was angry that he might not live long enough to fix any of it.

Her throat felt thick as she exhaled shakily. "Okay," she whispered, voice barely above the wind that howled between the stacked containers. "But just... rough him up. You don't need to kill him." Her eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze. The fact that she had to say it at all made her feel sick, made her chest tighten with the weight of what they had become.

Hae-Jo scoffed, shaking her off as he resumed his pace. "I'm not a murderer, Seorin," he muttered under his breath. "Not yet, anyway."

She stood frozen for a second, watching his retreating figure disappear between the metal labyrinth of containers. Something about the way he moved, the way his shoulders squared, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—it set every nerve in her body alight with dread.

This didn't feel right.

Her instincts screamed at her, a primal warning she couldn't shake.

And so, without another thought, she followed him.

She trailed him carefully, keeping to the shadows, her breath shallow as she stepped lightly on the damp ground. The scent of seawater thickened as she moved deeper into the maze, the sounds of the port fading behind her.

Hae-Jo hadn't told her everything—she could feel it.

What she didn't know was that he had already made a deal, already called Kkari, already led their enemies straight to them.

And what she also didn't know—what neither of them knew—was that they were no longer alone.

The distant sound of hurried footsteps.

Voices, hushed but tense.

And then, suddenly, people were running.

Seorin's stomach twisted as she pressed her back against the cold metal of a container, watching as figures darted past her in the opposite direction—panic-stricken men scrambling away from something ahead.

From Hae-Jo.

A wave of nausea hit her, her heart slamming against her ribs.

What the hell had he walked into?

Seorin's breath caught in her throat as she took in the scene before her. Hae-Jo stood over Jae-Geun, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fists still clenched at his sides, blood staining his knuckles. Jae-Geun lay crumpled on the ground, his broken arm twisted unnaturally as he groaned in pain.

Hae-Jo's face was void of emotion, but the fire burning in his dark eyes was unmistakable. He wasn't just angry—he was wounded. Betrayed.

"Does it hurt?" Hae-Jo asked, his voice calm, almost casual, but there was venom dripping from every syllable.

Jae-Geun let out a pained chuckle, leaning his head back against the rusted metal wall. "Yeah," he wheezed, spitting blood onto the concrete.

"It should." Hae-Jo took a step closer, towering over the older man. "You should've just apologized when I gave you the chance instead of lying like that."

His breaths were uneven, his hands twitching like they still ached to hit something. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to his skin from the heat of the fight.

Seorin's stomach twisted painfully. This wasn't the Hae-Jo she knew.

"You know," he continued, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his fingers flexed, "they say, 'Sincerity always reaches the heart.' You ever heard that before?"

Jae-Geun's lips curled into a smirk, despite the blood trickling from his busted lip. He exhaled shakily before lifting his gaze to meet Hae-Jo's.

"You're just a fucking orphan, kid."

The words cut through the air like a knife.

Hae-Jo went completely still. His fingers stopped twitching, his chest stopped rising so quickly. His body froze as if he had been struck by lightning.

Seorin saw the way his jaw tightened, how his eyes darkened, how the air around him became suffocating.

Jae-Geun laughed through his pain, holding his broken arm. "It's not like I ran off with your cash and gave you nothing." His voice was laced with mockery. "You little shit. I mean, hey, you enjoyed these last couple of days, right? And I did that."

Hae-Jo didn't move. His expression remained unreadable, but Seorin could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his knuckles turned white again.

"I let you sleep at my place. I fed you. I even fed your knocked-up chick. You had fun at the market because I took you." Jae-Geun struggled to stand, but his smirk never faltered. "I gave you something."

Hae-Jo's fingers twitched at the way he spoke about Seorin, but he stayed silent. He let the man talk.

"You'll never have a father like me," Jae-Geun said, his tone full of condescension. "Never in your whole damn life. And you'll never be a father like me either. Not in your dreams, loser."

And then, Hae-Jo lost it.

He raised his fist, ready to strike, his breathing ragged, his vision blurring—

"You're such a dick!"

Seorin's voice rang out, sharp and filled with anger.

Before Hae-Jo could react, she stormed forward, shoving Jae-Geun back to the ground.

"You're a piece of shit father!" she screamed, grabbing at his shirt, shaking him as her nails dug into his skin.

Jae-Geun yelped, trying to pry her off, but Seorin was relentless.

"You're just a shitty father! A shitty con man! A shitty person!"

She yanked her purse from her shoulder and swung it at him, hitting him across the chest.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Jae-Geun coughed, but his smirk remained, his laugh wheezing through his busted lips.

"I hate you!" Seorin shrieked, tears streaming down her face. "You don't deserve him! Hae-Jo would never want a father like you!"

Her voice cracked, her entire body trembling.

Hae-Jo watched in stunned silence. He had never seen her like this.

"You don't deserve him," she repeated, her fists clenching around her purse strap. "He's a great person who deserves love. You would never be a good father to him. He only hung out with you because you're a lonely old man with no life!"

Jae-Geun's laughter finally stopped. His breathing was heavy, labored.

Seorin let out a shaky breath, her anger slowly morphing into exhaustion. She wiped at her face, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm herself.

Hae-Jo took a hesitant step toward her. "Seorin—"

She turned to him, her lips trembling. "What about you, huh?" she asked, voice soft but firm. "Fighting all of these people? You could've gotten hurt."

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his, her grip tight. "Come, let's go."

Hae-Jo hesitated, his fingers twitching in hers, but eventually, he nodded.

They turned, ready to leave. Ready to walk away from it all.

But then, Jae-Geun's voice rang out from the floor behind them.

"Lucky you."

Seorin and Hae-Jo stopped in their tracks.

"So, you're one happy family now, huh?" The older man chuckled through his bloodied lips. "You must really like that, huh?"

Hae-Jo's muscles tensed.

"Just a little kid," Jae-Geun continued, his voice dripping with amusement. "Trying to be the father he never had."

Seorin squeezed Hae-Jo's hand, but this time, he pulled away.

And then, he struck.

His fist collided with Jae-Geun's face with a sickening crack.

Jae-Geun's body jolted, but Hae-Jo wasn't done.

He climbed on top of him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him up before slamming him back down onto the cold floor.

"Hae-Jo!" Seorin's voice wavered, but he didn't hear her. His fists came down again.

And again.

And again.

Blood splattered, staining the rusted metal floor, painting his knuckles red.

Jae-Geun's body went limp beneath him.

Hae-Jo's breathing was ragged, his entire body trembling. He gripped the older man's shirt, his voice breaking, splintering apart.

"If this was the plan all along," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper, "then why did you say all that? Why?"

His vision blurred, his lips trembled.

"Why did you say you'd give me your arm without a second thought, huh? Answer me!"

But there was no answer.

A soft, trembling hand wrapped around his bruised wrist.

"Hae-Jo, stop."

Seorin's voice was quiet, yet filled with urgency.

He turned, his eyes locking onto her tear-streaked face.

Then, as if the weight of everything crashed down at once, his body jolted.

He pushed her off of him.

She had fallen.

Seorin sat on the floor, her hand cradling her belly, lips parted in shock.

His stomach twisted violently, dread sinking into his bones.

"Seorin..." His voice cracked as he scrambled toward her. "I—I didn't mean—"

Before he could finish, she reached for him, pulling him into her arms.

"Please, stop," she whispered, her voice breaking.

And just like that, he collapsed.

His head fell against her shoulder, his entire body shaking, sobs wracking through his chest.

Seorin's arms tightened around him, her fingers threading through his hair as she whispered reassurances into his ear.

And for the first time in a long, long time...

Hae-Jo let himself cry.

Seorin gently led Hae-Jo away from the wreckage of his emotions, guiding him down the dock where the scent of saltwater mixed with the crisp evening air. The asphalt beneath their feet was still warm from the day's heat, but the warmth did nothing to soothe the ice settling in her stomach. The soft crash of waves against the wooden pillars below gave the illusion of peace, though neither of them could feel it.

Hae-Jo sat first, his legs dangling over the edge, his fingers laced together between his knees as he stared out at the setting sun. The sky was a deep shade of burnt orange, bleeding into streaks of pink and purple, yet the beauty of it did nothing to distract him from the weight in his chest.

Seorin hesitated before sitting beside him, her body leaning slightly against his as though seeking comfort without permission. Her head rested on his shoulder, her fingers twitching when they found his hand, unsure if she had the right to touch him like this anymore.

She took a deep breath, ready to say something, anything to break the suffocating silence. But before she could form the words, he beat her to it.

"Is it mine?"

His voice was quiet but firm, and it sent a shiver down her spine. He didn't look at her. He kept his gaze locked on the horizon as if the sun held the answer for him.

Because if she said no, it would mean two things—he wouldn't be a father, and she had moved on. And he wasn't sure which one would break him more.

Seorin swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Is what yours?" she asked, but they both knew she was just stalling.

Hae-Jo finally turned his head, forcing himself to look at her. His gaze flickered down, briefly scanning her stomach, the barely-there curve that made his heart pound against his ribs. His breath hitched, and when his eyes met hers again, there was something fragile there, something that made her own resolve start to crack.

"The baby," he clarified, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your baby."

His hands clenched into fists inside his jacket pockets, trembling slightly with nerves. He had convinced himself it had to be his. The timing fit, the way she acted around him made sense. But there was always a chance—a sliver of doubt that could shatter every ounce of hope he had left.

"I-Is the baby mine?" he asked again, his voice cracking just slightly.

Seorin's entire body tensed. The wind picked up, blowing strands of hair across her face, and she knew she had to answer. Knew she couldn't run from this anymore.

But still, she stood abruptly, stepping away from him, her arms wrapping around herself protectively. She was ready to run if she had to. Ready for him to walk away again. Ready for him to hate her for keeping this from him.

But she wasn't ready for the heartbreak in his eyes.

"Yes."

It came out barely above a whisper, but it hit him like a bullet.

She didn't look up. She couldn't. Her gaze stayed locked on her toes peaking from her sandals, her entire body tense, waiting.

Hae-Jo's breath left him in a shaky exhale as he slowly stood from the dock's edge, his shoulders rigid, his head spinning. His hands stayed stuffed in his jacket pockets, fingers curled into the lining to stop them from trembling. He had fought gangs. He had faced death. He had accepted his fate with reckless courage.

But this? This terrified him.

"I—I'm a father?" His voice was barely audible, like he was still trying to convince himself that this wasn't just some dream he would wake up from.

Seorin nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

"So... that means..." His words trailed off, his mind racing faster than his lips could keep up. His last actions, the way he left her, the pain he had caused—it all slammed into him at once. "How far along are you?"

Seorin hesitated. She thought it was obvious, thought he would have already figured it out. But she had no idea what he was truly asking.

He wanted to know if she had known before he broke her heart. If she had found out before he walked away.

And he didn't know which answer would hurt more.

"Four and a half months," she finally said, forcing a small, humorless laugh as she gestured to herself. "Not much to show for it, huh?"

But Hae-Jo didn't laugh. He didn't smile. His entire body went rigid.

"So you found out after we broke up?"

His voice wobbled at the end, betraying the storm brewing inside of him.

Seorin closed her eyes, inhaling sharply before finally looking up at him.

"Yes."

Hae-Jo took a single step back, as if the truth had physically knocked the air out of him. His chest ached, his throat burned, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was drowning on dry land.

She had been carrying his child this entire time.

Alone.

And he had walked away from her.

His mind reeled, twisting into itself. The pain, the regret, the anger—it was too much. He wanted to scream at her for not telling him sooner. He wanted to beg for forgiveness. He wanted to go back in time and undo everything.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach out and touch her, to feel the proof of their child beneath his hands. But he stayed still.

"You didn't tell me," he finally said, his voice laced with something broken.

Seorin let out a breathless, humorless laugh as she wiped at her eyes. "And what would you have done, Hae-Jo?" she snapped, her voice shaking now, her emotions bubbling over. "You left me. You said you weren't ready. That you didn't want to commit to something like marriage. That I deserved better."

Her hands trembled at her sides. "You made your choice. You left. So why would I have told you? Why would I have given you the chance to run from something else?"

Hae-Jo staggered back, as if her words had physically struck him.

It was true.

He had told himself that leaving was the right thing. That Seorin deserved someone who could give her everything, a life without his baggage, his fears, his inability to commit.

But now, looking at her—pregnant with his child, hurting because of him—he wanted nothing more than to turn back time and punch his past self in the face.

"I was scared," he admitted, his voice hoarse, raw. "I was scared of failing you. I was scared that I wasn't enough. That I wouldn't know how to be the man you needed."

She shook her head, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "And you think running away made it better?"

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven. "No. It made everything worse."

Hae-Jo's body felt too heavy for his frame, his legs unsteady as if the weight of the truth had finally cracked something inside him. His hands itched to reach for her, to pull her in, to press his forehead against hers and promise her things he wasn't sure he could keep.

But what right did he have?

He left her. He shattered her heart into pieces, unknowingly leaving her to bear the weight of their child alone. And now, knowing what he knew, he didn't even know where to begin.

Seorin stood a few steps away, her arms still wrapped protectively around herself. Her shoulders trembled slightly, but she held firm, refusing to break in front of him.

"Would it have made a difference?"

Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it cut through him like a blade.

Hae-Jo swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening.

"I—" He hesitated, the words choking him. Would it have made a difference? Would knowing she was carrying his child have stopped him from walking away?

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell her that he never would have left if he had known, that he would have stayed and fought for them. But deep down, he knew the truth. He had already convinced himself that leaving was the best thing for her. He had justified it in his mind, telling himself that she would be better off without him, without the burden of his existence.

Would knowing about the baby have changed that? Or would he have just hurt her more?

Seorin let out a short, humorless laugh at his silence, nodding to herself as if she had already known the answer.

"That's what I thought," she murmured, kicking a loose rock at her feet before looking back up at him. Her eyes were tired, sad, but also filled with something else—something that made his stomach twist.

Resignation.

She had already accepted this. Accepted a life without him.

And that terrified him.

Hae-Jo took a step forward, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Seorin..." His voice wavered. "I—I'm sorry."

She blinked at him, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Sorry for what?" she asked, her tone unreadable. "Sorry for leaving me? Sorry for not knowing? Sorry for coming back?"

He didn't know how to answer, because the truth was—he was sorry for all of it.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." His voice was hoarse, his throat burning. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm sorry that I left you to do this alone."

Seorin's eyes shimmered under the fading sunlight, her chin trembling slightly before she quickly looked away. She wasn't ready to hear this.

"Well, it's done now," she whispered, her hand subconsciously resting on her belly. "It doesn't change anything."

Hae-Jo felt his heart sink further into his chest.

Doesn't change anything?

He wanted to scream that it changed everything. That knowing he was a father, knowing she had spent months alone carrying a child that was half of him—it changed everything.

But he had no right to demand anything from her. He had no right to ask her to let him back in.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Do you still love me?"

Seorin inhaled sharply, her entire body stiffening at the question. She turned her head slightly, but she didn't meet his gaze.

"Don't ask me that."

Her voice was strained, as if she were holding back too much at once.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't matter, Hae-Jo." She finally looked at him, and this time, he wished she hadn't. Her eyes were filled with so much hurt, so much exhaustion. "It doesn't change what you did. It doesn't change the fact that I was alone. That I had to carry this, every single day, without you."

Hae-Jo clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He deserved this. He knew he did.

But god, he wanted her to love him still. He needed her to love him. Because without her, without their child—what was left for him?

"I know I don't deserve you," he admitted, his voice barely steady. "And I know I don't deserve another chance. But I—I want to be here now. For you. For him." His gaze dropped to her belly, his chest aching at the thought of the life growing inside of her. "I don't want to leave again. I don't want to be the man that abandoned you."

Seorin swallowed, her breath unsteady.

"You already were."

The words hit harder than any punch he had ever taken.

But before he could respond, before he could say something to fix the cracks spreading between them, she turned away, walking down the dock toward the road.

And just like that, she was slipping through his fingers again.

This time, he wasn't sure if he would ever get her back.

Hae-Jo stood frozen for a moment as he watched her retreating figure, the sight of her walking away from him slicing through his chest like a blade. He couldn't let it end like this. Not again. Not when he finally had a chance to make things right.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up, his heart pounding with every step he took toward her. The dock beneath his feet felt endless, stretching further with every inch of distance between them.

"Seorin," Hae-Jo's voice cracked as reached her just as she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. His hand caught her wrist gently, his fingers wrapping around her like an anchor, like he was afraid she'd slip away forever if he didn't hold on.

She inhaled sharply but didn't turn to face him. "Hae-Jo, don't," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves against the dock.

But he wasn't letting go.

"Please," his voice was hoarse, thick with something raw and unfiltered. His fingers trembled against her skin, his hold tightening just slightly as if afraid she'd slip through his grasp. "Please, don't walk away from me."

"Please, just listen," he whispered, voice cracking at the end. His grip was firm, but his body trembled, his emotions unraveling faster than he could control.

Seorin stiffened under his touch, her eyes avoiding his, glued to the waves crashing against the dock. "What do you want, Hae-Jo?" she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his grip loosening slightly, but he didn't let go. "I just... I need you to know that I want to be here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be here."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, now you do?" Her voice wavered as her emotions spilled over, anger, heartbreak, and confusion tangled together. "You didn't need to be here five months ago when you broke my heart. You didn't need to be here when I was crying myself to sleep, wondering why I wasn't enough for you."

His jaw clenched at her words, shame weighing heavy on his shoulders. "I know," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I was scared, Seorin. I thought... I thought I wasn't good enough for you. I thought I couldn't be the man you deserved. And I was a fucking coward."

She turned to face him then, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her lips trembling. "You don't get to decide what I deserve, Hae-Jo," she snapped, her voice raw. "You don't get to break me and then come back when it's convenient for you."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with the pain in his chest. "I know," he said again, his voice barely holding together. He took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to her, aching to touch her, to hold her the way he should have all along. "But I swear to you, Seorin, I'm not running this time. I want to be here, for you, for our baby. I don't care what it takes. I'll fight for you. I'll prove to you every single day that I'm not that coward who walked away."

Seorin crossed her arms, gripping onto herself. "You don't get it," she muttered, shaking her head. "You left, Hae-Jo. You left me thinking I wasn't enough. And now you come back like you—like you get to change your mind?"

His jaw clenched, his breath uneven. "I never changed my mind," he rasped. "I never stopped loving you, Seorin."

She shook her head, her hands gripping the fabric of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. "You say that now, but what if you 'never change your mind' again?"

His hands cupped her face then, his thumbs brushing away the tears that finally spilled over. "I won't," he vowed, his voice firm even as it trembled. "I won't lose you again. I can't."

Seorin let out a shaky breath, her body collapsing against his, her sobs muffled against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

"I hate you," she sobbed into his shirt, her fingers gripping onto him like she was afraid he'd slip through her grasp.

"I know," he whispered, pressing his lips against the crown of her head. "And I love you."

Her sobs only grew, but she didn't pull away. And that was enough for now.

As the sun cast its golden glow over them, painting the dock in hues of orange and pink, Hae-Jo closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Ae-in," he whispered again, because saying it once wasn't enough for all the times he should have said it before.

And this time, he meant it more than ever.

Seorin sniffled against his chest, her hands gripping onto his jacket as if holding onto him would keep her heart from shattering all over again. She wanted to push him away, to tell him that his love meant nothing now, that she had spent too many nights convincing herself she was better off without him.

But she couldn't.

Because deep down, she still loved him.

Even after all the pain, even after all the heartbreak, a part of her had been waiting for this moment—for him to come back to her, to fight for her the way she had always wished he would.

She pulled back slightly, her red-rimmed eyes searching his face, looking for any trace of deception, of uncertainty. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered emotion staring back at her, his dark eyes pleading with her, silently begging her to believe him.

"I want to trust you," she admitted, her voice quiet, fragile. "But I'm scared, Hae-Jo."

His hands never left her face, his thumbs caressing her skin gently. "I know," he said, nodding as if he understood every single fear buried inside of her. "And I don't expect you to trust me overnight. I just... I want the chance to prove to you that I mean it this time."

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes flickering down to where his hands held her, to the warmth spreading through her body at his touch. "What if I still hate you?" she murmured, though her voice lacked any conviction.

A small smile curled on his lips, the first real smile he had since this conversation started. "Then I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you don't."

Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. He really meant it.

She wanted to be angry, wanted to tell him that love alone wasn't enough to fix what was broken between them, but standing there, feeling the warmth of his hands on her, the way he looked at her like she was his entire world—she didn't have the strength to fight it anymore.

Because the truth was, she wanted him, too.

She always had.

And she didn't want to spend another day pretending that she didn't.

"I hate you so much," she whispered, but there was no venom behind her words, only the last remnants of her stubbornness breaking away.

Hae-Jo let out a breathy laugh, his forehead pressing against hers, their noses brushing. "I know," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. "But you love me more."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching as his hands gently tilted her head, coaxing her closer, waiting for her to close the last bit of space between them.

And she did.

The moment their lips met, it was like time stopped.

It wasn't rushed or desperate, but slow and lingering, like they were relearning each other after being apart for far too long. His lips were warm and soft against hers, moving in a way that made her knees weak, that made her entire body tremble with something deeper than just desire.

It was love.

Hae-Jo kissed her like he was memorizing her, like he was afraid that if he stopped, she would slip away from him again. His thumbs resting on her jaw, pulling her closer, as if there was any space left between them.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times—what it would feel like to have her back in his arms, to taste her lips again. But nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming surge of emotion that came with it.

She was his.

And for the first time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

When they finally pulled apart, Seorin's eyes fluttered open, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from their kiss.

"Was that okay?" he asked, his voice breathless, almost nervous.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, her fingers tracing the collar of his jacket. "It was perfect."

Hae-Jo exhaled in relief, his forehead pressing against hers once more as they stood there, wrapped in each other's warmth, the setting sun bathing them in golden light.

No more running. No more fear.

This time, he was staying.

For her.

For their baby.

For the life they were meant to have together.

But he was forgetting the hourglass on his life, would soon run out.

honey's note

5837 words

Idk how I feel about
this chapter yet😭

let me know your
feedback please