Annyeongz One-shots

91. Sweet ( 3 )

The door had barely opened when a hand caught her arm.

Not harsh.

Not gentle either.

Firm.

“Wonyoung.”

Her cousin’s voice was no longer playful.

Her father stepped in front of the doorway, blocking the exit entirely. The warm golden light from inside framed him like a wall she could not pass.

Yujin felt her grip on his hand tighten.

“Let go,” she said quietly to her cousin.

Instead, he stepped closer.

“One more time,” he said softly. “Smell it. Describe it. Properly.”

Her father’s eyes did not waver from her face. “No guests. No audience. Just truth.”

The air was thick again. Not with hunger now. With expectation.

Yujin looked between them. “If this is about my blood again—”

“It is,” her cousin cut in smoothly.

Wonyoung closed her eyes for a second.

She could still smell it. Even though the cut had stopped bleeding, the scent lingered on his skin. Warm. Alive. Calling to every instinct she had spent years learning to control.

Her father stepped closer to Yujin.

“Extend your hand.”

Yujin hesitated, but Wonyoung moved first, pulling his hand behind her back.

“No.”

Her father’s gaze sharpened. “You forget yourself.”

“No,” she repeated, steadier now. “I remember exactly.”

Her cousin exhaled slowly, losing patience. With swift movement, he took Yujin’s wrist again and pressed lightly over the half-healed scratch.

The skin reopened.

A thin bead of red surfaced.

The scent bloomed instantly.

Stronger this time.

Unfiltered.

It hit her like heat rushing through her veins.

Her breath faltered.

“Describe it,” her father ordered.

The world narrowed.

Just the scent.

Just him.

It was layered like dark honey over iron. Sweet but not fragile. Deep but not overwhelming. It carried something old inside it, something that made her chest tighten in ways she refused to name.

She swallowed.

“It’s average,” she said.

Her cousin let out a quiet laugh. “Average?”

Her father’s stare did not soften. “Again.”

She inhaled deliberately, though every part of her body reacted to it.

“It lacks refinement,” she continued. “Too warm. Too impulsive. It would destabilize storage.”

Yujin watched her face carefully.

He could see it.

The lie.

Her cousin leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “You’re trembling.”