stars × cnblue kangminhyuk

13 : Take Me Home

After hours of talking with Seungyeon and Jonghyun—though it felt more like a "just date each other already" brainwashing session—they finally drove me home at dusk before heading off for another night date. I envied them more than I wanted to admit. They seemed to have everything figured out. No second-guessing, no lingering doubts, no need for explanations. Just two people who knew exactly where they stood with each other.

By the time I stepped back into the apartment, the place was empty. Minhyuk hadn't come home yet.

I wandered to the kids' room, sliding the door open quietly. Chichi and Ttatta stirred at the sound, stretching before bounding toward me. I let them roam the apartment while I moved into the kitchen, pulling out their food from the cupboard.

"Chichi, Ttatta—come eat your dinner!"

As soon as the dry food clattered into their bowls, the two furballs bolted in like they were competing in some invisible race. I sat beside them on the tiled floor, petting their fluffy heads as they ate with eager little crunches.

"Did your oppa come home yet?" I whispered, my voice more for myself than for them. Of course, the cats couldn't answer me—and honestly, I'd probably die of shock if they did.

But even as I tried to smile at their antics, the guilt wouldn't leave me. The way Minhyuk had looked at me earlier burned in my chest. Did he really leave because of what I said? Was he that disappointed? I hadn't meant to hurt him—at least not like that.

My stomach twisted. Words could be heavier than I ever imagined. We weren't "real," but telling him so bluntly that it was just fake dating? That wasn't just careless. It was cruel.

I clenched my fists. Maybe if I cooked dinner, I could soften the atmosphere, find a way to apologize properly. No one could resist my bolognese spaghetti, not even Kang Minhyuk when he was sulking. I checked the fridge—thankfully, there were enough ingredients left for two servings. Perfect.

As I chopped, stirred, and simmered, the kitchen filled with the warm, familiar aroma. Thirty minutes later, two steaming plates of spaghetti sat on the counter, but Minhyuk still hadn't come home. I didn't want to serve them yet—they'd just go cold.

So I sat on the couch instead, pulling my knees up under my chin. Chichi and Ttatta curled into little lumps of fluff under the coffee table, completely at peace. The only sound was the steady ticking of the wall clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The kind of rhythm that didn't calm you, but instead reminded you of how much time you were wasting.

Eventually, the steady ticking lulled me into a restless half-sleep.

The next time I looked at the clock, my heart stopped.

8:00 a.m.

"Shit!" I leapt from the couch, scrambling to my feet. "We're late—oh my god, we're so late!"

The photoshoot. It started in an hour. Panic surged through me. I sprinted down the hall and shoved open Minhyuk's bedroom door—empty. Bathroom? Dry. He hadn't come home. Not once.

I snatched up my phone from my nightstand, fingers trembling as I dialed his number.

"Pick up, Minhyuk... please pick up."

Finally, the line clicked. My chest lifted in relief—

"Hi, this is Minhyuk. I'm currently unable to talk right now. Please leave your—"

A voicemail.

"Are you kidding me?!" I shouted at his prerecorded voice. My pulse raced, anger bubbling. And then my eyes caught the small notification I'd missed before: one unread message.