・❥・ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴜꜱʜ ʙᴏʏ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ. Happily married and eagerly awaiting San's return from his mandatory military service, Wooyoung busies himself building their home and nurturing their dreams. Just as everything seems to be going perfectly, unexpec...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
»--ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ--«
The transition back to our old apartment was anything but easy. The need for a secure environment weighed heavily on us, especially given the recent events. While San busied himself with the logistics of moving, acquiring necessities like a crib, baby clothes, nappies, bottles, and milk for Han, I took refuge in the familiarity of the cafe with our son. It was supposed to be a safe haven, a small slice of normalcy amidst the chaos. Yet, I remained on edge, haunted by our last argument and the guilt that followed. It wasn't San's fault that the fire happened, but the sharp words had been spoken, and they lingered between us like a thick fog.
As I cradled little Han, who was blissfully unaware of the tension, observing the world with curious, wide eyes, the door to the cafe swung open. My heart sank as Joon walked in. Min-soo, upon spotting his brother, quickly left his post behind the counter and confronted him. The sight of them together, the tension palpable, made my stomach churn. I didn't want any confrontation, not here, not in front of Han.
"Don't come here—whatever you're doing, it's not working. Get out," Min-soo's voice was firm, filled with a mix of anger and protectiveness.
I turned away, retreating to the safety of the kitchen, hoping to shield Han from any potential outburst. The kitchen was bustling, with bakers focused on their craft, the sweet aroma of cakes filling the air—a stark contrast to the tension at the front of the cafe. In an attempt to distract myself and bring a moment of sweetness to Han, I picked up a butter cupcake. Breaking off a small piece, I smiled weakly and brought it to Han's lips.
He giggled, his joy momentarily lifting the heavy air around us, reminding me of the simple pleasures that still existed despite the turmoil. It was these moments, these small, tender interactions with Han, that helped me anchor myself in the midst of our upturned lives.
As I held Han close, feeding him the cupcake, I tried to block out the confrontation unfolding just beyond the kitchen door. I needed to focus on the present, on ensuring Han's happiness and safety, even as part of me worried about what Joon's unexpected appearance might mean for all of us.
The soft murmur of the bakers and the clatter of baking tools provided a comforting background noise as I kept my focus on Han. His innocent laughter and the messy delight on his face as he tasted the cupcake helped soothe the edge of my anxiety. Yet, I couldn't completely ignore the strained voices that occasionally reached my ears from the front of the cafe.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to reassure myself that Min-soo could handle the situation. He knew Joon better than anyone else, and his presence at the counter meant he was keeping things under control. However, my heart couldn't help but race—Joon's unpredictable nature was a constant threat, and his presence here, now, felt like a deliberate provocation.
As I turned away to grab a napkin for Han, the kitchen door swung open abruptly. Min-soo stepped in, his expression tight with concern. "I'm sorry about that. I think it's best if Joon doesn't come around here anymore. I've told him to leave and not come back," he said, his voice low so as not to disturb Han.
