Jimin stirred awake, the heaviness in his limbs a sharp reminder of how deeply he'd fallen into sleep. The kind of sleep that wasn't planned or intentional but one born of pure exhaustion. He groaned softly, his body stiff as he shifted on the couch, struggling to pull himself out of the hazy leftovers of a dreamless slumber.

The first thing to catch his attention was the dim glow of the room heater stationed near the couch. Its soft, flickering light created uneven shadows that danced on the wooden walls of the small cabin, giving the space an almost surreal atmosphere.

Where... am I?

Blinking a few times, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to adjust to the stillness around him. The clock on the far wall came into focus, its ticking a sharp contrast to the silence. Just past 4 a.m. The world outside the window was shrouded in pitch-black darkness, save for the faint glimmer of moonlight cutting through the clouds and casting silver streaks across the glass.

He sat up slowly, the blanket draped over him sliding off his shoulders and pooling around his waist. The warmth it carried was unique, as if someone had carefully tucked him in. His gaze fell to the room heater once more, its orange glow wrapping him in a comfort that felt foreign.

It didn't take long for the pieces to fall into place, how he ended up here!

He froze as the thoughts pieced everything together, his eyes trailing over the room. Him tucked in warm blanket in a warm room with dim lights! She had thought to make him comfortable, the heater was placed nearby, the blanket draped over him so he wouldn't feel the night's chill. Even the lamp on the desk across the room had been left on, casting a soft light so he wouldn't wake to complete darkness.

The thought left him utterly baffled.

He stared at the blanket now resting on his lap, his fingers brushing over its fabric as if testing its reality. This wasn't something he was used to.

Someone taking the time, the effort, to care for him in this way when he had no such ties with them, but was that really the case? It was foreign, the feeling of pure care with no strings attached. It was unfamiliar.

It wasn't like Park Jimin lacked attention. Far from it. He was the kind of guy who could turn heads without trying, who could snatch crowds left and right with just one glance—or even no glance at all. His presence demanded attention, his aura was magnetic, and he was well aware of it.

Women and men alike gravitated toward him. Compliments, admiration, fleeting touches—all of it was second nature to him. He'd been appreciated, pursued, and praised more times than he could count. There were flings, dates, and the occasional deep conversations over a drink or two, but none of them ever lingered. None of them ever left a mark.

Because none of them had ever felt like this.

This quiet warmth, this unspoken care—it was different. It wasn't flashy or loud, it didn't come with flowery words or grand gestures. It came from someone who didn't even like him most of the time, who'd spent months meeting his teasing with sharp retorts and colder stares. Her sharp tongue and frost-laced behaviour, wasn't the kind what made her care obvious.

And maybe that's why it hit him so much harder.

The comparison of her usual bluntness and this unexpected tenderness left him reeling. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, low and disbelieving. "You're full of surprises, Maria" he muttered to himself, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

His mind wandered back to the countless nights he'd spent in hollow company, people who were drawn to the surface of him but never dared dig deeper. The nights filled with laughter that never quite reached his eyes, with compliments that sounded more like rehearsed lines than genuine words. And now here he was, floored by something as simple as a blanket and a heater.

He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. Maybe it was the contrast, the way she had always kept him at arm's length only to now go out of her way to make him comfortable.

Or maybe it was something else entirely—something he wasn't ready to confront. Or maybe he's just overthinking!

Either way, it was unsettling. Because for all the attention he'd received in his life, this... this felt real.

And real was dangerous.

His chest tightened, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. Shock. Gratitude. And something deeper, that he was never ready to name.

"She really tucked me in" he murmured to himself, shaking his head. "What are you, five, Park Jimin? You're such an idiot" he muttered under his breath, his voice low but carrying a hint of self-directed amusement. "Crashing at her place like you own it... No wonder she's always calling you insufferable. She really is something else though" he said softly, almost to himself.

His fingers brushed over the edge of the blanket again, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. "How can I be so reckless, showing up here, dead on my feet, and just... crash. Like it's no big deal. Like she doesn't have enough to deal with already."

The silence in the cabin only amplified his thoughts. "She didn't have to take care of me. She didn't have to... And yet... God I feel embarrassed now~"

The thought trailed off as he sat up straighter, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands running through his hair. "Is it just... her being her? Does she even know how much it's effecting me? Ugh~ Park Jimin what's wrong with you?"

She was strong, fiercely independent, and yet... she had a way of disarming him completely. Jimin leaned back against the couch, the blanket still draped over his lap, and let out a soft laugh under his breath.

It started small, this mysterious pull toward her, but now it felt like a swarm of butterflies were living rent free in his stomach.

He thought back to their first encounter—it was impossible not to.

He'd walked into her café on a whim, throwing around his usual charm with a few snarky remarks just to see how far he could push her. Not to forget how she'd poisoned his drink with salt.

The memory made him laugh out loud, the sound bouncing off the quiet walls of the cabin. He could still picture her smug expression as she leaned against the counter, watching him take his order.

He should've been offended. Most people would've been. But instead, he found himself intrigued. Drawn in. He kept coming back, day after day, was the coffee that good? He questioned himself many times. Every single time, he'd catch her making a face the second she saw him walk through the door—half annoyance, half disbelief, as though she couldn't understand why he kept returning.

And then that one late evening when he'd caught her heading out of the café, the way he stepped closer, leaning in just enough to close the space between them. He wasn't even trying to flirt—it was instinctual, the way he naturally leaned toward people. But the effect it had on her was instant. Her words stumbled, her sharp tongue suddenly faltering as she took a step back, her eyes flickering between his and the ground.

He smiled at the memory, the way her defenses had momentarily crumbled. For someone so composed, she was surprisingly easy to fluster, and he found himself craving those moments when her guard slipped.

And then the night he had found her in utter chaos. The way she tried to fight through the breakdown and then cried like a baby. It had left Jimin uneasy to see such a strong girl crumble like a sand castle and he remembered how it took everything in him to keep his hands to himself.

And then there was last evening—the way she'd held him, her arm wrapped around his torso, steadying him as he stumbled. She didn't hesitate, didn't complain, just took care of him in a way that no one else had before. Her touch had been warm, and firm.

Jimin felt his heart swell, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering more wildly than before. It didn't make sense.

How could a simple interaction—a shared glance, a few words exchanged—leave him feeling so alive? So... yearning?

He'd been on flashy dates before, surrounded by beautiful people, all vying for his attention. He'd received countless compliments, been showered with affection, but none of it—not a single moment—had ever made him feel the way this girl did with just few actions. No grand gestures, no sweet-talking. Just her.

"How is this even happening?" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

He wasn't the type to get caught up in feelings, not like this. But here he was, smiling like an idiot at the thought of her, his heart racing at the mere memory of her touch. And the scariest part? He didn't want it to stop.

But then the smile suddenly dropped, something from the back of his mind knocked on the door of curiosity.

DNA sibling test...

His face grew serious, his brows knitting together as something tugged at the back of his mind—a whisper, soft but persistent, knocking on the door of his curiosity. Jimin's gaze flickered to the bookshelves across the room, the same shelves where he'd caught a glimpse of those papers earlier. His heart gave a small, uneasy twist, and he shifted on the couch.

He leaned back, running a hand over his face. He hadn't thought about it much at first—he'd been too exhausted to think at all, really. But now, in the silence of the early morning, the pieces began to stir, jumbled but pressing for clarity. It was obvious that she was searching for someone? Trying to find a connection she'd lost? Or was it something else entirely?

Jimin frowned, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the edge of the blanket. She doesn't talk about herself, he thought, recalling the countless times she'd deflected his questions with sarcasm or a sharp change of subject. She was guarded, no doubt about it. But this? This felt... heavier.

I feel like I'm chasing something that isn't even real anymore. Like I'm running after a ghost, and... I don't even know why I can't stop.

Her words kept echoing in his head, her whimpers from the past still made him feel uneasy and sick to the pit of his stomach.

At the time, he hadn't pressed her for details—she didn't seem like she wanted to talk, and he wasn't the type to push. But now, with those papers lingering in his memory, he couldn't help but wonder if they were connected.

Slowly, Jimin swung his legs off the couch, his feet finding the soft carpet beneath him. The silence of the cabin felt almost too loud, pressing against his ears.

He glanced around, finding serenity alone with him.

His gaze flickered toward the bookshelf, drawn like a magnet to the papers still peeking from between the books. They hadn't been moved. His brows furrowed as he stood, his steps cautious, almost hesitant, as if the silence might shatter under the weight of his movement.

He stopped in front of the shelf, his eyes locked on the papers. His hands itched at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling as his mind waged a quiet war.

Should I?

The question lingered, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't his place, was it? To dig into something that clearly wasn't meant for him? But then again, they were just papers, weren't they? Left out in the open, practically inviting curiosity.

But who? Who might it be?

His heart thudded in his chest, a steady rhythm that matched the turmoil in his head. As if he was about to discover the truth never to be found, like opening the gates to a cursed pyramid.

He wanted to know. Needed to know. But at what cost? What if this was something deeply personal, something she wouldn't want anyone to see?

You've already seen the title. You already know more than you should.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between the papers and the door. He could walk away. Pretend he hadn't noticed, hadn't cared. He could sit back down, wrap himself in that blanket, and forget the whole thing.

But the curiosity was relentless, gnawing at the edges of his restraint. What was she looking for? Who was she looking for? And why did it seem like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders?

He raised a hand, hovering it near the shelf, his fingers trembling slightly.

Don't. Just leave it. It's none of your business.

But another voice whispered back, soft and insistent: What if she needs help? What if she's drowning, and you're too blind to see it?

"What are you doing?"

The voice sliced through the heavy silence like a blade, and Jimin's soul nearly left his body. He jumped, heart slamming against his ribcage as he stumbled backward, losing his footing and landing squarely on his ass.

"Holy shit—" He clutched his chest, his wide eyes darting to the doorway. There she stood, Maria, arms crossed, one brow arched as she regarded him with an expression caught somewhere between suspicion and amusement.

Jimin's breath came in short, shallow bursts as he tried to calm his racing heart. "What the hell, Maria!" he managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly. "You can't just... sneak up on people like that!"

The dim light casted shadows across her face that only added to her unreadable expression. "Sneak up? You're the one snooping around my stuff" she said, her voice calm but edged with a warning.

Jimin's mouth opened, then closed, words failing him as he scrambled to his feet. "I wasn't snooping!" he defended, though the way his gaze darted to the shelf betrayed him.

She took a step inside, her bare feet silent on the carpet as she moved closer. "Oh, really? Because it sure looked like you were about to grab something that doesn't belong to you."

"I wasn't—okay, maybe I was curious" Jimin admitted, holding his hands up in surrender and then pointing towards the shelves. "But can you blame me? There are so many books here, the names only divide me in a thousand parts and I can't decide on which one is the best!"

Her gaze followed his gesture, and she gave him an incredulous look. "You're telling me you were perusing fantasy tales at four in the morning?"

Jimin cleared his throat, doing his best to look convincingly sheepish. "Why? What's wrong with that? Even google can't say I am wrong to want to read fairy tales... at four in the morning" he said, feeling stupid at his own explanation. "What can I say? I have a thing for folklore."

Maria rolled her eyes but didn't press further. "Right. Should have just stick to the couch. You scared me for a second there."

That caught him off guard. "You? Scared?"

She shot him a look that could cut glass. "I thought you were a burglar."

Jimin snorted, unable to help himself. Slowly he got up on his feet. "A burglar who stops to read fairy tales? Yeah, that tracks. But for the record, I'd make a terrible burglar. Too good-looking to blend in."

"No wonder why you are single at this age? When you should be moving in with someone to start a new life"

He blinked at her blunt response, momentarily stunned before breaking into a laugh. "Wow, okay. That was uncalled for" he said, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. "You didn't have to go for the jugular."

She shrugged, her expression completely unbothered as she leaned against the doorframe. "I'm just saying. All that charm you think you have? Clearly not working if you're still sleeping solo."

He placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. "Ouch. You really know how to bruise a man's ego, don't you?"

She smirked, crossing her arms. "Better a bruised ego than a head full of delusions. Maybe someone needs to tell you the truth once in a while."

He called out after her, taking a step forward defensively. "Who said I am single!? A-and even if I am, then know that I haven't... met anyone with enough guts to put up with me-" But the teasing quip died on his lips as something savory wafted through the air, stopping him in his tracks. His stomach, suddenly growled so loudly it echoed in the quiet hallway.

Jimin clutched his abdomen dramatically. "Oh, great" he muttered to himself. "My stomach just outed me."

She shook her head and turned into the kitchen being tailed by him. The sight that greeted him made his mouth water. A pot simmered on the stove, releasing the rich, tantalizing scent of spices and kimchi. Maria stood at the counter, and added the sliced tofu into the pot.

Jimin leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before breaking the silence. "You've been hiding this side of you from me. You actually cook? And here I thought your talents were limited to brewing coffee and throwing blankets at half-asleep people."

She didn't look up, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're welcome to starve if you don't like it" she replied dryly.

He chuckled, stepping closer and peeking into the pot from over her shoulder, a bit too close. "What are you making? It smells amazing."

"Kimchi Stew" she said simply, finally glancing back at him. "Figured you'd need something warm after being passed out all day and all night long. You looked like you hadn't eaten in a week."

Her words were going mute for him or was it his focus diverting, he couldn't decide. The warmth of the stove radiating between them felt too real, but it wasn't the heat from the pot that had him feeling flustered.

Her eyes—dark and deep, like they held a thousand untold stories—seemed to catch the faint light of the stove, making them shimmer. He swallowed, his gaze drifting lower to the soft curve of her rosy lips, slightly parted as she stirred the stew. The mole on her cheek, small and delicate, suddenly felt like it had been placed there intentionally just to undo him.

His stomach flipped, and he wondered for a moment if it was the hunger, but no... it wasn't that. It was her. Being this close to her, seeing the small details he hadn't noticed before, had his heart skipping a beat—maybe two.

I did find her pretty from the very first but God! How have I not noticed this before? he thought, his mind betraying him as it lingered on the way a stray strand of her hair fell against her cheek, framing her face perfectly. Her eyes... God, they're so pretty. Like they could pull you in and drown you without you even realizing it.

She glanced up at him, catching his gaze with a furrowed brow. "What?" she asked, her tone edged with suspicion.

Jimin blinked, suddenly realizing how long he'd been staring. He straightened up quickly, plastering on his usual smirk to mask the way his pulse was racing. "Nothing" he said, waving it off casually. "Just... the stew. Smells amazing. Really."

"You're acting weird" she muttered, turning back to the pot.

Jimin exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his heart still thudding in his chest. He looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them as if that would steady him. Get it together, Park Jimin, he scolded himself silently. She's just a girl. Just a girl who happens to have the prettiest eyes, the softest-looking lips, and—

He stopped his thoughts abruptly, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of them. "You're losing it" he mumbled under his breath, stepping back slightly to give himself some distance before he did something stupid. Like lean in closer, just to stare in those dark deep almond eyes.

"You didn't have to do that"

"I know. But you're here. And you were practically snoring like a dying bear on my couch. Feeding you seemed like the most needed thing to do."

His stomach growled again, louder this time, and Jimin laughed sheepishly. "Okay, fair. I won't argue with food. Just don't poison it with salt like last time."

That earned her a smirk. "Keep talking, and I might reconsider."

It was then Park Jimin realized how easy and light life felt at that moment. No flashing lights, no deafening music, no shallow conversations filled with empty laughter. Just the gentle simmer of stew on the stove, the warmth of the small kitchen, and the teasing lilt in her voice.

For once, he wasn't calculating his next move, wasn't watching his back, wasn't drowning in the weight of expectations. He wasn't Park Jimin, the smooth talker, the heartbreaker, the cold ice guy with blood on hands, the man always keeping one foot out the door. He was just... a guy, standing in a kitchen, laughing with her.

The realization hit him slowly, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds—this moment, as simple as it was, felt good. Maybe too good.

He let the warmth of the stew settle in his chest, but it wasn't just the food—it was everything. The quiet, the simplicity, the way the world outside didn't seem to matter in this tiny space. It felt safe. Not in the way he was used to, not the kind of safety that came from control or power, but something softer. Something he hadn't realized he wanted.

He wanted more of this.

More moments where life wasn't a game of blood and war, where he didn't have to wear a mask or keep his guard up. More moments where he could just exist without the weight of hopes, without the chaos that usually followed him.

He'd spent so much time chasing thrills, surrounding himself with noise, mistaking attention for warmth. But this—this was different. Carefree, sweet, and light, like a cream latte on a slow morning.

No rush, no pretense. Just being.

The thought scared him a little. Because if he wanted it, if he craved it, then it meant he'd have to admit that something in his life had always been missing.