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Han Jisung had always been a dreamer. Ever since he was a child, he had envisioned himself planning grand events—weddings filled with laughter and love, glamorous galas where the rich and famous danced under chandeliers, and concerts that would leave audiences breathless. He loved the idea of creating magic, of turning fleeting moments into unforgettable memories. But dreams didn't pay rent, and reality had a cruel way of reminding him of that fact.

He and his boyfriend, Hwang Hyunjin, were barely scraping by. Hyunjin's internship at the police department paid little, and Jisung was juggling multiple part-time jobs, taking whatever gigs he could find. When he wasn't running errands for an event planner or waiting tables, he was in his tiny bedroom, producing music in the hopes that one day, someone would recognize his talent. But hope didn't put food on the table. And with their rent overdue and eviction looming, desperation lurked around the corner.

Fate, however, had other plans.

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Lee Minho was a name that carried weight. CEO of the Lee Corporation, he had built an empire from the ground up with his cold, calculated decisions. Ruthless in business and detached in personal matters, Minho had no patience for trivialities like love. He had learned the hard way that emotions only led to betrayal. His ex-husband, Kim Sunoo, had shattered his trust when he cheated on him and married Nishimura Riki, a man with wealth and power that even Minho couldn't rival. Love, Minho decided, was a weakness—one he refused to succumb to again.

One rainy evening, the city lights of Seoul blurred against the windshield of Minho's sleek black car as he drove through the dimly lit streets. His mind was occupied with business meetings and merger negotiations, his phone buzzing incessantly with emails. He barely registered the figure darting across the road until it was too late.

The sudden thud snapped him out of his thoughts.

The world seemed to slow.

Jisung hit the ground hard, his small bag of groceries scattering across the wet pavement. Pain seared through his leg as people around him gasped, voices blending into the background hum of rain and honking cars. His head spun as he tried to process what had just happened. And then, through the haze of pain and confusion, he saw a man step out of the car.

Dressed in a tailored black suit, Lee Minho stood over him, his expression unreadable, his presence exuding power. He took in the scene with an air of indifference, but there was a flicker of something—annoyance? Curiosity?—in his sharp eyes.

"Shit," Minho muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Jisung groaned, attempting to sit up, but pain shot through his leg like lightning. His face contorted as he gritted his teeth. "You hit me," he hissed, glaring up at Minho.

Minho raised a brow. "You ran into my car." His tone was cool, detached.

"Aish—help me up at least!" Jisung snapped, wincing.

Minho exhaled, looking almost bored, but after a moment's hesitation, he extended a hand. Normally, he would have left the matter to his lawyers, let them handle the compensation, and moved on with his life. But something about the boy's fiery defiance intrigued him.

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Jisung was taken to the hospital, where the verdict was given—his leg was fractured. Crutches, painkillers, a long recovery ahead, and worst of all, a mountain of medical bills. But that wasn't even the worst part. When he and Hyunjin finally made it back to their small apartment, exhausted and overwhelmed, they found an eviction notice taped to the door.

Jisung's heart sank.

"Hyunjin... what do we do now?" His voice trembled as he turned to his boyfriend, searching for answers, for reassurance, for anything.

Hyunjin hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we should ask Minho for help."

Jisung's jaw clenched. "That man? Over my dead body."

But fate was cruel.

Minho's legal team advised him to take responsibility for the accident to avoid bad press. Reluctantly, he extended an offer—temporary residence in his mansion until Jisung recovered. It was supposed to be a simple arrangement, nothing more.

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Minho's house was cold—just like its owner.

The vast mansion, with its pristine marble floors and towering glass windows, felt more like a museum than a home. Every surface was polished to perfection, every corner devoid of warmth. It was beautiful, yet lifeless. It reflected its owner well.

Jisung and Hyunjin moved into one of the guest rooms, though it became clear almost immediately that Minho barely acknowledged their presence. He wasn't hostile, but he wasn't welcoming either. Days passed in strained silence, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

Jisung hated every second of it.

He wasn't used to being idle. His leg was still healing, leaving him unable to work, unable to contribute. He loathed the feeling of being a burden. Every time he tried to help around the house, Minho's assistant, Bang Chan, would politely but firmly tell him to rest. Even the idea of taking on remote work felt impossible—who would hire someone with no formal experience and a broken leg?

"Once I get promoted, things will be better," Hyunjin reassured him one evening, squeezing his hand. "I promise, Jisung."

Jisung wanted to believe him.

But promises were just words.

And words meant nothing.

One night, Minho went to a club.

It was supposed to be a routine escape—one of the few things that helped him unwind. He sat at his usual private booth, nursing a bottle of soju, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room out of habit rather than interest.

Then he saw him.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Minho stilled, watching as the younger man leaned against the bar, laughing—too comfortably—with a blonde man.

Lee Felix.

Minho knew Felix well. He was an intern at Lee Corporation, ambitious, charming, and dangerously good at getting what he wanted. And the way Felix was looking at Hyunjin, the way Hyunjin placed a casual hand on Felix's knee as he whispered something in his ear—it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.

Minho exhaled through his nose, a smirk curling his lips.

How pathetic.

He wasn't the type to meddle in other people's affairs, but there was something almost entertaining about this. He had given Jisung and Hyunjin a place to stay, and yet, here Hyunjin was, betraying the very person who defended him so fiercely.

Couldn't even wait until Jisung was back on his feet.

Minho downed his drink in one gulp before getting up, making his way toward them.

When Hyunjin saw him, his face paled.

"Long shift, huh?" Minho said, voice dripping with amusement.

Hyunjin opened his mouth, stammering out a weak excuse about working late, about running into Felix by coincidence. But Minho wasn't interested in the lies.

He simply patted Hyunjin's shoulder and left.

He had already made up his mind.

Later that night, when Hyunjin finally returned home, Jisung was waiting.

"You're late," Jisung said, brows furrowed with concern. "Everything okay?"

Hyunjin hesitated for half a second before forcing a smile. "Work ran over."

Jisung frowned. "You smell like alcohol."

Hyunjin laughed awkwardly. "Some coworkers convinced me to have a drink before heading home. It was nothing, really."

Jisung wanted to believe him. He wanted to ignore the uneasy feeling curling in his stomach. So, he let it go.

But Minho didn't.

The next morning, Hyunjin received an offer—$5,000 to leave Jisung and never look back.

It took him minutes to decide.

That evening, Jisung was curled up in bed, scrolling through his phone, when a message popped up.

At first, he thought it was a joke.

Then, his stomach dropped.

Jisung's hands trembled as he reread the words, his vision blurring.

No.

No, this wasn't real.

Hyunjin wouldn't do this. They had been together for years, had struggled side by side, had made plans for the future. He wouldn't just leave over a text.

Jisung scrambled out of bed, his injured leg nearly giving out beneath him as he stumbled toward the door.

He called. No answer.

He called again.

And again.

Nothing.

Panic clawed at his throat as he rushed out of the house, ignoring the pain, the crutches barely keeping him upright. He searched the streets, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He asked strangers if they had seen a tall man with long hair, wearing a brown coat.

He ran until his body forced him to stop.

But Hyunjin was gone and when he finally returned to the mansion, exhausted and shattered, the final blow came.

Minho stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes impassive.

"You have until tomorrow morning to pack your things," he said coolly. "I want you gone."

Jisung stared at him, his heart still racing, his chest tight with disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me."

"But I—" His voice broke. "I have nowhere to go."

Minho's expression didn't change. "Not my problem."

And with that, the door to his temporary sanctuary—the only place he had left—was slammed shut.

Leaving him alone.

Again.

The night was cold.

And Jisung was alone.

For two days, Jisung disappeared.

The world moved on as if nothing had happened, but for those who knew him—those who had shared even a fraction of his warmth—his absence left a gaping hole.

When Seungmin, Minho's closest and most brutally honest friend, found out, he wasted no time storming into Minho's office.

"Where's Jisung?" Seungmin demanded, his voice sharp.

Minho, who was reviewing a contract at his desk, barely looked up. "Not my problem."

Seungmin's jaw clenched. He had known Minho for years, had seen him rise from the ashes of heartbreak and betrayal, had watched him build his empire from sheer determination and spite. But even for him, Minho's coldness was infuriating.

"Are you serious?" Seungmin scoffed. "You threw him out after Hyunjin broke him, and now you don't care?"

Minho exhaled sharply, setting his pen down. "He's an adult, Seungmin. He'll figure it out."

Seungmin slammed his hands on the desk. "He has no money, no home, and a fractured leg! Where the hell is he supposed to go?"

Minho's lips pressed into a thin line.

A strange, uneasy feeling crept into his chest—one he refused to acknowledge.

Seungmin stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Find him, Minho. Before it's too late."

Minho didn't want to admit it, but Seungmin's words stuck with him long after he left.

That night, he sent people to look for Jisung.

And when they found him, Minho felt something crack inside him.

Jisung was barely conscious, curled up in an alley behind a convenience store.

He was pale, his lips dry and cracked, his clothes damp from the cold. A small plastic bag of uneaten bread sat beside him, untouched. He looked so frail, so unlike the fiery, stubborn boy who had snapped at him the night they met.

Minho stood there for a long moment, staring.

Then, without a word, he crouched down and carefully lifted Jisung into his arms.

The younger man stirred weakly, his body feverish against Minho's own.

"Hyunjin...?" Jisung mumbled, voice hoarse.

Minho stiffened.

His grip tightened. "No," he muttered. "Not him."

Jisung didn't hear him. He had already slipped back into unconsciousness.

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For reasons Minho couldn't explain—not yet—he carried Jisung to his car and took him to a private hospital. He ensured the best care, paid for a private room, and instructed the doctors not to ask questions.

And when Jisung refused to eat, Minho sat beside him, sighing in frustration.

"Eat," Minho commanded, holding out a spoonful of food.

Jisung turned his head stubbornly.

Minho pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. "It's pho. Your favorite."

At that, Jisung hesitated.

His lips parted slightly, and for the first time in days, he took a bite.

It was small, hesitant—but it was something.

And Minho, for all his coldness, felt an unfamiliar warmth settle in his chest.

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Jisung recovered slowly, but the emotional scars took longer to heal.

Minho, despite himself, found his presence lingering more than it should. At first, he convinced himself it was obligation—he had saved Jisung, so he was responsible for his well-being.

But then the conversations started.

At first, they were short and clipped.

"Eat."

"I am eating."

"You call that eating?"

But then the conversations turned warmer.

Jisung had a way of making the world seem lighter, even when his own was falling apart. He would talk about music, about his ridiculous childhood dreams, about how he once tried to make a floating lantern but ended up setting his friend's hair on fire.

Minho found himself laughing—actually laughing—for the first time in years.

It terrified him.

Because it felt real.

He had spent so long building walls, convincing himself that love was a weakness, that emotions only led to betrayal. And yet, here was this boy—this stubborn, infuriating, reckless boy—who had wormed his way into his life like he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

One evening, Minho took Jisung out.

It wasn't anything fancy—just a trip to a food court, a small, ordinary moment in a life that had been anything but ordinary lately.

They sat together, eating dumplings and drinking milk tea, surrounded by the hum of laughter and conversation. Jisung was telling a ridiculous story about how he once got lost in his own apartment building, and Minho...

Minho wasn't listening.

He was just watching.

Watching the way Jisung's eyes crinkled when he laughed. Watching the way he still fidgeted with his straw, still talked with his hands. Watching the way, despite everything he had been through, he was still so full of life.

And before Minho even realized what he was doing, he was on one knee.

Jisung blinked. "Uh. Minho?"

Minho took a deep breath, his heart pounding.

"Would you make me happy," he asked, voice quieter than usual, "and be my boyfriend?"

Jisung stared at him, stunned.

For a moment, Minho thought he had made a mistake. That he had misread everything. That he was about to be laughed at, rejected—

But then Jisung smiled.

It was small at first, like he didn't quite believe it, but then it grew, lighting up his entire face.

"Yes," he said, voice steady. "Yes, I will."

Minho let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

And for the first time in years, he felt like his heart—his real heart, the one he had buried so long ago—was beating again.

Because after all the betrayals, after Sunoo and Riki had broken him, after he had sworn to never love again...

He was able to smile.

It hit him then—how much had changed.

Jisung, the boy he had once dismissed as a mere inconvenience, had become someone he couldn't ignore. His laughter, his stubbornness, his ability to find joy even in the worst situations—it was infuriating. And yet, Minho found himself drawn to it, to him.

And that terrified him more than anything.

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Part 1/2 completed

i tried really hard writing this i hope you  liked this