The black sedan pulled up just outside the house, sleek and cold like the woman inside it. Mrs. Choi never stepped out unless necessary. Power didn't walk—it summoned.
Inside the tinted vehicle, her voice cut through the stillness like a knife.
"Report."
Across from her, Park Chanyeol sat rigidly, hands clasped, eyes forward.
"Yes, Ma'am," he began. "Beomgyu's been attending classes regularly. No violations. No attempts to contact Mr. Choi Yeonjun. I've kept him under close observation as instructed."
Mrs. Choi's gaze narrowed, sharp and unreadable. "You're certain?"
Chanyeol nodded once. "I've positioned myself within visual range during transition periods. His routines are consistent—library, and study group with Taehyun and Huening Kai. No deviation. No suspicious behavior."
A beat.
"And Yeonjun?" she asked, voice like ice.
Chanyeol hesitated. "He's kept his distance. No contact that I've seen."
Mrs. Choi leaned back, her nails tapping lightly against the armrest. "Good. He's smart enough to know what's at stake."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "I'll be seeing my son personally. Stay outside. I don't want you hovering when I speak to him."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The knock was sharp—controlled.
Beomgyu already knew who it was.
He opened the door to find Mrs. Choi standing like a figure carved from stone, her expression unreadable beneath a flawless veneer. She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, like this wasn't his room but just another one of her neatly filed case studies.
"You look tired," she said, scanning him clinically. "Eyes sunken. Shoulders tense. Still not sleeping well?"
"I'm fine," Beomgyu muttered, voice low.
"You don't look fine."
He stared at her, a dull ache rising in his chest.
Since when do you care how I look?
His mother had always noticed things like his posture, his tone, his attitude—but never out of concern. Only when it reflected badly on the family. When he was younger, his mistakes weren't met with compassion—they were met with scolding, detentions, silence at dinner. Cold, calculated discipline. Never warmth.
And now suddenly she was asking about his sleep?
The shift made his skin crawl.
"You haven't been trying to contact Yeonjun, I assume," she said, her voice still level, still professional. "Chanyeol tells me you've been obedient."
Obedient. Not okay. Not safe. Just… compliant.
"I'm following your 'plan,'" Beomgyu said, trying not to let the sarcasm slip through.
"Good. Predictability is healthy in emotionally volatile situations."
There it was again—the therapist tone. Not motherly, not loving. Just diagnostic. Distant.
But beneath it, something more unsettling: this illusion she was crafting of herself as a caring parent. And for a moment, it almost worked. Almost.
Because part of Beomgyu—the part that still wished for normal parents, real parents—wanted to believe her, and wanted to believe she was finally seeing him.
But he couldn't forget the years of icy silence. The way his father only ever spoke to him about grades or public appearances. The way his mother looked at him during family events like he was one wrong word away from humiliating her.
"You're acting like you care all of a sudden," he said quietly.
She looked at him, head tilting slightly, hands folded neatly. "I've always cared, Beomgyu."
"No, you've always managed," he shot back. "There's a difference."
Her jaw twitched, just once. "You may not understand the kind of love that doesn't pander to emotions, but that doesn't make it less real."
"Right," he said bitterly. "Love that comes with non-disclosure agreements and bodyguards."
"I've done what's necessary to protect you."
"No," Beomgyu said. "You've done what's necessary to protect your name. I just happen to be attached to it."
That cut through. But only slightly.
She stepped forward, lowering her voice. "You are my son. Everything I've built—my career, my reputation—will one day fall on your shoulders. And I will not let you destroy that for a boy who already made his choice."
Beomgyu looked at her, something raw in his eyes.
"You mean the choice you forced him to make."
"I gave him the truth," she said calmly. "You weren't enough to outweigh his ambition. That's not my fault—it's just reality. The sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be to move on."
And then, in the softest, coldest voice she could possibly muster:
"Don't confuse your pain for betrayal. That's an emotional fallacy. I taught you better than that."
Click.
She turned and walked out, leaving the scent of her perfume and the weight of her words hanging behind.
Beomgyu stared at the closed door for a long time. His hands were shaking, and he didn't even realize it.
She'd come in pretending to be a mother. But it felt more like she'd delivered a diagnosis.
And the prognosis?
Lonely. Stable. Controlled.
Just the way she liked it.
+×+
The soft hum of rain tapped against the windows of Soobin's cozy apartment, casting ripples of shadow across the floors. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted in the air, rich and comforting, with a hint of chocolate syrup and extra marshmallows—just the way Huening Kai liked it.
Kai sat curled up on the couch, his legs tucked under a thick knitted blanket. He held a large mug in both hands, steam curling up toward his face as he took a careful sip. A small satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
Soobin walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes immediately softened at the sight of Kai nestled in his living room like he belonged there. Crossing the room, he settled beside him and leaned in close, letting their shoulders brush.
"You're quiet today," Soobin murmured, reaching over to gently tuck a strand of Kai's hair behind his ear.
Kai smiled faintly and leaned into him, resting his head against Soobin's shoulder. "Just… tired. But I'm fine. As long as I'm with you."
Soobin smiled and gently brushed his thumb across the top of Kai's hand. "I have something to tell you."
Kai shifted slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"I had a meeting with the principal today," Soobin began, a little disbelief still in his voice. "They announced the decision… I got the promotion."
Kai blinked. Then a wide grin broke across his face. "Wait, seriously? You got it?"
Soobin nodded, chuckling. "I still can't quite believe it myself."
Kai quickly set his mug down on the coffee table and turned toward him, his eyes bright. "That's amazing, Soobin! You worked so hard for it—you really deserve this."
Soobin reached up and cupped Kai's cheek, thumb brushing gently across his skin. "Thank you. I wanted you to be the first to know."
Kai's gaze softened. "I'm really proud of you."
The quiet that settled between them was comfortable, filled with unspoken affection.
Then Kai glanced down, his fingers curling slightly in the blanket. "Have you… seen Yeonjun today?"
Soobin exhaled slowly. "Not really. He congratulated me, but something felt off. He's been… distant."
Kai hesitated, then looked up. "There's something I think you should know. About him. And Beomgyu."
Soobin's brows furrowed. "What is it?"
Kai's voice lowered. "Beomgyu's not doing well. He's been keeping it in, but he finally told me the truth. About why Yeonjun ended things."
Soobin's expression stilled. "Oh? So it's Beomgyu that he was referring to before. I thought Yeonjun just… had something going on, like a personal matter. Might've fallen out of love and made a choice."
Kai shook his head. "He did make a choice. But not freely. Beomgyu's mother—she threatened him. Told him she'd ruin his entire career, put him in jail if he didn't leave Beomgyu. She backed him into a corner."
Soobin sat quietly, his hand frozen where it rested against Kai's.
"Beomgyu said he couldn't let it end like that," Kai continued. "He snuck out past his guard to find Yeonjun. Just to tell him he knew it wasn't real. That he still loved him."
Soobin closed his eyes briefly, voice low. "That explains so much. Yeonjun… he's been avoiding me. I thought it was tension over the promotion, but now I wonder if he's just broken."
Kai nodded. "Beomgyu said Yeonjun looked like he wanted to say more, but he shut it all down. He told Beomgyu he wanted to win. That he had to pick his career."
Soobin's heart twisted. "But then I got the promotion."
Kai held his gaze. "He gave up everything for it, Soobin. Beomgyu, his happiness… and now, he has nothing. He must be hurting in ways he won't even admit."
Soobin leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing over Kai's hand. "And now he has to watch me take the thing he gave everything up for."
Kai squeezed his hand gently. "You didn't do anything wrong. You earned it, Soobin. It's not your fault."
Soobin looked at him, eyes filled with quiet emotion. "You always know how to say the right thing."
Kai smiled softly and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. "Only because I love you."
Soobin turned to him, his expression warm and open. "I love you too."
Their hands stayed intertwined as silence wrapped around them again, but this time, it felt heavier—weighted by the truth of what they'd just discussed.
After a pause, Kai whispered, "Do you think... that could ever happen to us?"
Soobin looked down at him, concern in his eyes. "You mean someone trying to tear us apart?"
Kai nodded. "Yeah. I know our situation isn't exactly simple. If someone found out..."
Soobin took a deep breath. "Then I guess we'd have to make a choice. Like Yeonjun did."
Kai's voice was small. "Would you choose your career over me?"
Soobin didn't answer right away. Instead, he brought Kai's hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "I don't ever want to be in that position. But if I had to... I'd fight. For us. I wouldn't give you up without trying everything."
Kai met his eyes, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his gaze. "Me too. I don't care how complicated it is. I don't want to be afraid of loving you."
Soobin pulled him closer, resting his forehead against Kai's. "Then we won't be. We'll be careful, but we won't live in fear. We'll protect this."
They stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other, the soft rain outside blurring the world beyond the windows. And in that small, stolen moment, they let the chaos fade into the background—determined not to let fear write their ending.
+×+
The night stretched endlessly in Beomgyu's room, each hour ticking by like a painful reminder of everything he had lost. The silence was unbearable. His phone lay face down on the bed, ignored despite the occasional buzz of group chats or class reminders.
He couldn't sleep. Not after the way Yeonjun looked at him. Not after the door closed with that final, echoing click.
Beomgyu sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, fingers laced tightly together. His chest ached—not just with heartbreak, but with confusion, disbelief, and the desperate need to understand.
"This isn't him," he muttered under his breath. "He wouldn't just change like that. Not Yeonjun."
He thought of every moment they shared, every soft promise, every stolen second of laughter. None of it felt fake. None of it could be erased with one cold conversation. No matter how convincing Yeonjun tried to be.
Beomgyu rubbed his eyes and pulled his phone closer. He needed clarity. He needed someone to talk to who knew Yeonjun—not just as a teacher, but as a person.
Soobin.
He hesitated for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen, before finally typing:
Beomgyu: Can I see you tomorrow morning? I really need to talk. It's about Yeonjun.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Then he sat back, letting the weight of everything settle over him again. He didn't know what Soobin could say. But Beomgyu wasn't ready to give up.
Not yet.