REQUESTED "it's interesting how you keep insulting me like i won't take every word out on you."
★=mature
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1:27 ───ㅇ───── 3:47 ↻◁ II ▷↺
y/n pov
i can still feel the sting of arim's words echoing in my mind as i walk up the driveway to her house. every step feels heavy, weighed down by the fight we had earlier. her accusations, the way she looked at me like i was nothing—i can't let it go. she thinks she can treat me like that and get away with it? i tighten my grip on my bag. not this time. i've been here a million times before. i know the path to the front door by heart, the way the light hits the porch at this hour, the slight creak in the step that i now avoid out of habit. i press the doorbell, my heart pounding in my chest, not from nerves, but from something darker, something more dangerous. i'm not just here to make up with arim. in fact, that's the last thing on my mind.
the door opens, and there he is—mr. jung. arim's father. tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that's all hard lines and sharp edges. his eyes narrow slightly when he sees me, that cautious look i've come to recognize. he's always been a little too attentive, like he's watching me for something, though i've never been able to figure out what. "y/n," he says, his voice low, a touch of surprise in it. "what are you doing here?" i give him a small smile, playing my part. "i came to talk to arim. we had a fight, and i wanted to apologize." it's not entirely a lie, just not the truth he's expecting. his eyes search my face, probably looking for some sign that i'm sincere. i keep my expression neutral, innocent.
"she's not home right now," he says, stepping back to let me in. "but you can wait for her if you want." i nod, following him into the house. the familiar scent of wood and faint cologne greets me as i step inside, the memories of countless sleepovers and dinners flashing through my mind. but tonight, everything feels different—charged. i'm hyper-aware of every detail, every sound, every shift in the air between us.
mr. jung leads me into the living room. "can i get you something to drink?" he asks, polite as always. "water's fine," i reply, sitting down on the couch. he disappears into the kitchen, and i take a deep breath, steadying myself. i have to be careful, calculated. i can't rush this. when he returns, i make sure to brush my fingers against his as i take the glass. his hand jerks slightly at the contact, and i feel a small thrill run through me. so, he's not completely immune after all.
"thank you," i say, my voice just a little softer than usual, my eyes meeting his for a brief moment before i look away, feigning shyness. i can feel his gaze linger on me, that same careful, almost guarded look he always gives me.
