Arrange Marriage

CHAP 7

Wonwoo had always been someone who thrived on control, efficiency, and independence. His life was organized down to the minute, and he rarely allowed distractions to get in the way of his work. But lately, something had shifted. Without realizing it, his focus seemed to slip, his mind wandering to thoughts of Mingyu at the most unexpected times.

It started subtly enough. He’d find himself halfway through a meeting, his attention drifting from the grim-faced executives and endless spreadsheets, only to remember the way Mingyu had laughed the night before over something trivial—how he’d looked up from his bowl of ramen with that carefree smile that only Mingyu could pull off. The memory alone was enough to soften the cold edge that usually defined Wonwoo’s expression.

The next day, he walked past a bakery on his way to a business meeting, and the smell of freshly baked pastries lingered in the air. Before he knew it, he was thinking about how Mingyu had mentioned his love for chocolate croissants. Wonwoo paused, glancing at the display for just a moment longer than he would have before, wondering if he should pick one up to surprise Mingyu. He brushed off the idea as silly at first, but then he found himself reaching for his wallet, a quiet satisfaction settling over him as he imagined Mingyu’s surprised smile.

When he got home that evening, he placed the croissant on the kitchen counter, only to find that Mingyu wasn’t there—he was still out with friends, and the apartment felt unexpectedly quiet. Wonwoo stared at the pastry on the counter, his chest tightening at the strange absence. It was unnerving, really, how he’d begun to feel Mingyu’s presence as a steady undercurrent in his life, even when he wasn’t around. The thought brought a slight frown to Wonwoo’s face as he caught himself wondering when Mingyu would be back, hoping it would be soon.

The next day, he was working late in his office, hunched over reports with his usual focus. Yet as the hours ticked by, he found himself glancing at his phone, half-expecting a message from Mingyu—something completely random and unrelated to anything important. Mingyu’s texts were always filled with exclamation marks, smiley faces, and even the occasional ridiculous selfie. Wonwoo had once found them distracting, even childish. But now, he realized with a pang that he missed them.

His phone stayed silent, though, and the emptiness seemed to echo louder in the stillness of his office. He sighed, setting the phone aside, a faint ache settling in his chest as he forced himself to refocus on the documents before him. But no matter how he tried to drown it out with work, Mingyu’s absence seemed to linger.

The next morning, he caught himself lingering over breakfast, idly arranging his food in the way Mingyu liked—coffee with an extra spoonful of sugar and toast with just the right amount of butter. Wonwoo frowned, catching himself mid-motion. Since when did I start making breakfast for two? he wondered, staring at the second plate he’d subconsciously prepared. He almost laughed at himself, but it felt oddly right, leaving the second plate out just in case Mingyu decided to wake up.

The weeks went on, and with every passing day, Wonwoo found more and more reminders of Mingyu in his life. There was the stray scarf Mingyu had left on the couch, a brightly colored reminder of his presence in an otherwise monochrome living room. Or the playlist that played on his drive home—something Mingyu had created for him, filled with a chaotic mix of soft ballads, energetic pop, and a few songs that he never would have chosen himself but had started to grow fond of. The silence of the apartment seemed sharper, the absence more pronounced, whenever Mingyu wasn’t there to fill it.

One evening, he came home to find Mingyu sprawled out on the living room floor, textbooks, notebooks, and pens scattered around him as he muttered to himself, clearly in the midst of a late-night study session. Mingyu hadn’t noticed him come in, too absorbed in his work, biting his lip as he scribbled furiously in his notes. Wonwoo couldn’t help but watch him for a moment, his expression softening as he took in the sight.

“Mingyu,” he finally called, his voice breaking the quiet.

Mingyu looked up, startled, but his face immediately broke into a grin. “Oh, hey! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Wonwoo walked over, his gaze flicking over the chaos of books and papers that surrounded Mingyu. “Do you normally study in the middle of the living room floor?”

Mingyu shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “The lighting’s better here. And besides, I was going to clean up before you got home, but I lost track of time.”

Wonwoo chuckled, surprising even himself with how natural it felt. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, with Mingyu occasionally scribbling something down and Wonwoo reading through some reports on his tablet. Every now and then, Mingyu would mutter something under his breath, scratching his head in frustration. Wonwoo found himself glancing over, amused.

After a while, Mingyu let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the floor with a groan. “This is impossible.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, amused. “What’s impossible?”

“Statistics,” Mingyu said with a huff, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Who even invented this subject? It’s like they wanted to torture students.”

Wonwoo smirked, setting his tablet aside. “Let me see.”

Mingyu handed him the notebook with an exaggerated sigh of relief. As Wonwoo explained the problem, Mingyu watched him, his eyes wide with interest and admiration. It was an unspoken exchange, a quiet moment shared between them that seemed to linger longer than necessary.

Before they knew it, midnight had come and gone, and Wonwoo realized, with a start, that he had actually enjoyed this small, unexpected moment. As he watched Mingyu scribble down the last of his notes, a thought crossed his mind—a thought he hadn’t allowed himself to fully consider before. He wasn’t sure when it happened, he thought, but Mingyu had become something more than just his husband by arrangement. He had become a part of his world.

It was as if Mingyu had seeped into every corner of his life, filling spaces he hadn’t realized were empty, drawing him in with his warmth, his liveliness, his endless curiosity. And now, Wonwoo was discovering just how much he missed it whenever Mingyu wasn’t there.

As he lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he found himself thinking about the small, simple moments they shared. The way Mingyu would hum under his breath as he brushed his teeth, the way he’d leave his favorite snacks on Wonwoo’s desk as a small act of kindness, the way his laughter seemed to echo even after he’d left a room.

For the first time in his life, Wonwoo was beginning to understand what it felt like to truly miss someone—not just in the moments they were gone, but even when they were right next to him, because he knew, deep down, that Mingyu had started to mean something to him.

He didn’t know when or how it happened, but somehow, Mingyu had slipped past his defenses, becoming a constant presence that he couldn’t imagine living without.

The realization was both comforting and terrifying, filling him with a warmth he couldn’t deny—a warmth that grew with each passing day, with every small reminder of Mingyu’s presence in his life.