Annyeongz One-shots

47. Pieces

She prepared everything quietly, the way she always did when it mattered too much to risk being noticed. The house they lived in was beautiful—too beautiful sometimes—filled with expensive things chosen without hesitation. But Wonyoung knew Yujin still lived like a boy who counted coins in his pocket before buying bread. Wealth had never erased that part of him. It only hid it better.

She stacked the boxes in the guest room first, then moved them again, afraid he might accidentally see. A Lego car set. A Manchester United Lego set. A PS5. Things he had once wanted so badly he learned how to stop wanting at all.

She remembered the night he told her about being fourteen. His voice had been calm, almost detached, as if he were talking about someone else. How his father left without warning. How his mother’s therapy became his responsibility overnight. How he worked, saved, skipped meals, skipped school events, skipped childhood itself. How toys became pointless when survival was more urgent.

“I didn’t really miss it,” he’d said then, smiling faintly.

She had cried that night when he fell asleep.

On the evening of his birthday, he came home tired, loosening his tie, already apologizing for being late. He kissed her forehead automatically. “Sorry, baby. Meetings ran long. We can celebrate properly this weekend.”

She smiled too easily. “Sit down first.”

He tilted his head. “Why do you look like that?”

“Just sit, babe.”

He obeyed, amusement soft in his eyes, completely unprepared.

She brought out the first box and placed it in front of him. He frowned slightly, confused but still smiling, and opened it carefully. When he saw the Lego car set, the smile froze on his face. Not faded—stopped. Like his mind needed time to catch up.

“Babe…” he whispered. “What is this?”

She didn’t answer. She handed him the second box.

The Manchester United Lego set.

His hands started to shake.

“This—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Baby, you didn’t have to—”

She placed the third box beside him.

The PS5.

That was when he stopped breathing properly.

He stared at it for a long time, eyes glassy, mouth slightly open, like he was afraid someone would tell him it wasn’t real. Then he laughed once, sharply, shaking his head.

“No. No, babe, this is wrong,” he said quickly. “This is too much. We don’t do this. Why would you buy this for me?”

She knelt in front of him, her heart already breaking.

“Because I wanted to.”

“We have everything,” he said, panic rising. “You should’ve spent it on yourself. I don’t need this. I’ve never needed it.”

“That’s not true,” she said softly.

He swallowed hard. “Baby, please. Take it back. I don’t even buy things like this for myself. You know that.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s exactly why I bought it.”

Something in his expression crumbled. His shoulders tensed, then shook. He tried to look away, but tears slipped out anyway, falling onto his hands.

“I never let myself want things,” he whispered. “Every time I thought about it, I saw my mom in that hospital room. I saw the bills. I told myself later. Always later.”