(Dohyun's pov)
I woke up to the smell of something cooking.
For a second, panic shot through me — the same way it used to when Hyok's footsteps echoed down the hall — sharp, suffocating, impossible to ignore. My chest tightened, my hands curled into fists on the sheets. But then I blinked, letting the memory fade, letting the fear sink back into a quiet corner. This wasn't that house.
This was Jihwa's apartment. Safe.
I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and padded toward the kitchen, barefoot on the cool wooden floor. The smell hit me again — eggs sizzling, rice steaming, something faintly sweet in the air — and my stomach grumbled before I even realized it.
Jihwa was there, sleeves rolled up, focused on stirring a pan. He glanced over when he heard me, and — as always — that small, steady smile curved his lips. It was so ordinary, so effortless, that it made the air around me feel less sharp, less threatening.
"Morning," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey…" I mumbled, unsure how to match his calm.
"Wanna eat something…?"
I hesitated in the doorway. "You… cooked?"
He laughed softly, a warm sound that made the tension in my shoulders loosen just a fraction. "Ah yes…" He grabbed two bowls, ladling food into them. "You don't have to cook all the meals, you know."
I flinched slightly. "I don't mind."
"I know," he said gently, setting one bowl in front of me. "But I want to do it too. Sit."
I obeyed, more out of confusion than desire. The food looked… good. Warm. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.
I took a bite, and the taste surprised me — comforting, simple, exactly what I needed. I found myself smiling, almost without realizing it. "You'd make a good cook, you know…?"
He laughed again, the sound light and teasing. "Haha, thanks, but I'm a director of Hanil Group, so no can do."
Hanil Group. The name hit me, a memory flashing through the fog of my mind. A few months ago, I'd tried to be friends with Jihwa, even tried getting hired just to be close to him. It hadn't worked — but now… here he was, cooking breakfast for me.
I asked a random question, needing the sound of normal conversation. "How are you a good cook?"
"Oh, mostly Dad isn't home, so I usually prepare my own dinners." He shrugged, casual. But his eyes — light brown, steady — caught mine, and I felt the tiniest pull of something I couldn't name.
"Seojoon?" I asked quietly, staring, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment.
"Yeah." He sat across from me, picking up his chopsticks. "We're going out today."
I froze. "Out?"
"Just to the market," he said quickly, almost brushing it off. "I need to get groceries. You should come with me."
I— My throat closed. The thought of crowds, noise, eyes staring at me, made my chest constrict.
"You'll be with me," Jihwa said softly, reading my fear as if it were written on my skin. "No one will touch you."
I looked down at the food, my fingers gripping the chopsticks until my knuckles ached.
"You don't have to," he added after a moment, voice quiet now, almost intimate. "But… it might feel good to breathe outside air again."
Something about the way he said it — not forcing, not commanding — made my chest ache. My throat tightened, my fingers trembled.
"Okay," I whispered.
The market was louder than I remembered.
Every voice, every laugh, every cart wheel against the pavement felt sharp, intrusive. I kept my head down, clinging to the edge of the shopping basket so tightly my knuckles whitened.
"Relax," Jihwa murmured beside me, calm as always. "No one's looking at you."
Easy for him to say.
I stayed glued to his side, letting him guide us through the aisles. He moved like he belonged to the world, effortless and sure, his shoulders straight, his presence calm and protective. Around him, the chaos of the market softened.
"Which one?" he asked suddenly, holding up two bunches of green onions.
I blinked. "Uh—"
"Come on." His lips twitched into a small smile. "One of these looks fresher, right?"
I hesitated, then pointed to the one in his left hand.
"Good eye," he said simply, dropping it into the basket. The casual praise made my ears burn.
We moved through the rest of the market like that — him asking my opinion on small things, letting me choose fruit, vegetables, even which rice brand to buy. Every choice felt like a small victory, like someone was giving me permission to exist in the world again. By the time we left, the weight in my chest had shifted, just a little.
Outside, the air was warm, the sky pale blue. I drew a deep breath, feeling it fill my lungs, shaky but real.
"You did good today," Jihwa said as we walked back, glancing at me with that same steady expression.
I frowned. "I didn't do anything."
"You came outside." His smile was faint but unwavering. "That's not nothing."
I had no words, only silence, only the strange, fragile feeling of safety settling in my chest.
Later.
Back in the apartment, Jihwa set the groceries down, stretching with a quiet sigh. "You should rest."
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
"Rest anyway."
He wasn't smiling now, just watching me — calm, unreadable. The weight in his gaze was comforting, grounding. Something in it made me sit without protest, letting him put the groceries away for me. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let someone else take care of me.
The apartment fell quiet again. City lights spilled faint patterns across the floor, soft and steady, and I sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My chest felt heavy, but lighter than it had in weeks.
From the kitchen, Jihwa's voice floated out, low and gentle. "You really did well today. I'm proud of you."
I turned toward him, almost smiling back. Almost.