Annyeongz One-shots

75. Try Again ( 2 )

The streets of Seoul blurred past Yujin’s car windows—neon signs bleeding pink and blue into the February night, couples still holding hands under the Valentine’s decorations that now felt like cruel jokes. He drove with both hands tight on the wheel, jaw locked, replaying every second of the last hour in his head.

He had checked three places first: the café near their old university where she used to hide when things got overwhelming, Liz’s apartment (Liz had answered the door in pajamas and said Wonyoung hadn’t been there), and finally—the one he should have thought of immediately.

The Shilla Seoul.

The hotel where they’d spent their first anniversary. Where Soobin had carried her over the threshold of the suite laughing like an idiot, where Wonyoung had whispered against his neck that she’d never felt safer anywhere else. Yujin remembered because he’d been the one to book the room as a surprise gift from the whole family.

He pulled into the valet lane, tossed the keys without really looking at the attendant, and strode through the revolving doors. The lobby smelled of lilies and expensive leather—same as always. The concierge recognized him immediately (he’d been here too many times over the years) and after a quiet, urgent conversation and a flash of his ID, confirmed she had checked in forty minutes earlier. Suite 1408. No visitors allowed, but family was family.

Yujin took the elevator alone. The mirrored walls reflected a man he barely recognized—eyes bloodshot, hoodie hood still up, knuckles white from gripping the railing.

When the doors opened on the 14th floor, the hallway was hushed, carpet muffling his footsteps. He stopped in front of 1408, raised his fist to knock—then hesitated.

What if she didn’t want to see anyone?

What if she hated him by association?

He knocked anyway. Soft. Three times.

Silence.

Then the soft click of the latch.

The door opened a crack.

Wonyoung stood there in the hotel robe, hair damp from a shower, face scrubbed clean of makeup. Her eyes were puffy, lashes clumped from crying, but she didn’t look surprised to see him.

She just looked… small.

“You found me fast,” she said quietly.

“I know you,” Yujin answered, voice rough. “Better than he ever did.”

She stepped back without a word, letting the door swing wider.

He walked in. The suite was dim—only the bedside lamp on, curtains half-drawn over the city view. Her suitcase sat open on the luggage rack, half-unpacked like she wasn’t sure how long she’d stay. A bottle of complimentary red wine stood untouched on the desk, two glasses beside it.

Wonyoung closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed like she was holding herself together.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said.

“Yeah, I did.”

She looked away, toward the window. The Han River glittered below, indifferent.

“He’s… he’s still at the apartment?”

Yujin nodded once. “Kneeling on the floor last time I saw him. Mom’s not speaking to him. Papers are still there. He hasn’t touched them.”

Wonyoung let out a breath that might have been a laugh or a sob.

“Good.”

Silence stretched again.

Then she spoke, voice cracking for the first time since she’d walked out.