The silence stretched like thread between them.
Then — his voice.
Low. Hoarse. Barely a whisper.
Han Temu:
"…Go to sleep."
That was it.
No explanation. No apology. No drama.
Just three words, heavy like stone.
Cha-yeon blinked.
Her chest tightened. She wanted to ask, "What about you?"
But something in his tone… said don't.
So she nodded slowly. Quietly walked past him. Her shoulder brushed against his for a second — and it was warm. Still trembling.
She didn't even look back as she closed the bedroom door behind her.
She laid down, eyes open in the dark.
Inner Cha-yeon (Icy):
"This man is giving us whiplash. But… okay. Fine. We sleep."
Next Morning
The sun streamed through the windows. Birds chirped.
Cha-yeon padded out into the kitchen, yawning.
And there he was.
Han Temu.
But this time — the real one.
Hair combed, suit crisp, drinking black coffee with that usual unreadable face.
He glanced at her, then back at his laptop.
Han Temu:
"…Morning."
Like nothing had happened.
Like last night's version of him had been a ghost.
And maybe — it was.
...
Han Temu sat at his desk, trying to focus.
But something kept itching at the edge of his awareness.
He rubbed his temple — then caught a glimpse of his hand.
A faint bruise on his knuckle.
His brow furrowed.
Han Temu:
"What…? Did I bump into something?"
He rolled up his sleeve.
Another one. Faint, but definitely a scrape.
And on his side — barely visible beneath the shirt — a purple shadow of a bruise.
Han Temu:
"Why does my whole body feel like I fought a wall?"
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
Then glanced at his calendar.
Yesterday — was supposed to be meetings all day.
But his memory… was full of gaps.
Empty flashes. A vague image of a bathroom. The cold tile.
A window. Wind. Then—
Nothing.
The office door slammed open.
Han Temu didn't flinch — but the pen in his hand trembled slightly.
Father:
"Where were you yesterday? You weren't at work. You weren't home."
Mother (coldly):
"You're not a teenager, Temu. Explain yourself."
The words felt distant.
Like they echoed from behind a thick pane of glass.
Temu blinked slowly.
The light in the room grew too sharp.
His mother's voice — stretched and hollow.
His father's eyes — like glowing pressure points.
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
But in his ears — a whisper. His own voice?
"I didn't… I was… someone else…"
He couldn't tell if he was thinking or speaking.
His mind blurred like water disturbed by a stone.
Oblivion pressed in. Words swirled and slipped.
He felt weightless. Or maybe too heavy.
A barrier — foggy and pulsing — had formed between him and reality.
Between him and himself.
Father (firmly):
"You will answer. Later. This isn't over."
They left.
The door clicked shut.
And then — like a drop of rain hitting calm water — something inside cracked.
That barrier?
It rippled… and quietly vanished.
His phone buzzed.
Name on screen: Cha-yeon
He hesitated… then picked up.
Cha-yeon (cheerfully but rushed):
"Temu! Hey! Um, small update—plans changed a tiny bit."
Temu blinked, his pen still in hand.
Temu (calmly):
"What kind of tiny?"
Cha-yeon (nervously):
"Well… my family just landed. All of them. Right now. Surprise! They're… in the suite."
There was a beat of silence.
Temu:
"…Which suite?"
Cha-yeon:
"Ours. The hotel one. They loved it, by the way."
She laughed awkwardly.
Temu slowly stood from his chair.
Temu (flatly):
"I'll be home in fifteen."
Temu entered the suite.
He paused. Blinked.
There were people.
Not two. Not five. At least twelve.
Men in suits. Women in hanbok.
Laughter, slippers on the floor, tea being poured.
Kids were playing cards on the carpet.
Someone was singing in the bathroom.
At the center of it all — Cha-yeon, smiling like this was normal.
Cha-yeon (waving):
"Temu! Welcome home~!"
Inner Temu:
"This… this is not what I signed up for."
One of the uncles slapped him on the back.
Uncle:
"So, you're the groom! Tall and handsome, I'll give you that!"
Temu gave a slight bow, stiff as iron.
His eye twitched.
Inner Temu:
"Why does my life feel like a sitcom?"