Sleepless

Sleepless

“Hold the door!” A familiar voice shouts from the platform as you board the metro.

Smiling, you stick your arm in front of the door and watch as Seokmin runs to you. He gives you a sunny smile as he hops into the train car, and you take the empty window seat across from each other.

“Cutting it close again,” you chide. It’s impossible not to smile back at him — today is a gloomy, drizzly day, and you have quite the train ride before arriving at your destination, but he makes you feel warm.

“Well,” he says, rummaging in his bag before pulling out a paper-wrapped object and handing it to you, “it is not without just cause.”

You unfold the paper to reveal a powder-dusted croissant studded with almonds. “Almond crème?” You exclaim, looking at him with shining eyes.

“It’s the only choice, really,” he says, echoing your own words from your first breakfast hangout months earlier, zipping up his bag.

You hold the croissant up to his nose. “You get the first bite,” you say.

“But it’s your favorite!” He protests.

“I don’t see a croissant for you,” you say sternly. “Now bite it. I’m hungry.”

He shrugs resignedly and bites into the croissant, giving a thumbs up. “Delicious,” he says.

You eat some of the croissant yourself. It’s perfect. You close your eyes in delight and Seokmin laughs. “I love watching you eat,” he says. “You never hold back.”

You blush. “I didn’t realize I was being so ostentatious.”

He is quick to reassure. “It’s wonderful, truly,” he says. “It’s actually quite cute.”

You blush harder. His eyes are wide and earnest behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and it’s a performance day — so his hair is combed back like a prince’s, perfectly complementing the aquiline shape of his nose and his regal, high cheekbones.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, bringing you back to earth. You realize that you were staring, and shake yourself a little.

“Yeah,” you say, in an attempt to be breezy that comes out breathy and forced, “I think I’m just nervous for the solo today.”

His eyes soften. “You’ve worked so hard,” he reminds you gently. “You’re going to be incredible.”

You feel a lump in your throat at this praise. “Thanks,” you say, clearing your throat. “Are you nervous?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’ve practiced a lot. I think I’ll be okay.”

You nod, watching him carefully — knowing he is prone not to talk about his feelings for fear of being burdensome. But he does seem fairly calm, not fidgeting or avoiding eye contact like he does when he’s nervous. You relax a bit.

The metro gets more and more crowded the further you travel. When a pregnant woman with a small child boards your car, Seokmin immediately stands up and gestures her into his seat, and you stand and help the little boy into yours. The two of you grab the overhead rail, bracing yourself for when the train moves.

A couple stops later, an inebriated man stumbles into the train. His eyes immediately latch on you, and he takes a lumbering step forward, pointing at you with a dirty fingernail. He says something in French, so slurred that you can't understand him.

And then the train lurches forward. In a swift move, Seokmin pulls you into him, almost like you're dancing, and turns smoothly to put himself between you and the man as he stumbles yet again, colliding with Seokmin's broad shoulders.

You feel the impact against Seokmin's chest, but he is holding you at the waist so tightly and his feet are planted so well that you both keep your balance. Seokmin looks over his shoulder -- peering around his arm, you see that the drunk man has fallen over. An older man, probably in his 40s, helps him into a seat and speaks some stern words to him in French. He nods at Seokmin, who gives him an uncertain nod back, smiling hesitantly, and then turns to look down at you.

With one arm, Seokmin is holding you against him. With the other, he is reaching above your head and holding the overhead railing. As you look at each other, Seokmin's cheeks go pink, and he releases you. "Sorry," he says.

"No," you blurt, "I mean, thank you. If you hadn't have done that, I might have gotten hurt."

He looks down at his shoes in a rare shy moment. "I'm glad you're not hurt."

The rest of the train ride passes in silence. That moment of closeness has brought up feelings for Seokmin that you're convinced anyone who spent any amount of time with him couldn't help having. Because honestly, you think to yourself, how could you not fall in love with him? Not only was he physically beautiful, with a smile that could probably convince flowers to grow in the winter, but he was funny and silly without ever being mean, easy-going and temperate, and incredibly kind to everyone. He listened attentively, responded to things he didn't understand about you with curiosity and empathy, and showed genuine care for you in every situation. You have to constantly stop yourself from brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, from leaning your head on his shoulder, from holding him too tightly whenever he gave you one of his soul-healing hugs. Thinking about how he had protected you, even from something so minor, makes your heart ache with a desperate longing for him.

He interrupts your daydreams once again. "That's our stop," he says, and you nod. You get off the train with your violin case, headed to the square where your concert is to take place. Seokmin says goodbye at the barricades -- he has to go meet up with his fellow singers, but before you turn to leave, he grabs your hand. "Good luck," he says, grinning at you, and sneaking a quick kiss on the back of your hand before releasing it and running off.

You try not to think about that as you warm up and rehearse with the other orchestra members. Then, with only an hour left, you find a quiet corner to rehearse your solo. Your fingers remember the notes perfectly -- all the practice has paid off. You enter the concert feeling confident.

Many people have gathered on the outside steps of the Opera Garnier, around the barricades, to hear your group play. The chorus students begin their song, and you accompany on your violin as planned. Then, Seokmin steps forward for his solo, and you pull out your music.

His voice is just as powerful and sweet as ever as he begins the opening phrases of Nessun Dorma. You try not to cry when the chorus chimes in, and Seokmin steals the show with his beautiful high notes. Then, it's your turn. You feel eyes on you as you play a solo arrangement of the refrain of Nessun Dorma, one that you wrote yourself. As you finish, the crowd claps loudly, and you find yourself looking for him -- for Seokmin, knowing he'd be watching, hoping he'll be proud of you.

When you finally see him, he is looking at you already. You think you see, across the performing space, a tear sliding down one cheek, and he is beaming at you, his eyes full of some extremely deep emotion. You have to fight off the sudden urge to run to him and kiss him on the mouth in front of all these people.

After the whole show is over, he finds you. He takes you in his arms, and you feel him rest his chin on the top of your head, cradling your neck in his hand. "You were amazing. I couldn't help but cry," he says, his voice soft.

You pull back and look at him. Even now, his eyes are looking a bit brighter than usual. "I'm so glad you liked it," you say, and before you can stop yourself, you brush a falling tear from his eyes.

He gazes at you, searching your face, seemingly lost for words, before finally saying, simply, "walk with me."

And you do. You walk with him through the darkening streets of Paris with one hand in his, the other gripping your violin case. Just his hand in yours has started shivers down your spine, and you try to be normal as he interlocks his fingers with yours after awhile, making it clear he isn't letting go. You don't speak until you've passed into view of the Seine, across the river from where the Eiffel tower stands, glittering in the darkness.

He turns to you and takes a deep breath. Somehow, the streets are empty, so there is no one around and nowhere to look but you. He looks at you for a few more seconds before he says it. "I love you," he says.

You feel your eyes go wide. Seokmin gives a nervous chuckle, running his hand through his hair feverishly, before going on. "I love you, and I don't know if there's any way I can avoid talking about it anymore. These past few months have been the best months of my life, but they've also been torture. I'm in an impossible position. It's either tell you all of this and risk losing you forever or never say anything and absolutely burn up inside." He leans against the railing of the bridge you're on, seemingly agitated.

He turns back to you. "The only reason I'm saying anything," he says, leaving the railing and stepping closer to you, "is because you might feel the same way." He takes your hand, looking into your eyes. "Do you?"

You feel a smile creeping onto your face as euphoria sweeps over you. "You love me?" you ask him.

His eyes have turned tender and soft. He gives you a soft, gentle smile as he answers, "more than my own life."

You can't help but throw your arms around him. He catches you instinctively, but then his arms wrap around your waist and he buries his face in your neck. He holds you for what feels like forever, and then he pulls back. Tilting your chin up toward him with his forefinger’s knuckle, he leans in just before your lips meet. He hesitates, then smiles, then brushes your lips with his - a test, one that leaves you breathless.

And then he kisses you for real. With his hand at the back of your neck, his lips meet yours again, gentle but insistent. He kisses you over and over again, his hands sliding from your neck to your waist. When you’re finished, you’re both breathless. Seokmin holds you close to him, brushing a hand over your hair and kissing the top of your head. Then he laughs. “We really went for it, didn’t we?”

You laugh and nuzzle into his chest. “Finally,” you agree.

imagine seungkwan comes back from like a week trip maybe? or back from devils plan, and he sees you depressed and unmoving on the couch. he asks if youve been taking care of yourself and without speaking u tell him no, so he js very gently takes care of u, like gives u food and does your skincare, and then cuddles you at the very end

care

author’s note. hiya roxiekoxie!! i rushed to write this ㅠㅠ i hope it meets your expectations even a little and can bring you some comfort :”) love you<3

warnings. it’s not openly said but reader is depressed / in a bad mental state :( + brief mention of nudity (?) but only bc they’re showering together (nothing suggestive or explicit!)

seungkwan was excited to be home. filming the devil’s plan was fun but tirding, and above all – he missed you. he knew you were a bit down lately and sadly he wasn’t allowed to use his phone during the filming. so there he was, worried sick but also y/n-deprived, on his way home.

he struggled with putting the key in, hands trembling. once he got it, he almost pushed in the suitcases and his shoes went flying on the floor.

“y/nnie, i’m home!” seungkwan yelled out, pure happiness in his voice. his legs led him to the bedroom, hoping you’d be there. nope. “hello…?”

the house was silent, as if vacuous.

seungkwan entered the room and his heart clenched. it was messy, piles of clothes on the floor and on the armchair. your academic books were laying all around the desk, accompanied by some wrappers and dirty dishes. the bin was overflowing, empty energy drink cans rolling next to it.

he let out a quiet sigh, guilt and worry washing over him.

“y/n, cutie?” your boyfriend called out again and walked over to the living room “oh, here you are…”

you were sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. eyes staring into the distance, only fidgeting with your fingers. the tv was showing the netflix site but there was ‘are you still watching?’ displayed on the screen.

“oh, y/nnie…” seungkwan mumbled and walked up to you, cupping your face in his cheeks. he planted a kiss on your greasy hair, yet he didn’t mind. he was glad to be back but most importantly – he knew he had to take care of you.

you looked up at him, puffy eyes and wet lashes. you were tired, he could tell. but, he could also tell you missed him too. and even though you weren’t showing it right now, your eyes told him that.

“did you take care of yourself when i was gone?” he asked, almost cautiously.

silence.

seungkwan caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, heart sinking.

“poor y/nnie” he mumbled, leaning to place another tender kiss on the top of your hair “let’s take care of you, then”

you nodded gently, too tired to even answer. nvseungkwan looked at you with sincere concern, but not the nagging one. he turned off the tv and helped you stand up. you didn’t have your makeup on but he led you to the bathroom anyways.

your boyfriend helped you undress and showered with you. he’s tender, soft and caring; the way he pecked your face, the way his fingers massaged your scalp gently. he helped you shower, humming songs underneath his breath; no judgement or snarky comments whatsoever. just you, him and the water hugging your body. when you thought about it, you couldn’t really remember when you took a shower.

then, before you can realise, you’re wrapped in a warm towel and sitting on the countertop next to the sink. seungkwan brought you fresh pyjama (his tee and his sweatpants) and tossed the ones you had to the laundry. once he’s in his pjs, he stands between your legs and looks at you as if you hung the stars on the sky.

“are you hungry?” seungkwan asked. you nodded weakly.

“too tired to move though” you mumbled; croaked even. but all that mattered that he got to hear your voice, that he missed dearly.

“it’s okay. i’ll grab you something from kitchen, m’yeah? just stay here” he hummed happily and rushed to kitchen. quickly chopping a few fruits and throwing them into a yogurt, the he added some honey. it wasn’t anything fancy but he figured it’ll be good, if you haven’t eaten much lately and eating a huge portion of food wouldn’t be too good for your stomach. at least now.

he returned and smiled sweetly at you.

“let’s eat… then we’ll brush our teeth, do our skincare and then…” his voice trailed off teasingly. your eyes lit up in the most adorable way, a small pout forming on your lips.

“can we… cuddle?” you asked quietly, almost as if too shy to say it out loud. it melted his heart – you didn’t say a word while under the shower but suddenly you’re shy when asking for cuddles.

he nodded, a huge grin plastered on his face.

“oh, of course. your wish is my command” seungkwan sing-sang. upon noticing you haven’t eaten yet, he grabbed the bowl “open up?”

he fed you patiently, his other hand resting under your chin in case anything fell from the spoon. occasionally he brushed your hair out of your face. yet, there was no sign of annoyance or discomfort in his eyes. he did it with love and care, sincerely showing that through his gestures and also the look in his eyes.

once you were done with eating, he couldn’t resist himself and placed a soft kiss on the top of your nose. to his joyfulness, a faint smile bloomed on your lips.

you watched seungkwan pull out the skin care products with one hand, the other was resting in your thigh.

“the devil’s plan was so fun to film…” he started, smiling softly when recalling the memories “obviously i can’t tell you who won, you’ll have to see yourself”

“so it wasn’t you” you snickered. normally, he’d shot you a bombastic side eye, followed by a snarky comment.

but seungkwan was happy to hear you. with a wholehearted chuckle.

“oh shush”

your boyfriend continued chatting while working on your face. his fingers spread serums and creams gently, acting like your skin was made of fine china. he stared at you lovingly, eyes scanning your features in case if he missed a spot.

when he was done with you, he quickly did his routine. seungkwan skipped a couple of steps, only because he knew that you needed cuddles… and he needed them too. nothing was ever much more important than you.

“done” he hummed, adoring you “let’s go”

he helped you go to the bedroom, since you were a bit cramped. after tucking you in and fixing the pillow under your head, he turned off the lights.

snuggling next to you, his arms wrapped around your waist. you felt warmth – not sure if it was the duvet or his embrace that you dearly missed.

“i love you” seungkwan whispered, hot breath fanning into your skin. he didn’t care that the cream he just put on will smear; he just wanted to be next to you, as closest as possible.

and you didn’t have to word it out; by the way you sneaked your hand and linked your pinkies, he could tell you wanted the same.

“it’ll be alright” your boyfriend breathed out, the moonlight shining on his face “we’ve got this”

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth

He was such a vision in this mv 😍

음악의 신 : wonwoo 🎆

I am actively hoping someone will ask me to write something so I can avoid my thoughts

oh to be building furniture with jeon wonwoo

as sweet as peaches | jeon wonwoo

wonwoo sits cross-legged on the floor, ikea manual laying open on his lap. the half built coffee table sits upside down in front of him, loose screws and nails scattered around the piece of furniture.

“did you find the piece that goes in this corner?”, you ask in confusion from your spot on the floor opposite wonwoo, one hand holding what you think is one of the legs of the table. “is it this one?”

your boyfriend looks up at you and breathes out an amused laugh, cheeks puffing up. “that’s the spare piece, gorgeous”.

you look at him, cocking an eyebrow, “you sure, wonu? because the last time you said something was a spare”, you point at the singular leg attached to the table, “that fell off”.

he grins sheepishly, “well… uh, maybe it could come in handy”. you shoot him a fond smile.

you both work on the piece of furniture for a while, sneaking glances at each other and giggling at lame jokes, before you stand up and wordlessly walk over to the kitchen. wonwoo follows your movement with his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose as he does so.

you disappear behind the kitchen counter before re-emerging with a plate of sliced peaches and tangerines. setting it on the floor beside wonwoo you mumble, “odd combination, but it’s all i could find”. you peer at him and the softness you see in his eyes makes heat crawl up your neck.

“i love you”, he whispers.

“because of peaches?”, you ask shyly, taking a seat beside him.

“nope”, he breathes out, “peaches are just a bonus”. he picks up a fuzzy slice and holds it up to your lips. you accept the bite gratefully.

“the tangerines, then”, you mumble around a mouthful of fruit.

wonwoo laughs, it’s a very pretty sound, you think. low and deep, yet airy and relaxed. your giggles join his, the room filling with innocent delight.

the two of you continue to tinker with the coffee table, occasionally nibbling on pieces of fruit. with the build almost complete, you lean back on the heels of your palms, surveying your work.

“not bad for two amateurs”, you declare with a grin. “i think we could build all of ikea if we wanted to”.

wonwoo chuckles, “we’ll have many days of building furniture in our future”. you look at him in question. “dressers, bookshelves, cribs”, he elaborates.

your eyes widen and you feel your cheeks burn fiery red. cribs… baby cribs? did you hear him wrong? did he say it on purpose?

he turns to you, eyes dancing and cheeks slightly pink. oh. definitely on purpose.

you look at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly.

“one day, i mean… if you want to”. he whispers.

you don’t have a response. you’re breathless and giddy and so in love.

leaning forward, you press your lips against wonwoo’s. soft and careful. he hums in contentment against your mouth, kissing you back with fervour.

his hand trails up your arm to your cheek, cupping your face like you’re as delicate as fine china. his other hand snakes behind your waist, resting against the small of your back. he kisses you slowly, and when he feels you smile against his lips he melts. to him, this is bliss.

you pull away, breathless and heart racing. and suddenly, you’re 16 again. too shy to meet wonwoo’s eyes, a soft blush colouring your cheeks when he squeezes your hand with a hum.

“baby?”, he peers at you, trying to catch your attention.

when you finally look up at him, he’s dazzled by the stars in your eyes. the very same ones he thinks you hung up in the sky.

“you’re too much”, you mumble, just above a whisper. the chuckle it coaxes out of him drives the feeling deeper.

he drops a quick kiss to your cheek, his eyes dripping honey.

you point to the unfinished coffee table in front of you with furrowed brows, “we’ve been neglecting our magnum opus”.

his bright laughter booms throughout the room. “i don’t think an ikea coffee table is our magnum opus, baby”. he thinks he knows what will be, but he doesn’t say it. he’s hinted at it enough today. instead, he picks up a handful of screws and the last remaining leg of the table.

you take up a purely supportive role. handing him missing screws or nails you see him hunting for. you lean against the couch behind you, silently watching your boyfriend finish the rest of the build. you admire the way his hands move deftly to hammer in nails, the way he pushes the sleeves of his sweater further up his arms, the way he adjusts his glasses on his nose when they start to slip.

you’re happy, you think. just silently being in his company.

“finished”, he declares, pushing himself off the floor and offering you a hand to pull you to your feet. you stand beside him and look down at your work.

“not bad, jeon wonwoo”, you praise.

“not bad yourself”, he responds with a squeeze of your hand. he smiles fondly when he feels you squeeze back.

he looks at you, eyes warm, and drops a chaste kiss to you lips.

warmth floods your body. he’s just so sweet, you think.

“you taste like peaches”, he mumbles.

as sweet as peaches.

—

ahh wonwoo…

writing this was really fun!! sweet wonu thinking about how urs and his masterpiece will be ur baby…omg

i hope u enjoy this one! as always, my requests and asks are open <3

The Hope in the Fault Lines, part 1

Summary: after your sister and her husband are tragically killed, you become the guardian of their daughter, your niece. As you try to pick up the pieces of your life, you become aware that you need help. Desperately. So you hire a nanny. Enter Mingyu, an ex-agent-turned-childcare-professional with a past of his own.

Genre: fluff, heavy themes, (light) smut in later parts (minors DNI)

Warnings: (applies to most of the parts) descriptions of grief, mental illness, disordered eating, instant parenthood, loss of sibling, vehicle-related death, police investigation, child custody court, parental abuse

Word count for pt 1: 4.3k

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Why aren’t I numb yet? you think to yourself.

Because really, you should be there by now. Hell, you’d even planned to be there by now so you could go back to work. But here you are — standing in your seven-month-old niece’s bedroom, crying along with her, the agony in your chest building like water that slowly heightens to a boil, its persistent, grief-tinged bubbles roiling in time with every pointless beat of your absolutely shattered heart.

You stroke the back of your niece Sara’s head and made soothing noises as well as you could around your own tears. Surely, at some point, she had to stop crying, right? Then maybe you could get back to sleep, which so far has been the only semi-consistent way to forget the grim truth of your reality.

Which was that your sister, Jeri — the proper mother for this fussing thing in your arms — and her husband, Jisung, were dead. That was why you were here, with a child who was missing the same person you were missing but had much less of a vocabulary to express it, so she just cried and cried and cried until you realized she was voicing your own internal monologue. Both of you were hoping that she’d walk in any minute and hold you and make the world stop its incessant spinning for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry you only have me. I’m sorry that’s the best I can give you.” You stifle a sob. “I’m sorry that she’s gone. I miss her too.”

Eventually, Sara’s wails quieted, and she slumped against your shoulder, exhausted. You collapsed into the chair in the nursery, exhausted enough to fall asleep immediately, holding Sara in your arms.

You were awakened by the sound of the door opening. Had you forgotten to lock it? You suddenly panic, gently placing Sara’s still-sleeping form into her crib before tiptoeing into the hallway, colliding with your best friend, Bora.

“Did I not lock the door?” you blurt in shock.

She looks you up and down. “No, you did,” she reassures, her worried look intensifying. “I’ve had a key for five years.”

You deflate in relief. “Right,” you say aimlessly, looking at her. “Okay. Um…coffee?”

“Girl, I should be making you coffee,” Bora said. She put a hand to your forehead. “You’re ill, sweetheart.”

You blink at her. “I am?”

“Undoubtedly,” she confirms, leading you back to your bedroom. “Don’t worry about Sara. I’ll be here all day, so you just rest, okay?” She nearly pushes you onto your bed, and pulls a blanket off the floor to tuck around you.

You take stock of yourself. Head aching -- that wasn’t new. Eyes dry and puffy -- same as always. No, the only difference you could tell from last night is a hollow, cavernous emptiness in your chest where the clawing agony used to sit. Right on cue, the numbness has begun to engulf you.

You pass the day in a haze, only briefly aware of the activities of Sara, who at seven months old is only fussy around strangers when it gets dark, and your friend. You simply lay there in bed, not sleeping despite your tiredness, not even able to muster up the energy to reach for the food Bora brings you at midday. In fact, the sun is setting before you’re able to become conscious, sitting up and rubbing at your stinging eyes as Bora comes in to check on you.

“What about Morrie and Cal?” you ask her, referencing Bora’s own daughter Morna and her husband Calvin. “Did you really leave them all day?”

Bora nodded. “Yeah, Cal’s got it. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.” She brushes your hair out of your face in a motherly way. “You need help here.”

“I’m not getting married anytime soon, Bo,” you say dryly.

“I’m not talking about marriage,” she says. “I’m talking about a nanny.”

You bite your lip. “Are you saying I’m bad at motherhood?” you ask, and if you could sound hurt through all the nothingness you feel, you’re sure you would.

“No,” Bora says gently. “I’m saying you didn’t bargain for motherhood on top of dealing with your grief, and you still have a whole life ahead of you that needs your attention, outside of this apartment. You have a job you love that you really need to get back to -- for you, sweetheart, not for the company, because I know that the work you do makes you happy. You need more time like that, more time for you. I know there’s a big difference in the circumstances, but when I became a mother, having Cal as a partner made it really easy for me to do things outside of the house that gave me purpose. It really helped me get a handle on myself outside of motherhood so that I could maintain a healthy relationship with Morrie without resenting her or losing myself. And honestly, you need that. We all do. And since marriage isn’t the move right now, and you have the means, a nanny might be the best possible thing for you.”

You nod slowly. “So they’d just come watch Sara while I’m at work?”

She nods. “They can be here as much or as little as you want.”

“Okay. How do I make sure they’re not a child snatcher or a pervert?”

Bora snorts. “Well, I’d recommend interviewing them so that your spidey-senses can alert you to any potential creeps,” she advises.

“I’m tired just thinking about that,” you groan. The phone begins to ring, and you check the ID — it’s your head editor, Cory.

You answer. “Hey,” you say, trying not to sound as dead inside as you are. “What’s up?”

“How are you doing?” he asks, his tone hesitant. This was one of the worst parts of tragedy, you thought to yourself: the awkwardness. Suddenly there was no comfort anywhere. Nobody knew what to say to you, or how to address the event, so everyone skated around it and you in a cautious dance of embarrassment and pity. Part of you wishes someone would just acknowledge it -- “so, your sister is dead,” and then move on.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I should be back to work...soon. I just need to find a nanny for my niece.”

“Oh, that’s...that’s good,” Cory says, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t actually calling about that, I was actually just...worried about you.”

You sigh. “Everybody is, Cory. But I’ll pull through this. I always do.”

“I know,” he says, “and I trust that you will. I just...wanted you to know that we’re -- that I’m thinking of you.”

You try to feel curious about his choice of words, but can’t muster the energy to care that much. “Thanks, Cory,” you say. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Another lie, but the last one you feel compelled to tell him. “Bye.”

Bora is looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “He seems friendly,” she says, and through the haze that seems to coat your brain you know she’s making an implication.

This is yet another thing you don’t have the energy to address right now, so you don’t. “So, I need to interview nannies.”

“Well, you could also have your assistant do it,” Bora offers. “She’d lay on train tracks for you. I’m sure she’d do a good job.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you think of making Emily, your eager assistant, vet nannies for Sara. She was young and enthusiastic and proactive, and she’d do a great job. “I think that’s a good idea,” you say. “Thanks, Bora. I know I haven’t been -- well, I know you have better things to do than worry about me, and I’m s--”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought,” she says, holding her manicured hand up to silence you. “You have people around you who care about and love you. Me included. This is the time where you need to lean on those people. And we all want that.”

“Thank you,” you say again.

“Eat,” she says sternly. “I need to get home, but I refuse to leave Sara with you until you’ve got food in your body.”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea of putting something in your mouth and chewing, but you realize that Bora’s made you some kind of thick, creamy soup that requires nothing but small sips. It’s easy to eat, and before you know it, despite not really tasting it as it passed through your lips, you’ve finished the bowl. Bora nods approvingly, leaning in and kissing your forehead before standing up to leave. “I love you, sweetheart,” she says. “Call me in the morning, okay?”

And with that, she leaves.

***

Six days later, you’re somewhere that you never expected to be at this point -- at dinner with your friend Gwen and her husband, Chan. Bora had showed up, instructed you to get ready, and taken Sara home with her as the couple had showed up at your front door. “You need a night out,” she insisted as you halfheartedly protested.

You had taken her advice and asked Emily to start interviewing nannies, but so far, her search for someone who could be there during your required time period and had the right background checks and qualifications had come up with very few results. This was a bit disheartening, but you hadn’t really given up yet, hoping someone would pull through for you. If you believed in God at this point, you’d probably pray for it.

These are the thoughts that are consuming you at dinner with your friends, when you’re supposed to be listening to them talk. They, gratefully, are a comforting pair, who make a point not to look at you with the customary pity. Instead, they ask about work and Sara and even about your thoughts on how the funeral had gone, which is kind of a relief -- none of that timid skirting around the big, ugly elephant in the room. Maybe this openness they’ve pulled out of you is the reason you feel you can speak to them about your current issue. “Actually, I’m trying to get back to work,” you say. “Those bills aren’t going to pay themselves. The only issue is, I need to find a nanny for Sara, but my assistant has been having trouble finding someone who fits the bill,” you explain, picking at the food in front of you.

To your surprise, Chan’s eyes light up. “I might know a guy. He used to work with me, and he just moved back here after awhile.”

You stare at him. “Chan, aren’t you a federal officer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Why would a federal agent want to work as my nanny?” you ask him.

“Former federal agent,” he corrects you. “Turned nanny.”

“You know someone who quit being a secret agent to become a child-care worker?” you say in disbelief.

Gwen nods. “Actually, he’s really good. The family he was just with fell on some hard times, which is why he’s back now, but I think he might be looking for a new gig.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You got the contact information for this guy?” you ask Chan.

“Yeah. His name’s Mingyu. I’ll forward the info on to Emily.”

“Thanks,” you say. “Really, Chan.” You allow yourself to hope for a moment, which provides just the right amount of energy to finish dinner and make your way back home. Once you’re inside your wreck of an apartment, which hasn’t been really cleaned since the accident, you lean heavily against the door, releasing a big breath.

You head to Sara’s room before realizing she’s still at Bora’s house. You text her that you’re home, and before you know it, Bora is handing a sleeping Sara back into your arms.

“She was really good today,” Bora whispers. “How was dinner?”

“It was...okay,” you say, and for the first time, you’re honest. For some reason, you feel like this Mingyu person is the one who’s going to stick, and that leaves you with a modicum of relief. A change is coming, and this one feels like it’s bound to be better than whatever you’re trying to do now. Bora leaves, and you go to the nursery -- the one room that’s intact and clean -- and sink into the rocking chair with Sara.

“Sometime soon, we’re going to have someone to help us out, Sara,” you promise. “I know this isn’t the life your parents probably imagined for you, but I’m going to try and give you something close to what they wanted you to have. I mean that.”

Slowly, you pull her off your shoulder to look at her cherubic little face -- at the black curls that surround her face, her long eyelashes fluttering in sleep. She’s a darling baby, but what you notice is something that penetrates through the cloud of numbness: she’s smiling, her little dimples so reminiscent of --

“Jeri,” you breathe, and a rush of warmth hits you right in your chest for a moment before it’s once again extinguished by your grief, like a flaming arrow shot into a dark, black lake. You suppose, as you hold her close to you once again, that in a way, Sara has immortalized your sister.

You fall asleep holding Sara, who for the first time since she became yours sleeps through the night.

***

You’re standing in your sweatpants, braless, your hair thrown haphazardly on top of your head, feeding Sarah some baby food as she babbles happily in her high chair, when the doorbell rings. You check your watch in disbelief -- it’s seven in the morning, which is the time you had asked Mingyu to show up for his first day of work. You’d never met him in person, although you had talked to him on the phone, and you’d wanted to make a good first impression. But then Sara had had a blowout, and you’d had to change your own sheets because she’d slept in your bed with you, and then you’d had to bathe her (it was that bad), and you were finally getting to feed Sara. You hadn’t even eaten yet, and you’d planned to be fully ready and put together by the time he arrived.

But there was no postponing this -- you couldn’t just let him rot on your porch. So you head for the door, praying Sara won’t throw the spoon on the floor as she has been wont to do recently, and look through the peephole. When you see him, the only thing you can do is whisper “shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.”

Because how could Emily not have told you that the man was beautiful?

And he isn’t beautiful in like, your everyday way either. The man on your porch is tall, probably dwarfing you by both head and shoulders, with a broad chest that pulled at the simple black tee he wears and arms that the pre-accident you would have swooned over. His hair is cropped short like a fed, and he is dressed practically, and yet, he was a god. There was no other way around it. You look down at yourself -- stained t-shirt, sweats with holes in embarrassing places, hair in disarray -- and shrug. There’s nothing you can do but pull the door open. “Hi,” you say. “Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and he doesn’t seem to register your haggard appearance, just smiles. “I’m guessing you’re --”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Um, please come in.”

He does, carefully removing his tennis shoes and stepping into the entryway. “Sara’s in the kitchen. Probably throwing stuff.”

He chuckles. “She’s seven months?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“They do that,” he says conspiratorially.

It has taken you very little time to realize you might be in trouble. Mingyu’s smile is open and warm, his eyes full of life. He is nothing like the gruff, stern former agent that you were picturing in your head. You watch him crouch to greet Sara, whose face lights up at his friendly wave. “Hi, Sara,” he says, brushing a bit of blended squash off her nose. “You’re a cutie, that’s for sure.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess,” you can’t help but say. “It’s...it’s been insane.”

He looks up at you. “I get it. Your assistant kind of explained the situation. How are you holding up?” he asks.

You scratch the back of your head. “Well, Sara’s still alive, and that’s pretty much the extent of my current goals, so I guess we’re doing pretty well, all things considered.”

He nods sympathetically. “Honestly, great job. Becoming an instant parent can’t be easy.”

“I actually need to be at work at 8:30,” you suddenly realize. “Can I show you around? I’ll have to dash right afterward.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, following you down the hall.

“This is the guest room,” you say. “It hasn’t been touched for a minute, but this is where you’ll sleep if we ever need you to stay overnight. I occasionally have business trips.” You lead him further down the hall and up the short staircase, opening the door to the nursery. “Right there is the bathroom. This is Sara’s room, so when she goes down for naps, this is where you can put her.”

You look at him, and his face is thoughtful as you point down the hall. “Door at the end is my bedroom,” you say, remembering what an absolute disaster it is. A blush rises in your cheek. “And please,” you say, going back down the stairs. “You can make yourself at home. Feel free to use the TV while Sara’s napping, or eat what’s in the fridge or pantry if you’re hungry.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

You pull out your wallet and hand him a card. “This one is for you. If you ever feel like eating anything or going somewhere with Sara, you can use this. I opened it for you specifically -- I figured it’d be easier than reimbursing you.”

He pockets it. “Sounds good,” he says.

You stand there, feeling awkward. “Well, I think that was all.”

He nods. “Go get ready,” he says reassuringly. “If I need something or have any questions, I’ll shoot you a text. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” you say in relief. “Thanks.”

You nearly sprint upstairs and jump in the shower. It takes you two minutes to do everything you need to do -- you’ve been taking micro-showers since you took Sara in, terrified that something would happen to her in your absence. Watching the time, you blow your hair dry, apply simple makeup, and change into a comfortable pair of black slacks and a white button-up. You arrive downstairs to see Mingyu at the sink with Sara, having sat her in the crook of his arm so he can wash her sticky face.

The sight of them warms your heart. “Okay, I’ve gotta dash,” you say. “Please, reach out to me if you need anything.”

He smiles. “I will. Drive safe.”

“Okay,” you say, bounding out the door and into your car.

The office hushes a bit when you walk in. They knew you were coming back today, but it must be surreal after the three months you’ve been gone, especially when this is your magazine -- you’re the only person at the company who’s been there since the beginning, because you started it. Cory is quick to hop to your side. “Hi, boss,” he greets. The rest of the office goes back to their activities as you enter your large, glass-paneled office.

“Hi, Cory,” you say. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says, seemingly lost for any other words. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Thanks,” you say. “So, update me. Where are we at with the Serena Williams feature?”

“She was super understanding, and the publishers were too,” he says. “Ruby wrote a great piece, though, so as soon as we’ve got the green light we’ll start the launch. I’ve got Jojo on the social media build, and she’s got a two-on-one scheduled with us later to go over it.”

You nod in approval. “Okay, sounds good. I’m gonna contact Park Seojun’s agent today, so I’d like a list of writers you think could write that story well before our meeting with Jojo. I’m thinking we use someone in-house, but I’m open to contracting out if you’re worried people in the office already have too much to do.”

Cory gives you a thumbs up. “Got it,” he says, heading back to his desk.

You breathe in your office air, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders dissolve. You can’t say you’re happy, per se -- but you aren’t as empty as you have been. Bora had been right -- getting back to work is going to be good for you.

***

Toward the end of the day, though, you begin feeling a strange pull -- a pull toward home. You know Mingyu and Sara have been fine, because Mingyu has been texting you periodically throughout the day:

9:49

MG: hey, we’re out of wet wipes over here. do you have any extra boxes?

You: yeah they’re in your bathroom under the sink!

MG: okay I should’ve thought to check there, thanks! You saved my life haha

You: no worries! Is everything ok?

MG: yeah its good, no need to stress. Sara just needs a diaper change.

You: ok, sounds good! Thanks!

11:30

MG: sara reeeeeeeeeeeally likes pears

You: oh yeah they’re her favorite lol

He’d sent you a video of Sara screeching with joy as he put a spoonful of pear mush into her mouth.

MG: like i’ve never seen anyone so enthusiastic about pears

You: i love it when she screams at her food, that’s the best

MG: me too its so cute haha

1:43

MG: ok i forgot to ask

MG: how long are her naps supposed to be

You: tbh I usually let her sleep an hour or so...i should probably do research on what’s developmentally appropriate

MG: lmao nah i gotchu

Then a few minutes later:

1:52

MG: so apparently huckleberrycare.com suggests 2-3 hours of daytime sleep for kids sara’s age

You: damn, that’s a long time

You: well, i guess let her sleep? She might not stay down that long, but we can adjust her routine a bit to try and get her there

MG: sounds good. Is she a light sleeper? She’s on me rn and i don’t want to wake her up if i move her

You: oh no you can totally put her in her crib lol she won’t wake up

MG: ok thanks haha my arm was kind of going numb bc i was too scared to change positions lmao

You: hahaha yes you’re totally fine to put her in as soon as she goes to sleep usually

MG: great to know, thanks lol

And more throughout the day, littered with photos of Sara in varying states of ridiculousness. You found yourself actually smiling as each text rolled in, grateful for the updates, knowing you would’ve felt a lot more anxious if you hadn’t heard anything.

Still, you didn’t want to keep Mingyu waiting too long. He was supposed to get off at 6, and you wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like you were taking advantage of him. So you left work earlier than normal, beating the rush hour traffic and coming through the door to see Mingyu playing with your niece on the floor. He looks up at you as you come in and waves you over. “She rolled over just barely,” he whispers excitedly. “Watch!”

Sara struggles, whining a little bit, before rolling from her stomach to her back. You clap excitedly, lifting her from the floor into your arms and kissing her pudgy cheek. “Good job, Sara!” you coo, and she burbles happily, touching your face with a fat hand.

Suddenly, you notice something -- the house is clean.

“Mr. Kim,” you say slowly, “did you clean my house?”

He suddenly looks sheepish. “Uh, yeah, I did,” he says. “I’m sorry if that was...I don’t know, not my place.”

“Are you apologizing for cleaning?” you ask him, amused. “I feel bad you felt the need to do that! I shouldn’t have -- have let it get so bad.”

He gives you an extremely gentle look that you are sure he didn’t intend to make your knees go weak. “You’ve been through a lot recently,” he says. “I think you should be kinder to yourself. Also, there was a time when I was in college and living with roommates, and it was way worse cleaning up after some of them.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” you say, returning his smile with Sara propped on your hip.

You stare at him for a minute, and then shake yourself. “Well, I’m here now, so I guess you can...go?” You make a face at your phrasing. “I’m not trying to kick you out. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay past your hours.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. I get you. Have a good night.” He heads for the door, calling over his shoulder. “Actually, I made some fried rice this afternoon. The leftovers are in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait a minute, Mr. Kim,” you call after him, following him on his way out.

He turns around, smiling at your tone. “You can call me Mingyu,” he offers.

You nod. “Okay, Mingyu. You cooked, cleaned, and took care of Sara while I was at work?”

“Yeah,” he says, a laugh in his voice. “Is that so odd?”

“I never managed to do all three in one day,” you admit ashamedly.

“Well, I’m not mourning the loss of my sister,” he reminds you, and his voice is a bit stern. “That kind of thing takes a lot of energy.” He rests a big hand on your shoulder comfortingly before opening the door. “See you tomorrow.”