Chapter Text
The golden ribbons of sunlight coming from the window, delicately painting the tangled sheets a warm color across the bed. Seungcheol stirs, slowly coming awake to the now-familiar scent of lavender laundry detergent mixed with Jeonghan's subtle cologne still hanging in the air.
His eyes flicker open, and he shifts just enough to catch sight of Jeonghan nestled against him, his lips parted in sleep. A playful, contented smile tugs the corner of Jeonghan's mouth, as if his dreams are kindly disposed toward him, too.
Seungcheol's heart clenches-not painfully, but in that way it always does when the quietness between them feels too perfect to be real. He reaches out, brushes soft, stray strands of hair from Jeonghan's forehead, fingers lingering for a moment. There is a peacefulness present inside this small touch; a reminder that this life, however fragile, is now his.
His fingertips ghost down Jeonghan's cheek, and as if sensing the attention, Jeonghan stirs, curling deeper into Seungcheol's side with a soft hum.
"Good morning, sunshine." This is Jeonghan's little murmur accompanied with sleep-coat, little raspy at the edges. Arms will tighten instinctively around Seungcheol's waist, stretching and nuzzling into him like a cat seeking warmth.
The boy, between a smile and a twitch, captures Seungcheol in a vision of a soft-soft heart. His fiancé was so unsuspecting and so beautiful. "Good morning," he replied, low and fond as if speaking any louder might shatter the delicate quiet that has wrapped their world.
Jeonghan peeked up with sleep-heavy eyes at him, his pout already forming. "And where do you think you're going?" that lazy but entirely playful, accusative tone had been like that. "We've talked about this before, yes? You don't leave the bed without your fianc's approval.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he shifts to sit up. Of course, he has to be careful for the dull ache which lingers on the leg injured. "I need to make coffee," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Jeonghan's head.
"Otherwise, I'll probably faint."
Jeonghan groans and protests, arms winding tighter around Seungcheol's waist to tug him back down with a surprisingly strong hold. "Coffee can wait," Jeonghan whispers against his skin, his warm and soft breath so familiar. "What I need right now is more morning snuggles."
He burrows closer, his slender fingers tracing absent patterns along Seungcheol's back. "Fiancé privileges, you know?"
Seungcheol laughs low in his chest, the sound rumbling, and the ease with which Jeonghan holds him-so casually and yet possessively-always manages to unhinge him.
There is sincerity in the love of Jeonghan, a type of reckless love that tugs Seungcheol out of the shadows. Seungcheol breathes out then, relenting, and lies back down so that Jeonghan's weight spills over him.
Jeonghan smirks triumphantly while his breathing ghosted by Seungcheol's collarbone. "See? This isn't so bad," he whispers mock-innocently. "Fiancé life. I could really get used to this. Free cuddles, warm hugs. honestly, this might be better than sex."
Seungcheol chuckles, tracing his fingers over the dip of Jeonghan's spine lazily.
"You say that now," he teases.
"I'm mostly kidding," Jeonghan says with a playful grin, laying a kiss on the crook of Seungcheol's neck. Holding on there for a moment, he breathes him in, as if to save this moment for later.
Seungcheol hums softly, his hand drifting along Jeonghan’s back in soothing circles. For a moment, everything feels perfect—the world outside forgotten, the weight of his past loosened in Jeonghan’s embrace. “You’re incorrigible,” he murmurs, though the warmth in his voice betrays how much he loves it.
"And you love it," Jeonghan retorts, bracing himself up on his elbows so that he can meet Seungcheol's look. The sun catches in his eyes, glinting off them like polished amber.
Something twitches in Seungcheol's heart and, without thinking of the mood he is putting himself into, he leans in and gently kisses Jeonghan's forehead.
Jeonghan grins into the kiss.
Some kind of know-how made this, the kind of knowing both inside and out: inside jokes, old arguments, the unspoken ways in which they have learned to love without words. Jeonghan's fingers drift and touch the scar on Seungcheol's forearm, tracing it slow, the way he has done a thousand times before.
He never asks anymore, but the gesture still speaks volumes.
Once in a while, Jeonghan would steal some colored markers and create different arts on the scars, filling the jagged lines with beautiful rainbows or doodles. A few times, he would use a permanent marker to sneakily draw a small heart just above Seungcheol's wrist.
"This way," Jeonghan whispered once, "I'm always with you. Even when I'm not."
Seungcheol had smiled back then and pen brush stroked his thumb over the small heart, "You are always with me," he said.
Now, Jeonghan's thumb dances lightly over that scar, a gesture to outline the memory anew. His eyes have softened, but there is an edge to his tone, playful.
"All right," he says, easing off. "I will let you get to your coffee. provided you also make one out for me, too."
Seungcheol raises a brow. "Oh? What about those fiancé cuddles?
Jeonghan sighs exaggeratedly and then lies back on the ground as if he were a satisfied cat.
"Fine, all right. First cuddle, then coffee."
Seungcheol laughs at that and turns onto his side to face him. "You're just impossible."
"And yet you love me," Jeonghan replies slyly, stretching his arms overhead. "You know, you are lucky I keep you around."
Seungcheol hums in agreement, running a hand along Jeonghan's arm.
"I think I'm the lucky one."
Jeonghan gives him one of those looks: half playful, half serious. Then with a forward motion, brushes against his mouth a kiss to the corner of Seungcheol's mouth. "Go brush your teeth, lazybones," he whispers against his lips, "before I get too comfortable and you carry me to the kitchen."
Seungcheol chuckles, already imagining the inevitable. "You'd actually make me carry you?"
Jeonghan smirks, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Duh."
Seungcheol sighs, warmth from his chest erupting as he leans in for one last kiss. "You're lucky I love you," he mutters against Jeonghan's lips.
"I know," comes the whisper from Jeonghan, soft, full of everything unsaid.
With a groan of reluctance, Seungcheol hauls himself back up, careful with his leg ache. Jeonghan watches him quietly, eyes lingering like a silent promise in the air between them.
"Okay, coffee," Seungcheol says, stroking down Jeonghan's arm one last time.
Jeonghan grins. "I'll meet you in the kitchen-after I win my battle with the toothbrush."
Seungcheol chuckles as he lowers himself to the floor, looking down at his fiancé. "You're a menace."
"And you love me," Jeonghan sings light and teasing as he rolls over, burrowing back into the covers.
Seungcheol shook his head, and smiled while limping slowly into the bathroom. Each step seemed slow, cautious, reminding him of the old injury, which never quite healed. He didn't want to think about it too much. Instead, he would dwell on that fading trace of Jeonghan's touch, clinging like sunlight on a cold morning, soaking into him.
Moments like this he knew were too fragile as if they could slip away like sand held tightly. But this love, it belonged to him at that moment. And just that thought, as fleeting as it was, crumpled his chest under the weight of an unnamed burden.
He splashed his face with cold water and brushed his teeth before going out to the kitchen, expelling a breath as if to blow away all restless thoughts. The soft hum of the coffee maker surged from friendly old presence to soon be enveloped in the familiar aroma that filled the house, comforting and bittersweet.
The actions were all pulled from the past and poured that oily product into two mugs. Back at home, tendrils were lazy. Life had turned upside down since leaving the agency-the tension, the constant secrecy, everything dangerous that clung to him like a second skin.
Those days had been urgent and sharp. Now, mornings were slow and filled with a soothing silence of laughter and warmth rather than setting off on debriefings and cold calculated missions.
He stared into the coffee, lost for a moment; a flicker of unease crept in.
Could something this good really last? The question gnawed at him, subtle but persistent, like the ache in his leg. He'd fought too hard for this peace-for Jeonghan-and yet, some part of him kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He shook his head slightly, willing the thought to go away as he made his way into the bedroom again, taking slow, mindful steps lest he spills any coffee.
"Here." He handed a piping hot cup to Jeonghan; their fingers briefly touched while Jeonghan received the cup from him.
For one fleeting instant, but it softly fluttered the walls inside Seungcheol's chest.
Jeonghan's lips moved to the cup with a sip, followed by a satisfied sigh, "Ah." He closed his eyes as if to relish the flavor, not of the drink but of the entire scene: the simplicity, intimacy, and everything else involved.
"It's perfect, always is. You really spoil me," with a smile, he murmured.
He leaned back against the pillows, his mischief-twinkling eyes displayed as his hand drifted down in order to play with the engagement ring on his finger. "Now, if only I had another ring to go along with this.
Seungcheol chuckled low in his throat, the warmth spreading through his chest. He sat at the edge of the bed, glancing at the clock-6:13 AM, the numbers blinking across the old alarm clock beside them. "You already have one," he murmured, brushing a thumb over the back of Jeonghan's hand.
"But you'll get the other one soon enough. I promise."
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, feigning unimpressed. "Soon enough? So what you're trying to say is I should start planning the wedding sooner, huh?"
Seungcheol's heart quickened-slightly-and his brain went into overdrive for just that one moment with the enormity of it all facing him: a wedding, a future, forever.
He loves Jeonghan more than he thought he could, but in some way, it was that fixation of happiness that made his pulse race in a nervous kind of excitement.
"Let's just take things slowly," said Seungcheol in a soft voice, but betraying the slightest touch of nervousness.
Jeonghan grinned like he could tell even one layer of hesitation and all the confusion of love inside Seungcheol's heart. He leaned in real close, eyes bright. "But planning is the fun part! Besides, I have a reputation to uphold: I need the best wedding ever-though I guess if you want it soon, we could skip a few things."
Seungcheol just laughed at that, a light, sincere sound. "You really are crazy," he said, shaking his head.
"And you love me for it," Jeonghan replied, putting himself physically into the side of Seungcheol. Then, pressed his face into the soft fabric of Seungcheol's shirt, as if breathing him in could last forever.
"And you wouldn't want me any other way.
Softener then, Seungcheol smiled, heart full in that almost painfully tight feeling. "No," he whispered. "I wouldn't." He leaned over, setting Jeonghan's now-empty cup onto the nightstand before gently tugging at his arm.
"Come on. Time to get up," Seungcheol said, teasing with warmth.
But Jeonghan was ever the menace and went completely limp in his arms, flopping back onto the bed with a dramatic groan. "Nooo… Bed is good. Bed is life. Me stay in bed… with you."
Seungcheol laughed softly, his cheeks hurting from smiling too much.
"Nuh-uh, kitchen time. You and me. Let's go." He pulled again, and this time Jeonghan slid off the bed and onto his knees, flailing his arms above his head like a child demanding to be picked up.
"Carry me," Jeonghan said, looking up at him, pouting and gleaming in his eye.
Seungcheol glared down at him, beyond exasperated yet unable to help himself. "Unbelievable," he muttered, laughing, leaning down to hoist Jeonghan onto his back.
As the arms wrapped around his shoulders securely, and his legs locked around Seungcheol's waist, he let a contented hum escape his lips.
"Mmm. my strong man," Jeonghan whispered, his tone tainted with mischief. He buries his face in Seungcheol's neck, brushes soft kisses along the skin there, sending a run down Seungcheol's spine.
Seungcheol laughed breathlessly, adjusting Jeonghan's weight slightly as he carried him towards the kitchen. "It's too early for this," he muttered.
Jeonghan grinned against his neck, his breath warm against Seungcheol's skin. "I only said 'my strong man.' No one said anything about sex.
Sure…" Seungcheol rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking up despite himself as he carried Jeonghan all the way into the kitchen, gently setting him down on one of the stools by the island.
Jeonghan settled, one bunch of his hair falling disheveled over his eyes to frame the picture of somebody who belonged in lazy mornings and stolen kisses. A loose shirt hanging off one shoulder accentuated a playful, carefree air.
Seungcheol takes a moment to soak in the sight of him before a soft heat fills his chest.
This is the life they have now - messy, chaotic, beautiful. And for the first time in a long time, it feels worth fighting for.
Jeonghan caught him staring and gives him a lazy grin. "What? Are you falling in love with me all over again?"
The smile on Seungcheol's face softens, and warmth fills his chest like a slow flower bloom. "Something like that," he whispered with a turn toward the coffee pot, leaving his words dangling between them like an unspoken, quiet but very real promise.
He threw a glance backward at Jeonghan, who had already submerged himself in the counter's mess-a flurry of odd dishes and jammed jars. Something in the way Jeonghan moved was effortlessly graceful, every normal action bearing some hidden meaning. The mundane things of life-like making toast or searching the fridge-take on some kind of magic beneath his fingers, as though he colors the grayness in those places that had long since faded.
Seungcheol's heart twisted at that sight, a coil of affection and uneasiness coiling tighter within him. Jeonghan was still shining even in this moment, making Seungcheol all more aware of how fragile the peace they were trying to build. It was a kind of happiness that made him worry, like standing at the edge of something beautiful and knowing so well how easily it could fall apart.
"Okay," Jeonghan raised a couple of jars and a bag of rice over his shoulder, "What do you think about doing the standard lunch or something new and exotic to shock the kids today? I vote exotic."
Seungcheol leans against the counter, holding a cup of coffee, as Jeonghan dramatically opens the refrigerator door. He thinks about his drink, letting it fill his mouth, the bitterness grounding him. "How's the usual? The last time you went to the 'exotic,' they didn't have a freakin' clue what hit 'em."
Turning around, placing his hand on his hip, his face contorted in a mock offense, "Excuse me? That stir-fried kimchi was a work of art!" His pout deepened still further, acted up his disappointment with wildly gesturing hands. "Those kids just don't appreciate culinary genius being served to them on a platter.
Seungcheol bit back a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "Or maybe," he teased, "they just wanted something that didn't set their taste buds on fire."
Jeonghan shot him a playfully indignant glare; his lips fought against a smile. "Fine, I guess they aren't ready for greatness." He huffed as he opened the fridge in front of him, rummaging through it. "I'll dumb it down for them masses.
Perhaps." His tone suddenly turned quiet with a conspiring whisper, as he added, with a smile, "But one day. they shall see."
The corners of Seungcheol's heart pulled in that all-too-familiar aching way, and for one fleeting moment, he let himself imagine what life would be like if every morning was like this-laughter in the kitchen, playful arguments over breakfast, Jeonghan filling every quiet space with his warmth.
But the thought brought with it a sliver of unease, slipping under his skin like a chill. Could this really last? Could he hold onto this happiness without something crashing through the door and shattering it?
"You’re really going all out for these kids, huh?"
Seungcheol asked quietly, not quite able to keep the thread of worry from his voice.
Jeonghan's hand halted, hovering above the cartons of eggs in front of him. The smile wavered, only for that second, brief enough to go unseen by others.
"Of course I am," he said now, softer. "They need someone to believe in them. the way you believed in me."
Seungcheol's throat constricted. He peered down into his coffee, stirring the liquid in a slow gait as memories danced at the edges of his mind, of how he'd found Jeonghan in the middle of his own storm, how they'd pulled each other through in ways neither knew they needed.
"That's... odd," Seungcheol said lightly, a tinge of gravity beginning to lace into his voice. "Me? I was not located anywhere along the same line."
"Doesn't matter," said Jeonghan as he shifted his gaze back to him; sparks of that quiet conviction he often managed to disarm Seungcheol with lit up his eyes.
"There are people who had it much worse. They deserve someone who cares. And I care." And he proceeded to grab a loaf and start preparing sandwiches in those fluid, so-familiar motions. "Besides," he said with a sly grin, "it's a good excuse to get away from your relentless cuddling."
Seungcheol folded his arms as if offended, but the lovingness in his eyes wouldn't hide. "Hey! I'm just seeing my fiancé feeling loved."
And indeed, those musical and light sounds of Jeonghan as he laughed were playful as well. "Babe, this is a full-time gig loving me, and you're doing all right so far...but maybe some help would be...exciting."
Seungcheol lifted an eyebrow but kept on with his part.
"Oh, really? Well, then, who exactly is it that you're referring to? The weird cat lady across the hall? The old lady upstairs?"
Jeonghan leaned forward with the smile he knew had transformed into a sharper smirk. "Maybe. I've heard the neighbor makes a mean pancake.
Maybe...You better step it up before you get replaced."
Seungcheol laughed despite himself and felt his chest swell with warmth. "Please. No one can top my pancakes." He puffed out his chest in mock pride.
Jeonghan shot him a look that was half-amused, half-challenging. "Yeah, right. Your fabulous pancakes that taste like...charcoal?"
Seungcheol snorted. There was laughter bubbling in the chest, which he could not stifle. "Hey, burnt pancakes are just flavor added!"
Jeonghan rolled his eyes and flipped over his toast, deftly. "Yeah, Yeah, Gordon Ramsay."
The air between them was fresh and natural-an indication of how far they'd come, of the way they'd managed to carve something soft and real from the chaos of their pasts now cast into the shadow of their banter.
Yet as this conversation floated through the air, Seungcheol was still unable to banish completely from his mind the quiet hum of worry that lay beneath the surface-like the shadow at the corner of his vision.
It gnaws at him-the whole idea about this life that they seem to manage out of, about this love-a little bit too good and a little bit too fragile. And really, the universe has this way of making away with the very things just when you start believing that you have them for keeps.
Seungcheol exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Yeah," he whispered, more to himself than to Jeonghan. "I know."
And in that silence that followed, with Jeonghan continuing to bustle about in the kitchen-bright and full of life, Seungcheol allowed himself to believe, just for a fleeting moment, that maybe things would be all right.
Maybe.
"I was just thinking," says Seungcheol softly, his gaze drifting down as though at last the heavy weight of his thoughts has settled on the ground. Edges of his past seep in, casting a faint shadow on the moment. "I never thought life could feel this...
happy."
Jeonghan tilts his head softly, then moves closer, fingers underneath Seungcheol's chin lifting it in that trademark tenderness only he could pull off. "Happy is good," Jeonghan whispers, thumb gliding lightly over Seungcheol's jaw. "You deserve this. We both do."
That bright and gentle smile blooms, like rays of sunlight streaming through shutters, emptying the room of storm clouds inside.
Immediately, the load off Seungcheol's chest now liberates itself from winding and vibrating like a harshly-tightened strand.
"Now, stop thinking about it anymore, help me with this." Jeonghan stepped backward, hands fiddling in a flutter towards food laid out in an array on the counter. "We can't leave these kids starving."
"Heavenly fine," he chuckles, breaking the final thread of tension hooking onto him.
He joined Jeonghan at the counter with that rolling shoulders as though shaking something off his weighty shoulder. "But only because I want to see what this 'masterpiece' looks like."
And he displays an even broader grin, and the sound filling this kitchen now is so much to say such familiar sounds of nudges, playful digs, and silent comfort-with him, words are easy like the hum of oft-repeated tunes, that kind of easygoing banter where the outside world fades away.
But just when Seungcheol is about to close the warmth of morning around him entirely, Jeonghan's phone buzzes loudly on the table, and the rhythm of the moment is broken like a skipped beat.
Jeonghan looks up toward the screen, his face changing for just that one brief moment—a flicker of something, and Seungcheol catches it straight away, though Jeonghan covers with a practiced smile. The ease in his eyes dims, just a little.
It's small, but a ripple of unease starts in Seungcheol's chest.
"What's that?" Seungcheol asks, keeping his voice light, though curiosity nudges at him, relentless.
Jeonghan's smile tightens. "It's nothing," he says too fast, the words tumbling out before he can form them properly.
"Just work stuff."
Seungcheol knows that smile. It's the same one Jeonghan uses when he's trying to avoid something-not a lie, but not quite the truth, either. The kind of smile that makes Seungcheol's chest feel tight, even though he knows Jeonghan isn't trying to hurt him.
He let some time pass as he watched Jeonghan busy himself with his toast and the hatching text gnawing on him. The tension becomes more apparent in the atmosphere that hangs thick, just past visualization, but nevertheless, tangible.
"You sure?" Seungcheol asks in a whisper, the soft gaze holding power in his look. "You know you can talk to me about-"
But before that thing can be voiced, Jeonghan leans forward, filling the interval with a soft kiss, quick and urgent in a way that makes Seungcheol's heart stutter.
In fact, not only the kiss tastes of affection but of an even quieter appeal-to drop the subject, to keep it very simple, at least for now.
Just one second of being stunned, and Seungcheol is frozen in the intimacy before Jeonghan's lips warm his.
The raging storm stills within him as all those maddening thoughts swirling around, almost bursting into being, finally dwindle again to their now-familiar, comforting quiet where Jeonghan stands.
"When Jeonghan breaks the kiss off, those eyes are again playful, but kind of sharp around the edges.
"Let's not spoil the breakfast with some serious talk," he whispers, brushing his nose lightly against Seungcheol's before drawing back with a playful smile.
Seungcheol exhales, catching up to the moment; his heart still races from that kiss. "I don't mind a little serious talk," he says in a softer voice, still chasing the intimacy now dissipating.
"Too bad, because I do!" Jeonghan says, sticking out his tongue in that familiarly playful way that always manages to disarm Seungcheol.
"Let's just enjoy breakfast, okay? You're going to need all your strength to keep up with me today."
Seungcheol laughs, the sound tumbling out of him like a sigh of relief. Seungcheol loves how Jeonghan could slide off those weighty moments into laughter and lightness, but sometimes that did leave him speculating on what lay hidden beneath that ease with charm.
"Alright, then. Breakfast it is," Seungcheol relents, the pressure in his chest loosening, although a part of him puts this moment aside, knowing well that this is not the end of the conversation. He sends Jeonghan a pointed look, although his smile remains warm.
"But I still intend to ask about that text later."
Jeonghan grins at him over his last bite of toast. "Sure," he says breezily, falling back in his chair and letting out a long sigh of contentment. "But only if you bring me one of those breakfast burritos with it."
"Deal," Seungcheol says, lighter, the earlier unease retreating to the edges of his mind as they finish their meal together.
Seungcheol watches as Jeonghan clears the table, starry-eyed: the fluid motion carries with it such confidence-an almost world-weary personage without actually showing it.
Jeonghan strides into the kitchen, as if making every corner his own; the tiny room swells big with his presence. He gathers the plates into a monstrous pile, his shirt slipping a little off one shoulder while the hair is somewhat tousled still by sleep. Seungcheol's heart stirs at a little bittersweet mixture of admiration and unease.
Jeonghan is... mesmerizing like this, so carefree and so alive-yet he can feel something beneath it, something fragile which Jeonghan doesn't want to show.
Seungcheol reclines in the chair and savors the last portions of his coffee while turning his gaze on Jeonghan.
If it were in another lifetime, he might let the moment slip without a second thought- but now, with something so delicately between them, Seungcheol knows better than to ignore the gnawing, creeping feeling in the edges of his peace.
Because he knows Jeonghan well enough to identify the signs of something being wrong. He can see it in the cast of shadows that flare behind his smile and in the tapping of his fingers over his phone- too quick for comfort.
But for now-for the sake of this morning, for that love which saturates the air like the scent of steaming coffee-Seungcheol will forget it. The worry will have to wait.
Seungcheol watches Jeonghan hum to himself, his body swaying with light motions as he rinsed the last dish, completely unaware of how breathtakingly beautiful he looks-even in the soft mess of their messy kitchen.
The sun catches his tangled hair, the collar of his shirt falling just enough to show the bend of his shoulder. It's these moments, during which Jeonghan feels so easy and natural, that makes Seungcheol's heart swell with affection and a flicker of worry.
Right now, this is enough. It has to be.
"Alright," Seungcheol breaks the comfortable silence, leaning against the counter. "What's next on your grand agenda today, oh wise teacher?"
Jeonghan grins at him, sorting through the stack of papers sprawled across the table. "First, I change into something fabulous. Then," he says with a flourish, "I shall wow my students with the wonders of multiplication." His voice is animated and light-hearted.
"And, of course, I made a contribution to saving the world from boredom."
Shakes his head and chuckles. "You're really something, you know that?" Jeonghan winks to produce an infectious air: "You're welcome." He collects all his things and shoves Seungcheol with his shoulder as he walks past.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find the perfect outfit. Stay right here-and think of me."
With a loud clang, he disappears out of the kitchen in what could only be described as an exaggerated strut, leaving behind Seungcheol, standing alone in the amply dissipating warmth of his absence.
And just like this, the silence descends-a little too quickly, a little too heavy.
The door closes and leaves the hollow room, with no Jeonghan even around. The quiet became so amplified, it even gnawed into Seungcheol's nerves. He lets himself sag onto the couch with a soft little sigh, as cushions dip under his weight with a lean back, eyes off staring at a wall.
Unlively without Jeonghan's laughter, such silence is sharper-almost a reminder of everything that he has lost and everything that he still bears within him.
His mind churns, storm clouds gathering horizonward. A long, slow breath to steady himself is in vain, though the wear does much to seclude the past; yet into the cracks of the quiet, past slips.
It's been months since he left the agency, but the echoes of that life are still there, always hovering at the edge of his mind, waiting for a moment like this to surface.
But the pain beneath his fingers was there, just much the same, as relentless-as the memories that came creeping back to him with it. A throb to remind him of how close he had come to losing everything again, it pulsed ever so slightly, as if it knew he was thinking about the past.
He ran his fingers back and forth over the serrated scar down his arm, touching the irregular contours as if to find what answers he wanted in its furrows.
He sees to it that his eyes shut tight, and there comes the farewell of memories--waving sirens, cold efficiency of mission briefings, the rush penetrating his veins every time a plan comes grueling action takes place.
The adrenaline, split-second decisions, the way everything felt sharper, clearer, more alive. The rush, however, always demands its price. The shadows linger long after the missions are over, leaving behind wounds that never truly heal.
He thinks of Jihoon. Steadfast, composed in all this chaos, always knowing just what to say, to say the least, during moments when everything spirals out of control.
And Soon-young, fearless yet commanding whilst leading with unfaltering confidence. People such as Mingyu and Wonwoo came into his mind-there were those he left behind without even saying goodbye. He wonders if they hate him for it.
It is a mixture of memories; bitter, sweet, and strange, a cocktail of nostalgia and remorse.
Together with the purpose, the camaraderie is missed, but not the dangers it entails. These are rather the hardest to leave behind. It feels as if he still had a burning scar on his arm beneath his fingertips, a silent testimony to how close the darkness always was.
"Was it worth it?" he whispers, the words slipping disobediently through his lips.
Nobody answers. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the light ticking of the old clock on the wall.
The familiar tug in his heart, the ache of longing mixed with the relief.
Leaving the agency had been the right thing to do; he knows that. Choosing Jeonghan, choosing this life, was a choice out of necessity. It was an opportunity to be free from the weight of the shadows, to build something soft and safe.
But even safety bears burdens-too quiet, too sneaky-which catch him off guard in such instants.
Sometimes, he misses the thrill, the electric pulse of danger thrumming beneath his skin. Besides being exhausting, it was also terrifying. But simultaneously, it was intoxicating because living on the edge gave him a certain clarity, a sharpness that he hasn't felt in months.
But all this is slower and softer here in this quiet new life, comforting him yet somehow constricting him.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and lets himself sit in the conflicting emotions-grateful for the love he's found, uneasy about ghosts still following him.
It is as if Jeonghan is a lifeline to the future, with laughter and warmth that only he could show, but at the same time, it reminds him of how dangerous it would be to love such a person like Jeonghan-such a bright and full-of-life person, someone who deserved peace and safety and not the burdens of Seungcheol's past.
The thought runs wild currents of anxiety through him, yet he forces himself not to dwell on such thoughts and instead focuses on the here and now. He looks at the time-a slip of time has been lost, and he cannot afford it. There is a life to build.
He lifts himself off the couch with a slow, methodical breath. The familiar ache in his leg flares for a moment, but he does not fight it. He lets it ground him into the very memory of its existence within him, just like the scarring that marks his skin and the past that has shaped his choices into a path.
He walks into the bathroom, splashing cold water against his face--the shock of it brings reality crashing down around him. As the droplets track their lazy, desultory way down his skin, he stares at his image reflected back at him in the mirror.
The face looking back is one he knows all too well, yet a stranger-someone between who he was and who he is trying to be.
Seungcheol inhales, this time a steadier one. "It's a new day," he says softly to himself, looking at the same gaze in the mirror.
"Focus."
He stays a little longer, breathing in, and walks into the shower. The warm water stung against it and now is left with that faint memory of clarity in his mind. Just like that, closes his eyes and lets it wash all over him, as if it were all but possible to cleanse his body and the restless, broken fragments of his mind.
Steel stress will not be allowed today because there are children who will be contingent upon him.
He puts on a crisp button-up shirt and custom-tailored trousers; he smooths a wrinkle caught between threads of fabric. Small, then ritual, one that has him feel whole, as if neatness would trap in the chaos seething a breath below skin.
Again he catches his reflection-the hair's still damp, its dark strands lying messily across the forehead. With a practiced hand, he pushes them back, watching the faint traces of worry flicker in his gaze before he replaces them with quiet determination.
He steps into the kitchen, where debris from breakfast still litters the table: toast crumbs, coffee mugs, and even the faint scent of citrus his cologne leaves. The warmth clings to the space, this life they built. For that one brief second, he ponders letting the dishes pile up, but knows clutter is distraction.
While he cleans, he notices the coffee pot is still warm. He sees the last of the brew steaming gently in the glass and pours himself another cup, savoring the rich, bitter aroma. Coffee grounds him in the simple pleasure of his drink, offering a slight reprieve from the thoughts that have crept back into his mind.
The time in the clock was 6:49 a.m.-just enough time to finish his coffee and then go. He leaned against the counter, sipping slowly, his gaze straying to the window. Already, outside, the morning was well in swing: neighbours chatting on the sidewalk, kids pedalling their bicycles up and down the street, and somewhere, laughter borne easily on the breeze.
So, the everyday was the scene, but it was surreal for him: a world he had never lived in. He felt grateful, yet an inner hum of discomfort, the banality was just so overpowering. He reminded himself this was life now: safe, steady, normal.
But the minute he steps through the glass doors into the child services office, the hum of activity greets him-a reminder that normal doesn't have to mean easy. The cacophony of ringing phones, low conversations, and rustling papers produced a kind of rhythm that placed him in the present.
"Morning, Seungcheol!" A friendly voice tugs him out of his reverie. It's Mira, the always-upbeat receptionist, whose sunny smile is infectious.
"Morning," said Seungcheol to Mira, and added a slight smile, however, it's not as smooth as hers.
He makes his way through the line of desks while nodding to his fellow colleagues who wave and greet him while walking past. Some are already lost in spirited conversations, while others are glued to their monitors, fully immersed in the never-ending saga of case files and reports.
The vibe here is very different from his old life-no missions, no high-stakes operations, just laboring away like every other man and woman with paperwork, phone calls, and face-to-face meetings. And yet in its own way it is just as solid.
He set his bag beside him on the desk and took a deep breath to prepare himself for the endeavors the day had to offer. First things first: emails. He opened his inbox, sorting a whole bunch of messages received from caseworkers, school counselors, and last but not least, from parents.
Each one represents some small piece of someone's story-a family struggling, a child needing intervention, a case that needs closing. It's work that matters, but the weight of it builds gradually, like so many layers of sediment that never get washed away.
He files reports, updates case notes, and forwards information where needed, but the motions feel mechanical. A part of him still hasn't quite adjusted to the slower pace of this world. The restlessness simmers just below the surface, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't quite silence it.
He collects up armfuls of sheets, catching snatches of chat wafting through the break room. Colleagues at the morning coffee session, both hushed yet animated.
"Did you hear the person who was mugged outside of grocery store?" one news-wise colleague announces with her voice laced with concern.
"Yeah," another voice joins in, anxiety showing in her tone, "It's like crime is picking up again. I have heard sirens every night."
Seungcheol catches the words levelled at him like a jolt, and in his blood, the familiar sounding humming of adrenaline rises. Suddenly, the buzzing out at him becomes too loud and much nearer. He tries to stay grounded as he holds his hand tightly against the edge of his desk; yet, all the memories filter in just the same-speedy decisions, racing hearts at every mission, electric sensation in moments of danger-all too fast for him to stop them from happening.
He rubs his arm unconsciously as if to smooth it and trace a finger over the scar that stretches across it like a slim river. It's a habit he's completely unable to shake. It grounds him when the past starts to bleed into the present.
It's a memory-by the choices he made, by the way he lived, and the very narrow margin he had for escape into this life. There would be days when he missed it; others when he was just glad to be alive.
"Honestly, I don't know what's happening to this city," one of the voices continues. "Some of these family cases have been. unsettling. I've had more emergency meetings in the past month than I can count."
The words tug at something within him, and he forces himself to look back again at the papers on the desk before him, stomach tumbling.
He knows what it is to stand at the very edge of fissures in something unraveling, to see the cracks splaying beneath the surface. And although this work was different from his whole life, there is no question about the urgency being the same.
He glances at the names on the files crossing his desk: children who had fallen by the wayside, families fighting to stay afloat. The weight comes to rest on his shoulders, heavy but familiar; these kids were depending on him, just as the guys from the good old team of old times did.
For one brief, shining moment, his mind wanders to Jeonghan-the quiet space filled with his fiancé's laughter, the toughest of days eventually turned much lighter by the latter's presence. He is an anchor to this new life, pulling him in where the shadows draw too near.
But not even Jeonghan's warmth can't erase the lingering restlessness of his heart.
Seungcheol flattens the papers on his desk, making sure that all the edges line up, maybe because order outside will bring calmness inside. He knows he can't afford to be preoccupied by the past because kids he has to work with need him now.
He drops back into his chair, rubbing his palms along the contour of his face, orienting himself towards the hour. It's almost up, and there is simply no time for second guessing.
"Focus," he mutters again, a word that suddenly feels like a mantra on his tongue.
Minutes pass, and he feels the tension in his chest slowly beginning to lift, distracted now by the cacophony of the office-the chatter, the ring of phones, the staccato thud of keyboards banging away at work. It was a comforting symphony, one of the reminders of normalcy he had wanted when he left that agency.
But just as he began to settle into a groove, the office door swings wide open and in walks the newest arrival-one whose face, once known well, he would never expect to see in a place like this-and Seungcheol's heart bounces while his breath chokes in his throat.
He looks up, and the papers in his hands suddenly weigh a ton. The gaze of the newcomer sweeps the room, and for one instant, their eyes lock on each other; the world is slightly tilted on its axis as Seungcheol's heart hammers in some fear and intrigue.
"Hello," he calls out. The voice slices through the buzz of the office like a knife. "Been a while."
So all interested, and Seungcheol's mind did not lack action. What is he doing here? Reality became somber, memories he thought had gone buried barged back into his senses.
"Yeah, long time," Seungcheol replied with a smile forced by circumstances, trying to mask the sudden upwelling of something akin to apprehension within him. Back in the game, not quite sure if he was ready for it.
"Do you have a minute?
"No. Minghao I don't." Seungcheol's tense smiles becomes more of a grimace.
Minghao breaths out and nods slowly, probably feeling Seungcheol's tension as the pencil he had in his hand breaks from the tension.
"Shit." Seungcheol curses as he throws the pencil into the garbage.
"I just…no…just leave me alone."
Minghao nods and steps back but says, "I won't be the only one, just so you know.
"Figured." Seungcheol clenches his jaw, looking at his college going to walk towards his desk and gestures to Minghao to leave quickly by bending his finger into his fist.
Minghao quickly walks away, putting a hat on his head, looking down toward the ground as he exits through the door. Mira approaches his desk, smiling, asking for only the latest meetings he has had with the single mother with twin girls, then leaves Seungcheol alone with his thoughts.
Seungcheol sits at his desk, digging through a stack of reports that simply seem to grow by the minute. He massages his temples, rubbing in a weariness that weighs him down like some heavy weight. Fluorescent lights hum hums overhead, a constant monotone drone serving as audio background for his thoughts, but no sooner does he get clarity than his phone violently explodes against the grain of his desk.
His gaze drifts momentarily from the other people around to the screen, and the next reaction is a frown at the new number, which he has got translated on the screen away from him. A brief hesitation envelops his body, and unconsciously his hand reaches toward the device, fingers hovering over the face.
Part of him wants to ignore it, discard it as easily as any other spam call, but he has a very strong instinct driving him to pick up.
"Hello?" He cautiously says as though the voice is unsteady because of his gurgling stomach.
A moment later, a voice slices through on the other end, smooth but cold: "Choi Seungcheol, or should I say Seungcheol - Hyung, we have some old business to attend to."
His heart thunders, thumped by that echoing word which just resonates from bad foreboding within.
Old business. A strong red flag waving in the breeze, a signal for the life he thought long gone. He clenches his fist around the phone, willing back his calmness.
"Who's this?" he responds now more firmly, with a hint of interest laced into his voice but underlined with fear.
"You know who I am," states the clipped tones but with an undertone of amusement. "You know why I call. We will meet soon enough."
The blood leeches from Seungcheol's face; all at once his forehead erupts with cold sweat.
The atmosphere of the room bears down upon him, suddenly making him seem much smaller than he is-exposed to the whole world outside. He is suddenly besieged by the memories: the night dosh, unspoken warnings, the ever-present feeling of the eyes on him.
He had hoped to get away from it, get so deep in a life freed from the reaches of the agency, but here it is, creeping back in like a thief in the night.
"You want something from me?" Seungcheol's voice trembles a little bit; it betrays fear that bubbles beneath his stoic facade.
"Just another gentle reminder, you are still on our watch out. Never forget that, okay?
There's a click, and the line dies. Seungcheol stares at it in disbelief as shallow breaths puff in the space between conversations, weighing down upon him. The world outside his window seems even more alien; life throbs with color outside, and all that it does only adds to the darkness that has seeped back into his life.
He hangs up the phone, hands shaking a little as he drops it on the desk. The papers scattered before him seem disordered yet more concerning. The air is getting thicker with tension, wrapping around him as a smothering blanket.
"What the hell..," he mutters to himself in a confused mixture of anger and anxiety as the surge begins to flow through him.
Seungcheol rubs over his scarred arm absently, the familiar gesture grounding him as he tries to make sense of the call.
He thought he had found a way to leave the past behind, but apparently, it is not so easily forgotten.
A few breaths, center. The office bustled with the commonplace sounds of coworkers as they went about their business, unaware of the thunderstorm within. But he couldn't escape it; this was a warning that he was still in orbit.
A renewed sense of determination drawn into him, he began to collect all the papers on his desk and put them in some semblance of order out of the chaos. Vigilance, being even a step ahead at times by delving into the shadows again.
As he straightens the files, he can't shake the feeling that his life, once so ordinary, is about to take a turn he never anticipated.
I need to go home….
Seungcheol quickly looks at the time.
1:52 pm….
Well, I missed lunch and.I can finish at home….
Seungcheol quickly gathers his things and heads to the bus and into a seat. Mind racing with images of screams and blood. He breaths in and out, just like Jeonghan would always show him. His stop was near; he stood up, thanking the driver as he headed out the bus.
He went to his pocket and found his keys as he scrambled to scan his Key into the lobby door. Quickly greeting the doorman as he heads to the elevator into his home.
Fuck…
Fuck!
Walking out the elevator and into his haven, his home.
Seungcheol opens the door and quickly just collapses into the couch. Raising his hand into his hair and breathes in and out, calming his racing heart.
Okay…
Okay…
Just…Just…
Seungcheol grasped his computer and turned it on, flipping through files and statements of the families he had to meet.
He used to meet them more, but… it was just too much. Too much crying. Parents that ignored his advice. Children found close to death because of people who should never be parents. It was just too much.
Seungcheol stretches out his body after having gotten off the couch, the remains of composed papers scattered randomly around him, a tribute to how far he had gone in sifting through files and gathering evidence.
The quiet hum that enveloped the apartment could not still that growling stomach in the boy; he had not eaten anything since lunch.
"Maybe I really should cook today," he said distantly, brushing back what thoughts came into his head-the stress of the day.
He marched with determination towards the kitchen. This was a room specked with nature as many other rooms had housed people who had dined and talked in them at different times. It was a very small but cozy room, invaded by spices and fresh ingredients.
He flicked through the fridge, taking out whatever he found: Gamjatang, which is a soul soup-the comforting Korean potato soup.
Seungcheol peeled potatoes; their skins slipped at his knife strokes, having already prepared them for cooking. He then chopped the other ingredients: tender cuts of pork, fragrant pieces of garlic, a bunch of green onions.
The soft sound of the knife on the cutting board came to be a soothing contrapositive to his flow of thoughts.
He puts the pot on the stove, pours in some oil, and waits till the pot heats up. With the browning meat, the smell would start filling the air and mingle with that earthy smell of potatoes.
He stops for a moment and takes a deep breath of this smell-an aroma that could bring back many shared meals and laughter.
As the pork cooks, he reaches for the gochugaru, or red chili flakes, that give the soup its signature warmth.
He sprinkles a generous amount into the pot, watches the vibrant color infuse into the oil, tosses in the garlic, and then stir-fries all these together.
"This will work," he thought, a smirk growing on his face as the thought of Jeonghan's reaction came up in his mind.
Almost, he heard him complimenting the dish; almost, the light in his eyes flared with appreciation.
Setting the table, he starts adding water and potatoes into the pot already at a simmer. Seungcheol snatches up a few bowls, putting them next to each other before adding chopsticks and a couple of plates for side dishes.
The familiar motions soothe him, and he finds some comfort in the preparation.
The soup burbles away, sending up small clouds of steam to fog the glass lid. Seungcheol stirred it from time to time, testing the broth for seasonings, letting the warmth of the kitchen envelop him like an embrace.
It opens when he is going to check the time, creaking from the front, and Jeonghan steps in, his face lit by the warm glow coming from the kitchen. His heart lifts with the sight of him, but with a number of steps that Jeonghan made towards him, he noticed there are things that showed traces of exhaustion-the dark circles that had formed beneath his eyes and the way his shoulders sag.
"I'm home!" Jeonghan calls, the cheerfulness in his voice falling to possess a spark which sounds just a little forced. Seungcheol lifts his head up from the table while a hint of a smile dances on his lips, hiding concern within.
"Hi..." he says, a shy glance capturing everything about Jeonghan, from his mussed state to the creases in his shirt and how hair lies across his forehead. Cute, yes, but all the while his heart pulls tight. "Long day?" Seungcheol strengthens warmth in his tone and takes Jeonghan's coat, hanging it on the door.
"You could say that," replies Jeonghan, with the smile on his face faltering slightly. He heads straight to the kitchen, where the plates wait. "Dinner looks amazing. You really outdid yourself."
It should be comfortable while they sit down together.
Still, there is an undercurrent, something not quite right. They begin to eat. Cutlery begins to clink against one another. Looking up from his plate, Seungcheol watches Jeonghan chew, trying to guess his mood.
Jeonghan's eyes flick across to his phone, lying just out of reach on the table.
The screen lights up, and he instinctively goes for it, seeing something he knows Seungcheol can't. A bubble of irritation brews mixed with concern within.
"You know," he says, his voice sharper than intended, "it's great having dinner together distractions-free."
Jeonghan's head snaps up, eyes vaguely widened. "Sorry, I just-" he's saying, but Seungcheol stops him.
"I mean, we really haven't had a quiet evening in a while. Can't we just enjoy it?"
The atmosphere changes; Jeonghan's smile fades. "I get it, I do.
But it's just work stuff. It can't wait," he replies, but an edge has crept into his voice that wasn't there before.
Beneath those nice-looking attitudes of Seungcheol that everyone seems to admire, there lingers an irritation. He knows Jeonghan has a very hectic work schedule, but every single glance at his mobile phone feels intrusive to the time they spend together.
"Had a work issue? Or do you have something else? There's something.. different about you lately."
For a second, Jeonghan's face tightens, and he gazes down into his plate, pushing the food around with his fork. "I'm fine, really, just a busy week." His voice is casual, but the tension in his jaw gives him away.
Seungcheol looks at him, feeling frustration rise in his chest along with a tinge of concern. "You're always 'fine'―but I can see that something's bothering you. You sure it's just work?
At that Jeonghan lifted his gaze, softening but remaining guarded, as he spoke, "I promise, it is nothing to worry about.
Just a few extra responsibilities at school."
Seungcheol raises a brow, unconvinced. "Extra responsibilities? That's all the verbose talking lately, huh? What are you actually concealing?"
Jeonghan sighs and rakes a hand through his hair as his facade finally starts to crack.
"It's nothing."
It hit quite harder than the issue would have warranted. "Try me," he leans forward, that concern replacing all that frustration. "I want to understand."
Again, Jeonghan's expression changes into a mix of tiredness and affection. "It's nothing, baby."
"But you're a little more stressed than usual," Seungcheol pushes, unable to hide the hurt creeping into his voice. "Let me help you."
For a split second, the atmosphere holds piqued yet uncanny tension, the silence by two combined veils at the far-off noises of the city's outside ends.
Jeonghan's teeth bite at his lip, eyes darting back and forth between his phone and the floor.
"It's nothing," he finally says softly, but with sincerity, just barely. "I promise."
Seungcheol leans back in his chair, processing the weight of Jeonghan's words.
A moment of silence passes between them with the fading warmth of dinner ringing out awkwardly into the chill of the atmosphere.
Jeonghan bends over the table, his palm covering Seungcheol's. "I am in love with you; you know that, don't you?
Well, such a person as Jeonghan can always put the sharp edges of the frustration of Seungcheol into soft walls. However, there was still lingering doubt. "I know," he almost whispered, with a heart tortured for lack of clarity. "You are the reason I wake up every day.
Just…don't shut me out."
Jeonghan's eyes soften; the barriers he built are starting to fall. "I am not," he says, giving Seungcheol's hand a gentle squeeze.
There is just something about the shadows growing deeper around them that makes Seungcheol feel like something is waiting under the surface for a chance to pop up at the most inconvenient point.
As Jeonghan trails off down the hall to their bedroom, Seungcheol feels the heaviness of evening settling with a great weight on his chest. He stares into the television, and all the images of the mundane banter going across continue flowing away to where his mind drifts well beyond it.
Thoughts swim around in his mind as he tries to ignore the unresolved tension lingering between them. He recalled Jeonghan's forced smiles, his unending checking on his phone, and, finally, the bad secrets that seemed to shadow around him. "What are you hiding?"
Seungcheol whispered under his breath, the question filling the air around him void in the room.
He leans back in the cushions, feeling the old ache of his leg along with a scar across his arm, constant reminders of an old life that was full of risks and uncertainty.
It is a tremendously brutal contrast. Here he is, snuggled in a comfortable apartment with a fiancé who loves him, but he feels emptier than he can quite explain. Life is supposed to be easy, he tells himself, why does it feel so complicated?
As television plays, it allows him to think about how different the life has turned from what it used to be. The secret missions have their enchanting moments: a surge of adrenaline running through him in dangerous conditions. Living pyrotechnics each moment they explode with vigor. But they also came with their burden, which he sees now: the weight of lies; of a constant threat; of knowing trust was fragile.