The Fifth Life, The Quiet Empire, 2

The emergency ward was chaos—bright lights, antiseptic air, and voices echoing down sterile white halls. Minjae pushed through the crowd first, the members close behind, soaked from the rain and out of breath. The nurse at the desk looked up, startled by how desperate they looked.

“Jeon Haesoo,” Minjae said, voice trembling. “He was in a car accident—a black Mercedes, he was brought in twenty minutes ago.”

The nurse’s expression shifted. “Yes, he’s here. He’s in surgery right now. Head trauma and multiple fractures.”

Taeyul staggered back a step. “Surgery?”

“Yes,” she said gently. “The doctors are doing everything they can.”

The words everything they can hit the air like glass breaking. Jisung turned away, covering his mouth with both hands. Dongmin sat down hard on one of the waiting chairs, his eyes blank.

Minjae pressed both palms against the counter, trying to steady himself. “Can we see him when it’s over?”

“When he’s stable,” the nurse said. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

Behind them, Eunwoo’s phone started ringing—the shrill sound cutting through the quiet. It was Haesoo’s mother. He hesitated before answering, then handed it to Minjae, voice shaking. “It’s his mom. She’s been calling nonstop.”

Minjae took the phone, exhaling sharply before speaking. “Omma…”

Her voice was breaking on the other end. “Minjae, what happened? They said he crashed—where is he?”

“He’s in surgery right now,” Minjae said quietly, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. “They’re taking care of him. He’s alive, but… it’s bad.”

Haesoo’s father came on the line, his tone heavy and shaking. “We’re booking the next flight. Tell him to hold on, you hear me? Tell my son to hold on.”

Minjae’s eyes burned. “He will, sir. I promise. We’re not leaving until he wakes up.”

He ended the call, staring at the flickering emergency light above the door that led to the operating room. Behind it, somewhere, Haesoo lay surrounded by metal and silence.

Dongmin whispered, voice raw, “He was just laughing this morning.”

No one answered. They all just sat there, heads bowed, hands clasped tight, waiting for that door to open.

Luly’s hand was trembling as she shoved clothes into her luggage, the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. Her voice was low, sharp, urgent. “Jin, wake up. Get the jet ready.”

There was rustling on the other end—Jin half asleep, his tone groggy. “What—what’s going on? It’s barely past midnight.”

Luly zipped the suitcase hard, her breath coming fast. “Haesoo was in a crash.”

That woke him instantly. “What?” His voice was now tight and serious. “How bad?”

“They said he’s in surgery,” she said, already yanking her passport from the drawer. “I’m packing. Have security pick me up in five minutes. I don’t care who you wake just move.”

Jin was already out of bed, keys in hand, his tone steady but clipped. “I’m on it. I’ll have the car at your door in three minutes. Pilot’s being called right now.”

“Good,” she said, snapping her suitcase shut. She paused for one breath, her reflection catching her in the mirror hair wild, eyes wet, voice shaking despite herself. “Tell them to clear a route straight to Seoul General. I don’t want to wait when we land.”

“Done,” Jin said. “I’ll handle it. Just get ready.”

Luly ended the call and grabbed Haely’s photo from her nightstand, slipping it into her bag before rushing toward the door. The night outside was still and black, but her pulse was deafening.

For the first time in months, she wasn’t thinking about control, or distance, or anything else only getting to him before it was too late.

The hum of the jet was steady, low, almost drowned by the sound of wind cutting through the night. Luly sat by the window, the city lights far below dissolving into darkness. Haely was curled up across the seat beside her, small body rising and falling in deep sleep under a pale pink blanket.

Across from them, Jin fastened his seatbelt and turned toward her, his voice low but tense. “What happened, Luly?”

She rubbed her forehead, eyes heavy but alert. “Haely told him I was pregnant. He drove off.”

Jin’s brows furrowed. “Pregnant?”

“Yeah,” she exhaled, frustrated. “She said baby girl and Jaehyun. Haesoo thought I was having a baby with him.”

Jin leaned back, realization hitting him. “Oh. The cat.”

“Exactly,” she said bitterly. “We found a kitten, Haely named it Baby. He must’ve heard her wrong. They found him unconscious after the crash.”

Jin’s voice softened. “What are you going to do when we get there?”

Luly looked out the window, eyes reflecting faint light from the wing. “We’ll see how bad it is. If he’s in bad shape, I’ll heal him.”

He frowned. “You know the doctors are going to ask questions if he recovers too fast.”

She turned her gaze to him, calm and absolute. “Then I’ll ease their memory. I don’t care. He isn’t dying.”

Jin watched her for a long moment—the steel in her tone, the quiet storm beneath her stillness. “Alright,” he said finally, nodding once. “I’ll have security waiting at the hospital. We’ll take him out the back and handle the media before anyone knows you were there.”

Luly leaned back, crossing her arms, her voice quieter now. “Good. I don’t want anyone interfering. If the world wants to know how he lived, they’ll think it’s a miracle.”

The engines hummed louder as the jet broke through a layer of clouds. Haely stirred in her sleep, murmuring softly, and Luly reached over, brushing the child’s hair from her face with a gentle hand.

Jin looked at her, his tone softer but still edged with concern. “You still love him, don’t you?”

Luly didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the night sky outside, her reflection faint in the glass.

Finally, she said quietly, “I never stopped.”

The sun over Seoul was pale, hidden behind clouds, the city still half asleep when Luly’s black van pulled up to the hospital’s underground parking. After fourteen hours in the air, she looked unshaken, though her eyes betrayed the weight of exhaustion and focus.

Haely was in her car seat, hugging her stuffed bunny, blinking drowsily. Luly turned from the window and said softly, “We’re almost done, baby. We’re going to pick up Dad, okay? You stay here with Uncle Jin.”

Haely nodded sleepily. “Okay, Mama.”

Jin was in the passenger seat, tablet open, a map of the hospital’s security layout on the screen. He zoomed in, fingers moving fast. “I’ll kill the CCTV inside. The feed loops every ninety seconds. You’ll have three minutes between each corridor.”

“Do it,” Luly said flatly, already tightening her gloves.

Jin’s voice lowered. “I’ll give him clean clothes, shoes, and a jacket. If he’s stable, we move fast. If not—”

“I’ll fix it,” she interrupted.

Her tone left no space for argument.

She and Jin both changed into all black: plain hoodies, surgical masks, caps pulled low. Their reflections in the tinted window looked like ghosts.

Jin checked the clock. “Alright. Systems down in twenty seconds.”

Luly opened the door. Cold air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of rain and asphalt. She looked back once at Haely, who was watching them through sleepy eyes, bunny clutched to her chest.

“Stay here, baby,” Luly said gently, voice softening for the first time since she landed. “We’ll be right back.”

“Okay, Mama,” Haely whispered, yawning.

Then Luly stepped out, her boots striking the concrete.

Jin leaned forward, watching her go. Her movements were silent, deliberate the same way she’d moved through foreign cities and locked facilities all her life. When she reached the elevator, she didn’t hesitate.

The moment the doors closed behind her, Jin exhaled and whispered under his breath, half in awe, half in prayer, “There she goes.”

The cameras above flickered once and went dark.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway cast a sterile, sharp glow across Luly’s face as she approached the surgery wing. Her movements were precise, every step calculated. The members and Haesoo’s parents turned at the faint sound of her shoes against tile.

Minjae looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “They’re still operating,” he said quietly.

Luly’s eyes didn’t leave the door. “Has anyone come out?”

“Only nurses. No updates.”

“Has anyone left the area?”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Good. If anyone comes, distract them.”

Haesoo’s mother’s voice trembled. “What are you going to do?”

“Save him,” she said simply.

She stepped closer to the sealed door, her breathing steady. The hum of electronics from the operating room control system filled the silence. She lifted her hand and placed her palm lightly against the security panel.

For a heartbeat, her eyes flickered—subtle threads of reflected light crawling through her irises. Tech infiltration engaged.

Her consciousness dove through the digital current like a diver through black water. She could feel the architecture of the hospital’s network unfold through her neural patterns—the heartbeat monitors, ventilator logs, camera systems, encryption gates all laid bare like a living map pulsing beneath her skin.

She silenced the alarms, looped the hallway cameras to show an empty corridor, and rewrote access permissions to her biometric profile. The panel blinked once in submission, then unlocked with a soft click.

She exhaled slowly, eyes returning to stillness, no trace of what she had done except for that momentary shimmer of light that had passed through her pupils like a data stream gone dark.

Turning to Minjae, she spoke evenly. “Don’t let anyone follow.”

Then she pushed open the door and walked into the cold blue light of the operating room, the door sealing behind her with the soft hiss of a system she now owned completely.

The doctor looked up sharply when Luly entered, the hum of machines breaking the silence. “You can’t be in here—” he began, but his voice faltered as she met his eyes.

Her gaze didn’t waver. “You’re finished with Jeon Haesoo,” she said softly, her tone calm, deliberate, each word sinking deep into the doctor’s mind. “He will heal. He only needed a small surgery. He’s stable, and he can go home. You’ll clean up and leave the area.”

The surgeon’s resistance faded in seconds, his pupils dilating slightly as the suggestion rewrote itself into his memory. Around the room, the assisting nurses paused mid-movement, their confusion slipping into quiet compliance. They began detaching monitors, cleaning instruments, and preparing discharge forms, all with the dazed rhythm of people half-awake.

Luly turned toward Haesoo on the table, pale beneath the surgical lights, a thin line of stitches across his side. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, her voice low and steady. “You’re done here,” she murmured to the staff as they cleared out.

The room fell silent again, leaving only the steady beep of the heart monitor and the faint metallic scent of antiseptic as she stepped closer to him, her hand hovering just above his chest, assessing what damage remained beneath the skin.

The operating room doors opened, the sudden burst of sterile light spilling into the hall. One by one, the doctors and nurses filed out, their movements robotic, eyes unfocused.

Haesoo’s mother rushed forward. “How is my son?”

The lead surgeon blinked slowly, expression eerily calm. “He’s fine. The surgery was small. He can go home now.”

Minjae frowned. “What do you mean small? He was unconscious, bleeding—”

The nurse beside him echoed in the same flat tone. “He is healed. He only needed a small surgery. He can go home now.”

Dongmin stepped closer, waving his hand in front of the man’s face. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

But the answers didn’t change. Every nurse, every doctor repeated it exactly the same, like an audio loop.

“He will heal. He can go home now.”

Haesoo’s father looked from one face to another, confusion turning to unease. “Something’s wrong with them.”

No one knew what to do. The hallway was filled with murmurs, tension coiling in the air. Then, through the crack in the door, Minjae saw a faint shift of movement inside the shadow of Luly bending over Haesoo’s body.

He turned back to the group and whispered, “She’s in there.”

Inside the operating room, the world was quiet except for the faint hum of idle machines. Luly stood beside the table where Haesoo lay pale and still, the faint rise of his chest the only sign of life. She took his hand, her expression calm but her focus absolute.

The moment her skin met his, a deep pull rippled through her veins. The pain—his pain—rushed into her, sharp and electric, crawling through her bloodstream. Her veins darkened, spreading black under her skin like ink in water. She didn’t flinch.

She whispered softly, “Come back, Jeon.”

A low sound escaped his throat, his fingers twitching in her grip. His eyes blinked open, hazy, searching.

“Luly?” His voice was hoarse, disoriented.

She squeezed his hand once. “Get up.”

He looked around, confusion twisting through him as he realized he was still in the operating room. “What’s happening?”

“You were in a car crash,” she said, already pulling open the duffle bag she’d carried in. “I’ll explain later. We have to get out.”

She handed him a black hoodie, sneakers, and a pair of sweats. When he hesitated, she helped him pull the hoodie over his head, her movements quick but careful not to aggravate the fresh stitches. She slipped sneakers on his feet, tightened the laces, and handed him a mask and cap.

He looked at her, dazed. “Luly—”

She met his eyes, voice firm. “Repeat after me. It was a small surgery. You’re fine. You can go home.”

He hesitated but said it quietly, “It was a small surgery. I’m fine. I can go home.”

“Good,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly over his jaw, steadying him. “Now walk out like you believe it.”

Luly pushed open the operating room doors, her hand wrapped around Haesoo’s. His steps were unsteady, but she kept him close, guiding him through the hallway where the fluorescent lights made everything look sharper, louder.

The members and his parents froze when they saw him walking—awake, dressed, and holding her hand.

Haesoo’s mother gasped, “Haesoo?”

He tried to speak, but Luly tightened her grip, steady and commanding. “We’ll talk later,” she said, her tone calm but leaving no room for argument. “He’s fine. If anyone asks, it was a small surgery and he can go home. Don’t follow us.”

The firmness in her voice made even Minjae stop mid-step. None of them could explain how she was suddenly there, how the doctors had vanished, how Haesoo was standing when he was supposed to be sedated.

Without looking back, Luly turned down the service corridor, her hand still locked with Haesoo’s. They reached the back elevator meant for staff only. The keypad blinked red until she pressed her palm against it—the system stuttered, flickered, then turned green.

“Come on,” she murmured, guiding him in.

As the elevator doors closed, she tapped the comms unit in her ear. Her voice was calm again, low and precise. “Jin, we’re coming through the back. Be ready.”

“Copy that,” Jin’s voice replied. “Van’s in position. Cameras are down.”

The elevator hummed downward, the sterile light flickering across Haesoo’s pale face. He looked at her, still dazed, and whispered, “You really came for me.”

Luly didn’t answer. She just held his hand tighter.

They slipped into the back of the black van, the doors shutting behind them with a solid thud that drowned out the chaos of the hospital. Jin was already in the driver’s seat, engine running. Haely was in her car seat, half-asleep, her bunny tucked under her arm.

Luly guided Haesoo inside and closed the door. He leaned back against the seat, still pale, his fingers absently brushing the IV mark on his arm.

Jin glanced at them through the rearview mirror. “Clean?”

Luly exhaled, rubbing her temple. “Sorta. I didn’t wipe the members or his parents. I was running out of time. Make them sign NDAs for now.”

Jin gave a short nod, turning onto the main road. “Got it. I’ll have security handle that tonight.”

Haesoo blinked, dazed. “Wipe them?”

Luly didn’t look at him. “You’ll understand later.”

Jin smirked faintly in the mirror, eyes flicking between them. “You caused a hell of a mess again, Reyes.”

She leaned her head back, eyes half-closed. “At least he’s alive.”

Haely stirred softly in the back, mumbling, “Mama?”

Luly reached over, resting her hand on her daughter’s leg. “Sleep, baby. We’re going home.”

The van kept moving through the quiet streets of Seoul, city lights streaking across the windows. Haesoo looked at her profile, at the exhaustion she hid so well, and whispered just loud enough for her to hear, “You really came for me.”

Her eyes stayed on the road ahead. “Of course I did.”

At home the night was silent, the air still heavy from the long flight and the chaos that had come before. Jin parked the van out front and stayed behind to clear the perimeter while Luly helped Haesoo out.

Haely trailed behind them, tiny steps against the marble floors, clutching her bunny. She yawned, eyes barely open, and without a word turned into her room, curling up under the covers.

Luly steadied Haesoo as they reached the staircase. His body was still weak, his balance off. She slipped her arm around his waist and guided him slowly upward, step by step, her tone quiet but firm. “Come on. Let’s shower you before you pass out.”

He nodded, breath unsteady. “You don’t have to”

“I do,” she cut in softly. “You smell like a hospital and panic.”

He gave a faint laugh, more exhale than sound, letting her lead him into the bathroom. The door closed behind them, the hum of the water starting soon after, steam beginning to rise and blur the reflection of their shapes in the mirror.

Outside, the house fell into its familiar rhythm again soft light, steady silence, the sound of Haely’s breathing from the next room while Luly, as always, carried the weight of everyone back into order.

Luly undressed herself, then helped Haesoo out of the hospital clothes—her hands slow and sure as she slid his shirt from his shoulders, peeled down his sweatpants, her eyes never leaving his. She guided him beneath the hot spray, water running over the battered planes of his body. She squeezed shampoo into her palm, worked it through his hair, then gently scrubbed away the dried blood at his temple, the yellow-brown stains of Povidone-Iodine still streaked down his neck and chest where the doctors had cleaned him.

He stood silent, eyes closed, letting her touch him, but the trembling never stopped. When her hands reached his jaw, soaping the last marks away, he broke.

He gripped her wrist, voice raw. “Why did you come back for me? Why—if you’re getting married, if you’re having someone else’s kid—why did you come back?”

She didn’t flinch. She caught his chin in her hand and forced his gaze to meet hers, water running in dark lines down her face.

“I am not pregnant,” she said, her voice so flat it was nearly a threat. “I am not dating Jaehyun anymore. There is no baby, Haesoo. We found a stray kitten, a little girl. Haely called her ‘baby girl’—that’s it. That’s all it is.”

He shook his head, tears spilling over as he sobbed, “Please—just tell me you’re not lying. I can’t take it if it’s true, Luly. I can’t—”

She yanked him down, her hands twisting into his hair, and kissed him hard, fierce, desperate. Water poured down their faces, mixing with the salt of his tears.

She broke the kiss, breathing harsh. “If I was having someone else’s baby, would I be here with you? Would I have dragged you out of that hospital? You almost died for a rumor, Jeon. For a lie.”

He gasped, voice shattering. “I thought I lost you. I thought—I kept seeing you with him, a family, happy. I couldn’t breathe. I don’t care about anything if I can’t come home to you. I’d give it all up. SOL7, the music, the fans, the fame. I’d burn it down if you asked. I love you. I always have, Luly.”

She pressed her forehead to his, her grip unyielding. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever make me cross the world to pull you out of death. If you need me, you call. You fight. You don’t fucking disappear.”

He was crying openly now, clutching her as if letting go would kill him all over again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was scared. I thought I ruined everything.”

She wiped his face, her touch finally gentle. “You didn’t ruin anything. You’re here, aren’t you?”

He nodded, breath ragged, “I can’t live without you. I tried, I really tried. It’s always been you. Just you.”

She kissed him again, slower, softer this time, her hands tracing over his bruised chest, the world shrinking to the sound of water and the two of them, alive.

Her hands shoved him back until his spine hit the cold marble ledge, water splashing between their bodies as she climbed on top of him, legs caging his hips. Luly’s mouth crashed down on his, kissing him with bruising, desperate hunger, all the distance and agony of the last months tearing through her in open-mouthed, frantic heat. He kissed her back, just as desperate, teeth clashing, hands gripping her thighs so tight his knuckles went white.

She reached between them, wrapped her hand around him, and guided him into her. The slide was slow, greedy, her hips sinking down until she took every inch. He gasped, the sound echoing raw against the tiles, his head falling back, eyes squeezed shut, completely overwhelmed. Inside her, he felt himself throbbing, heart pounding out of rhythm, his hands flying up to clutch her waist.

“Luly—” his voice broke, thick with tears, with hunger, with disbelief.

She silenced him with her mouth again, moaning as she rolled her hips in slow, devastating circles, squeezing him tight inside her. She could feel him pulsing, could feel him shudder, his arms pulling her closer, his body begging for forgiveness and release.

He whimpered into her mouth, half a sob, half a moan. “I thought— I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone, I couldn’t breathe—”

She pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, her gaze blazing. “I’m not gone. I was never gone, Haesoo. You’re the one who kept leaving.”

He shook, tears running down his cheeks as she moved over him, slow and deep, every roll of her hips a punishment and a balm.

“I love you,” he choked out, breathless, “I love you so much. I was lost, I didn’t know how to be without you, I can’t— I don’t want to live if you’re not with me—”

She kissed him hard, almost angry, then softer, her hands sliding into his hair, holding his face so he couldn’t look away. “You don’t get to leave me again,” she breathed, voice rough, “If you go, you break me for good. Is that what you want?”

“No,” he gasped, shaking his head, “I only want you. I only ever wanted you— I was stupid, I was scared— Luly, please—”

She ground down on him, making him cry out, her body merciless and forgiving all at once. “Then prove it,” she whispered, breath catching, “Prove you’re mine. Say it. Say you’re not leaving me again.”

“I’m not,” he sobbed, clutching her hips, “I’m not, I promise— I’ll do anything, I’ll give up anything, just don’t go— please—”

“Good,” she whispered, kissing his tears, “Then hold on. I’m not letting you fall apart this time. Not tonight. Not ever.”

He pulled her tight, their mouths meeting again, desperate and needy. She rode him slow, relentless, every movement a vow that neither would break this time. His confession spilled into her mouth, again and again, her name, his apologies, his I love you’s, until all that was left was the truth and the heat of their bodies, tangled together, refusing to let go.

Haesoo lay still on top of her, his head resting against her collarbone, the sound of his breathing beginning to slow. The steam had long since faded, leaving only warmth between their skin.

Luly pulled the blanket over both of them, her hand sliding beneath his shirt, tracing the line of his spine in slow, soothing strokes.

Haesoo murmured against her skin, voice hoarse and quiet. “You shouldn’t take care of me like this… after everything.”

Luly’s fingers paused for a moment, then moved again, steady and gentle. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “You’ve been through enough. Sleep. I got you.”

He pressed his face into her neck, inhaling the faint sweetness of her scent. “I thought I’d lost this… lost you.”

She brushed his damp hair back. “You did,” she said softly. “But tonight, you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t deserve you.”

Luly whispered back, her voice low, steady. “Then stop talking, Jeon. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

He finally relaxed, muscles loosening under her touch. Her hand kept moving up and down his back until his breaths evened out, heavy with exhaustion.

She stared at the ceiling for a long time, still tracing circles on his spine. Her expression unreadable, her voice barely a whisper when she said, “Sleep, Haesoo… before I change my mind.”

Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, soft gold spilling across the sheets. Haesoo stirred, still lying on top of her, his head pressed against the slow rhythm of her heartbeat. The clock beside the bed read 10:04. Downstairs, faint voices Jin’s calm baritone and Haely’s cheerful chatter echoed through the house. He realized Jin was keeping the child occupied, giving them quiet, giving them time.

Haesoo lifted his head slightly, careful not to wake her. Luly was still asleep, her dark hair spread across the pillow, one arm lazily resting over his back, the blanket draped high enough to cover both of them. Her face looked softer in sleep, no walls, no fire just calm.

He lay there watching her, his chest tightening with a mixture of guilt and something almost like peace. The sight of her bare, breathing slow, lips parted faintly was enough to make him forget the hospital, the crash, the chaos.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips barely grazing her skin. “You still look like the first time I saw you,” he whispered to himself. “Even when I’ve ruined everything.”

She shifted faintly, breathing deep, still asleep. He stayed like that, silent, his hand resting over her ribs, counting every breath as if memorizing the rhythm in case he lost it again.

Downstairs, Haely laughed bright, innocent, grounding and Haesoo smiled weakly, whispering against Luly’s shoulder, “I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Haesoo felt the faint shift of her fingers moving beneath his shirt, tracing the center of his back. It made him realize she was awake. Slowly, he rolled off her, lying beside her on the bed, facing her. Luly turned toward him too, eyelids fluttering open, her voice still rough from sleep.

“You slept a lot,” he said quietly, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. “It’s already one in the afternoon.”

She exhaled, not moving. “I know,” she murmured. “I was tired.”

“From what?” he asked, studying her face.

Luly blinked lazily, then gave a small smirk. “From healing you.”

Haesoo frowned, confused. “Healing me?”

Her eyes finally opened all the way, steady and calm. “What did you think?” she said, her tone dry, almost amused. “That you magically recovered from a car accident overnight?”

Haesoo sat up slightly, staring at her. “Wait—you’re serious?”

Luly rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

He sat up all the way, running a hand through his hair. “You— you mean when I woke up in the hospital—”

“Operating room,” she corrected flatly. “You were in surgery. They weren’t done. I walked in.”

Haesoo’s eyes widened. “You walked in?”

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. “You were dying, Haesoo. What was I supposed to do? Wait politely for them to fail?”

His voice broke, equal parts awe and disbelief. “You can’t just say that like it’s nothing—Luly, that’s not normal.”

Luly gave a faint, tired smile. “I’ve never been normal, Jeon. You should know that by now.”

He leaned forward, searching her face. “So when you said tired, you meant—what? That you used your powers on me?”

“Exactly.” She sat up slowly, stretching, the sheet slipping down her shoulder. “Healing isn’t free. It takes energy. I absorb what you can’t handle. Pain, shock, internal trauma. That’s why I said sleep. I needed to recover from you.”

Haesoo’s expression softened. “You took my pain?”

She looked at him, voice level. “Someone had to.”

He swallowed, his throat tight. “Then why do you always act like you don’t care? You saved me, Luly. Again.”

Luly sighed, turning her face away. “Don’t make it poetic, Haesoo. I didn’t do it because I’m forgiving. I did it because Haely can’t lose her father.”

He nodded slowly, eyes burning. “And what about you? Would you care if I was gone?”

For a moment she didn’t answer, just stared at the window, light spilling across her bare shoulder. Then finally, quietly, she said, “Don’t make me say it.”

Haesoo reached out, fingers grazing her jaw. “Say it anyway.”

She met his eyes, tired, raw. “You know I would’ve burned the world down if you’d died.”

Haesoo’s voice cracked into a whisper. “Then stop pretending you don’t love me.”

She gave a faint, almost broken smile. “And if I do?”

He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Then let me earn it this time.”

Her voice was barely a breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jeon.”

“I’m not promising,” he murmured, “I’m begging.”

For a long time, neither of them moved just silence, heavy and human until Luly finally pulled away and said quietly, “Get dressed. Jin and Haely will know you’re awake.”

But even as she stood, Haesoo stayed sitting there, watching her, the weight of her confession still echoing through him like the first heartbeat after drowning.

Steam rolled over the glass, soft and hazy, the sound of the water steady and low. Luly reached for the shampoo, her movements slow, methodical, almost detached as she spoke.

“Your parents and the members,” she said quietly, working the lather through her hair, “they can’t know how you recovered.”

Haesoo stood behind her, rinsing the suds from his arms, watching her through the mist. “You think they’d believe me if I told them?” he said, half-bitter, half-tired.

She turned her head slightly, one eyebrow lifting. “It’s not about belief,” she said. “It’s about what happens if they do.”

He frowned. “You think they’d—what—panic?”

“Panic, investigate, tell the wrong people,” she said simply. “And once that starts, it never stops.” She turned off the water for a moment, letting the silence fill the space between them. “I don’t need eyes on me, Haesoo. Or on you. You were dead weight when I found you. Now you’re standing. That’s enough.”

Haesoo leaned against the wall, droplets running down his face. “You make it sound like I’m just another mission.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth softening. “If you were, I would’ve left you in the hospital.”

He stepped closer, close enough that their breath mingled in the steam. “Then what am I?”

Her gaze dropped to his chest, then back up. “Alive,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

Haesoo studied her face, every calm, precise word landing heavier than she realized. “You’re always protecting everyone else,” he said quietly. “Even me. But who protects you?”

Luly blinked, expression unreadable. “No one needs to,” she said. “I’m built to survive.”

He reached for her wrist, gently pulling her closer. “That’s not what I asked.”

For a moment, her composure cracked; she looked away, exhaling softly. “Just keep quiet about the hospital,” she said. “Tell them the doctors said it was a minor operation, and you’re fine. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Haesoo nodded slowly, fingers brushing hers under the running water. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Luly smirked faintly, shutting off the water. “We’ll see, Jeon.”

She handed him a towel, her tone cool again, but the way her hand lingered on his told him what her words never would he mattered more than she would ever admit.

They both changed into soft gray sweats and plain shirts, the quiet between them calm now, almost domestic. Luly tied her damp hair into a low ponytail, then reached for Haesoo’s hand. “Come on,” she said softly. He followed her downstairs, the floor cool under their bare feet.

The moment they stepped into the living room, Haely looked up from the couch where she was coloring. Her eyes widened, and she jumped up. “Appa!” she squealed, running toward them. Haesoo knelt instinctively, arms opening just in time to catch her as she threw herself at him. He hugged her tight, laughing quietly against her hair.

“You scared me,” she said, her tiny hands clutching his shirt.

“I’m okay now,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Appa’s right here.”

Jin came out of the kitchen holding a tablet, his usual composed tone half-frustrated, half-relieved. “Good,” he said, “because your parents and the members haven’t left me alone all morning. I’ve had to answer twenty calls pretending I don’t know anything.”

Luly let go of Haesoo’s hand and crossed her arms, her voice calm but clipped. “They can come see him,” she said. “I already told him what to say. Same story—small surgery, nothing serious. He’s recovering.”

Jin nodded, swiping through something on the tablet. “And Reyes Entertainment?”

“Release a statement,” Luly said, her tone automatic. “Something minimal. Use the standard template—‘minor operation, full recovery expected.’ Nothing dramatic.”

“Got it.” Jin typed it out quickly, already forwarding the memo. “You’re going to owe PR for this one.”

“I always do,” she said, leaning against the counter.

Haely still clung to Haesoo’s neck, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Appa no more crash?”

He smiled weakly. “No more crash, baby. I promise.”

Luly glanced over at them, her face softening for just a second before turning to Jin again. “Handle the logistics. Keep the cameras off this street for at least forty-eight hours. I want quiet.”

Jin smirked. “Already done. Security’s on the perimeter.”

Haesoo looked up from where he was kneeling with Haely, his voice low but full of something that wasn’t quite gratitude, wasn’t quite awe. “You really think of everything.”

Luly met his eyes, calm and sharp all at once. “Someone has to,” she said, before turning back toward the kitchen. “You both eat something. You’re not collapsing on my floor again.”

Haely giggled. “Mama bossy.”

Luly looked over her shoulder and smiled faintly. “Someone’s gotta keep you two alive.”

Luly tied her hair up into a messy bun and moved into the kitchen, the air filling quickly with the sound of sizzling oil and the warm scent of garlic. She moved fast, precise in every motion, chopping vegetables with the kind of focus that made even cooking look strategic.

Jin leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to hover. Haesoo sat at the bar stool, Haely perched beside him swinging her legs. The smell of soy sauce, sesame oil, and chili pepper began to fill the room.

Haely peeked over the counter. “Mama, what you cooking?”

“Chicken stir fry noodles,” Luly said without looking up. “Your favorite.”

Haely’s face lit up. “With broccoli?”

Luly tossed a handful into the pan, nodding. “Of course with broccoli.”

Jin smirked. “You spoil her.”

Luly shot him a glance. “You say that like I don’t spoil you too.”

“Fair point,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

Haesoo watched from the stool, his eyes tracing the small, quiet domesticity that felt impossibly rare—the way she turned the noodles, the soft clink of chopsticks, the faint music Haely hummed under her breath. It almost didn’t feel real after everything that had happened.

When she finished, Luly plated the food carefully: golden noodles twined around tender chicken, flashes of green vegetables and red pepper glistening with sauce. She set four bowls on the table—one in front of Haely, one before Haesoo, another for Jin, and the last for herself.

“Eat,” she said simply, sitting down.

Haely picked up her chopsticks clumsily, managing a few slippery bites. “Yummy,” she declared with a full mouth.

Jin took a bite and nodded. “You missed your calling. Could’ve been a chef instead of a chaos magnet.”

Luly smirked faintly. “Cooking’s just chemistry that tastes better.”

Haesoo twirled his noodles quietly, then looked at her. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”

She met his gaze. “You haven’t eaten properly in days. Of course I did.”

He smiled, something small and quiet. “You always feed me when I’m falling apart.”

Luly didn’t answer immediately. She picked up her chopsticks and took a bite instead. “Then stop falling apart,” she said finally. “It’s exhausting keeping you alive.”

Haely looked between them, completely oblivious, and said cheerfully, “Mama’s bossy again.”

Luly laughed softly under her breath. “Good. That means you’re safe.”

Jin just shook his head, smiling faintly as he ate, the sound of the family’s quiet meal filling the house with a peace none of them had felt in months.

Security opened the front door, murmuring something into their earpieces before stepping aside. Haesoo’s parents and the SOL7 members entered quickly, still shaken from the night before. They hadn’t slept much — the image of Luly walking out of the operating room with Haesoo’s hand in hers, perfectly calm while everyone around them panicked, was still burned into their minds.

Inside, the smell of food filled the air. Luly was at the counter cleaning up, Jin seated nearby. At the table, Haesoo sat eating quietly beside Haely, who was swinging her legs and humming between bites of noodles.

The room froze.

Dongmin’s jaw dropped. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Jisung took a step forward, eyes darting from Haesoo’s bowl to the bandage on his arm. “You were in surgery last night,” he said, voice shaking. “And now you’re just— eating?”

Haesoo put down his chopsticks slowly. “I told you. Small surgery. I’m fine.”

Haesoo’s mother let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared us so badly,” she said, walking over to cup his face. “If it weren’t for her—” Her eyes flicked toward Luly, who simply wiped her hands on a towel and turned toward the group.

Luly’s tone was calm but left no room for debate. “He’s fine. He’ll stay here a few days to recover. No stress, no driving, no media.”

Minjae stepped forward, his expression a mix of confusion and quiet awe. “You… took him from the hospital,” he said. “We saw you walk in there like it was nothing, and everyone just— obeyed you.”

Jin cut in, leaning against the counter. “That’s called efficiency, Minjae.”

“No,” Dongmin said, eyes wide. “That was something else. The doctors didn’t even blink. They walked right out and said he could go home.”

Luly met his stare. “Because that’s what I told them to say.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Even Jin looked toward her, though he’d seen this before.

Haely broke the tension first. “Mama fixed Appa,” she said brightly, as if explaining everything. “He was broken.”

Everyone laughed nervously, but Haesoo’s parents exchanged a glance — they had seen the black veins in her hands, the impossible calm, the way the lights in the operating room had flickered for a second before she walked out with their son alive.

Haesoo reached over and brushed Haely’s hair back, smiling weakly. “She’s right. Mama fixed me.”

Luly’s voice softened but stayed controlled. “That’s enough talking. Eat. All of you.”

Jin motioned toward the empty plates. “You heard her.”

As they sat, Minjae leaned closer to Jisung and whispered, “You still think she’s just a genius investor?”

Jisung whispered back, “At this point, I’m not sure she’s even human.”

Across the table, Luly looked up briefly as if she’d heard every word. Her eyes met theirs, unreadable, and the room went quiet again.

Haesoo smiled faintly into his bowl, his voice low. “She’s still the same. You just don’t know what she’s capable of.”

Luly turned toward him, that calm authority still in her tone. “Eat, Jeon. No speeches.”

And like always, he obeyed.

Minjae stood, wordless at first, scanning the table where Luly had already set out more bowls and utensils without saying anything. He cleared his throat, walked around to the kitchen counter, and began serving the stir-fry noodles quietly, almost out of reflex maybe to give his hands something to do after everything they’d witnessed.

“Here,” he said softly, setting a bowl in front of Haesoo’s mother. “You should eat.”

She blinked, still watching her son between tears and disbelief. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking it.

Minjae kept moving, placing bowls one by one in front of each member Joon, Eunwoo, Taeyul, Dongmin, and Jisung who all sat there awkwardly, glancing between Luly and Haesoo like they’d stepped into something too big to understand.

“Eat before it gets cold,” Minjae said, forcing a small smile as he handed Haesoo’s father his bowl last. “It’s really good.”

Luly didn’t look up from where she was cleaning the counter, but her tone was quiet and certain. “Minjae’s right. You all need food. It’s been a long night.”

Haely reached for another piece of chicken from Haesoo’s plate, giggling. “Appa, eat faster!”

Haesoo smiled faintly, his voice still hoarse. “You’re stealing mine.”

Luly turned around, the faintest flicker of a smirk in her eyes. “You’ll survive.”

Dongmin took a bite, looked down at his bowl, then muttered with his mouth full, “How do you make it taste like this? It’s not fair.”

Jin raised an eyebrow from across the room. “You try cooking while saving lives next time.”

That earned a few uneasy chuckles, the tension in the air breaking just slightly.

Haesoo’s mother finally exhaled, her chopsticks trembling a little. “Thank you,” she said again, this time toward Luly. “For bringing him home.”

Luly gave a small nod, her voice even. “He belongs here.”

Minjae, still standing by the counter, looked around the table at the people finally eating tired, confused, but safe and something in him eased. For the first time since the crash, the house felt alive again.

Luly stood, the faint scrape of her chair breaking the low hum of conversation. The air shifted as she moved around the table, collected and calm, her every motion deliberate. Haesoo’s bowl was nearly empty, his chopsticks resting on the edge while he tried to wave her off.

She ignored it.

Taking the bowl from his hands, she went back to the counter and served him another portion of stir-fry noodles—extra vegetables, an extra spoonful of chicken. She returned to the table, set it in front of him, and without missing a beat, twisted open a cold soda from the tray beside her. The soft hiss filled the room before she slid it to him.

“You barely ate,” she said simply. “Finish it.”

Haesoo looked up at her, still dazed, voice soft. “I’m full.”

“No,” she replied, eyes steady. “You’re just used to being empty.”

Haesoo’s mother’s breath hitched a little, her hand frozen mid-air with chopsticks. She glanced toward Luly—half gratitude, half disbelief—while Haesoo’s father looked down at his food, quietly processing everything.

Haely giggled from her chair, swinging her legs. “Mama said Appa has to eat!”

Luly gave her a faint smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from the little girl’s forehead. “That’s right,” she said, turning back to Haesoo. “Listen to your daughter.”

Haesoo nodded quietly, obedient, picking up his chopsticks again. “Yes, ma’am.”

Dongmin leaned toward Jisung, muttering under his breath, “She still runs the whole room.”

Jin, who was seated near the counter, smirked without looking up. “She runs more than that,” he said dryly, earning a tiny eye roll from Luly.

Haesoo’s father finally exhaled, his voice quiet but sincere. “Thank you,” he said to her. “For… everything.”

Luly nodded, still composed. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied. “He’s family.”

Jin looked between them, his tone matter-of-fact but warm. “Told you she had it handled.”

Luly shot him a small glare. “Eat your food, Jin.”

That drew a few nervous laughs from the table. Even Haesoo’s mother smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders softening.

Luly finally sat back down beside Haely, crossing one leg over the other. “Alright,” she said calmly, surveying the room. “Everyone eats, everyone rests, and no one talks about hospitals again.”

Haely raised her small cup of juice like it was a toast. “Mama’s rules!”

The adults couldn’t help but laugh.

And for the first time since the crash, the house felt almost peaceful again.

When the front door finally closed behind Jin, the house fell still. The kind of silence that came after too many voices—thick, steady, familiar. Haesoo sat on the couch, shoulders slouched, his hair still damp from the shower. Luly crossed the living room quietly, her bare feet soft against the marble floor before she lowered herself beside him.

Upstairs, Haely’s faint breathing carried through the hallway. The rest of the house was calm, the kind of calm that felt earned.

Haesoo leaned his head back against the couch, eyes half-closed. “They all left.”

Luly nodded, her voice quiet. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve done enough of that in the hospital,” he said, then looked at her. “You didn’t have to stay up all night to fix what I broke.”

She turned toward him, her expression calm but steady. “You almost died, Haesoo. I wasn’t going to wait for someone else to decide what happened to you.”

He looked down, voice cracking slightly. “I scared everyone.”

“You scared Haely,” she said. “And me.”

The words landed heavier than she meant them to. He swallowed, guilt tugging at every word. “I thought you were gone for good. When Haely said—”

“I know.” Her tone softened, but she didn’t let him off. “You should’ve called. Not driven like that.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he murmured. “I just felt like everything was ending again.”

Luly crossed her arms loosely, her gaze on him. “Then next time, think. You can’t keep vanishing every time something hurts. She looks up to you. You don’t get to fall apart that way anymore.”

Haesoo turned to her, voice low. “You still care.”

“I don’t stop caring,” she said, quiet but certain. “That’s what makes this harder.”

Neither spoke for a long while. The steady ticking of the clock filled the silence.

Then Haesoo reached over, covering her hand with his. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly. “Just don’t leave tonight.”

Luly looked at him, the edge in her expression easing. She didn’t pull away.

“I wasn’t planning to,” she said.

He exhaled, his shoulders loosening for the first time in days.

For once, there were no members, no cameras, no company just them in the quiet house, side by side, letting the silence mean everything they couldn’t yet say.

Luly stood and went to the cabinet beside the TV, pulling out a large box with a picture of a cat printed across it. She sat down cross-legged on the living room floor, opening it with quiet precision, the pieces spilling between her fingers like scattered glass.

She looked over her shoulder at Haesoo. “Come on,” she said, patting the spot beside her.

He hesitated a second before sliding off the couch, sitting next to her on the floor. The carpet was soft beneath them, the air warm and steady. He watched her hands sort through the pieces, neat and fast, arranging them by color before he even knew what she was doing.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

She glanced at him. “I do a lot of things before anyone notices.”

He smiled faintly and picked up a corner piece, fitting it into the frame she’d started. “So this is Haely’s?”

“Mm,” she hummed. “She’s obsessed with cats lately. Ever since we found that kitten.”

Haesoo looked at her sideways. “The one she called baby girl?”

Luly nodded. “That’s the one.”

He tried not to smile. “So that’s the reason for all this chaos.”

“She’s been asking for a cat,” Luly said, her tone calm but a little tired. “Every day. Multiple times. Says she’ll feed it, bathe it, read to it.”

Haesoo chuckled. “Sounds familiar.”

Luly gave him a small look. “Don’t encourage her. I already told her no.”

“Why not?”

She aligned two pieces, pressed them together, and sighed. “Because I can’t take care of a cat and a child. One of them is already climbing everything and waking me up at six in the morning.”

Haesoo laughed under his breath. “That’s definitely Haely.”

“She tries to sneak into my room to ask for breakfast,” Luly said, shaking her head. “She thinks whispering makes her invisible.”

“She got that from you,” he teased.

Luly raised a brow. “From me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You walk around like you’re quiet, but somehow everyone still feels you coming.”

She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips before she returned to fitting another piece. “You’re not wrong.”

They worked in silence for a while, the puzzle slowly taking shape between them small patterns turning into the outline of a curled cat. Haesoo’s shoulder brushed hers every so often, but neither of them moved away.

When the last piece clicked in, Luly leaned back, studying it. “Not bad,” she said softly. “You didn’t mess it up.”

Haesoo smirked. “You gave me the easy parts.”

She shrugged, gathering the pieces into her hand again. “I didn’t want to fix your mistakes.”

He looked at her, the light catching in her eyes, and said quietly, “You already did.”

She froze for a moment, not answering. Then she started putting the puzzle away again, slow and methodical.

“Then don’t break again,” she said finally.

Her tone wasn’t sharp it was tired, honest, and maybe a little afraid.

Haesoo nodded. “I’ll try.”

She closed the box, set it aside, and stood. “Good. Try harder this time.”

He followed her up with a quiet nod, that small smile she left him with sinking deep into his chest.

For dinner, they sat cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table, plates of fried chicken between them. The television played softly in the background, something Haely wasn’t really watching as she hummed and swung her feet. Luly sat across from Haesoo, her hair clipped neatly back, while Haesoo’s fringe kept falling forward, brushing into his eyes every time he leaned down to eat.

He huffed and tried to blow the strands away. It didn’t work.

Luly noticed after the third time and sighed, setting her chicken bone down. “Stop moving.”

Haesoo looked up, confused. “What?”

Without another word, Luly reached up, slid the bobby pin from her own hair her bangs fell loose around her face and leaned closer to him. She brushed his hair back from his forehead and clipped it in place.

Haesoo froze. “Did you just”

Luly sat back down and picked up another piece of chicken like nothing had happened. “You were annoying me.”

Haely started giggling. “Appa pretty!”

Haesoo blinked, looking from Haely to Luly. “You just gave me your bobby pin?”

Luly shrugged. “It was closer than scissors.”

Haely couldn’t stop laughing now. “Appa, you look like mama!”

Haesoo rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks warm. “Luly…”

“What?” she said, deadpan, still eating. “It’s efficient. You can see your food now.”

He gave her a small glare. “You could’ve just told me to tie it back.”

“I did,” she said simply. “With my pin.”

Haely leaned forward between them, eyes sparkling. “Mama and Appa match!”

Haesoo sighed and slumped against the couch. “You two think this is funny, don’t you?”

“Very,” Luly said, biting into another piece without looking at him.

Haely giggled again. “Appa, keep it! Mama said it looks good.”

Haesoo smiled despite himself, brushing a crumb off his lip. “Fine. But I’m keeping it as evidence of your bullying.”

Luly smirked faintly, her voice low but teasing. “You should be grateful. Not everyone gets to wear my things.”

He looked at her for a long moment before answering softly, “I know.”

Haely didn’t notice the pause between them she was too busy reaching for another piece of chicken but Luly did. She looked away quickly, hiding the faint smile tugging at her mouth as she muttered, “Eat before it gets cold.”

When Luly was upstairs tucking Haely into bed, the house had gone quiet except for the soft hum of the night air through the open window. Downstairs, Haesoo sat alone on the couch, staring at the half-empty coffee table. The bobby pin she’d used earlier lay near his phone, small and simple, a glint of metal catching the lamplight.

He picked it up, turning it between his fingers. It still had a faint strand of her hair caught in the clasp, dark and fine. Something about that tiny detail made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

He smiled a little to himself, barely. Then he reached for his wallet, flipped it open, and slid the pin into the small pocket behind his ID—right where he kept things that mattered but couldn’t be explained.

When he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, he closed it quickly and set it beside him. Luly appeared in the doorway, hair loose now, tired but calm.

“She asleep?” he asked quietly.

Luly nodded. “Out in a minute. She fought her pillow for five seconds before surrendering.”

He chuckled softly. “Sounds like you.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, hiding the faint smile as he leaned back.

She narrowed her eyes but let it go, walking past him to grab a glass of water. When she turned, he was still sitting there, quiet, a little too thoughtful.

“Why do you look like you’re thinking too much?” she asked.

He shook his head lightly. “Just… remembering something small.”

Luly studied him for a second, then took a sip of her water. “Don’t overthink small things. They’re what keep you sane.”

Haesoo watched her head back upstairs, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

He glanced once more at his wallet on the table, where her bobby pin rested safely inside, and whispered to himself, “Yeah. I know.”

Haesoo went upstairs, the lights dim and quiet except for the soft hum of the house. Luly was already in bed, scrolling through her phone with the faint glow lighting her face. She looked up when he walked in but didn’t say anything as he climbed in beside her.

He lay down and without asking, pulled her close. She gave a small sigh but didn’t resist, putting her phone down on the nightstand. Her head rested on his chest, one arm draped across him. After a moment, she shifted and swung her leg over his, settling like she’d done it a hundred times.

He smiled into her hair. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, teasing.

She murmured against his shirt, voice muffled, “Actually, yeah. My back hurts.”

He laughed quietly. “Why?”

She tilted her head up, her tone half annoyed, half amused. “Haely dropped a banana last week and didn’t tell me. I stepped on it and almost died.”

Haesoo started laughing, shoulders shaking under her. “You slipped on a banana?”

“It’s not funny,” she said, though her lips curved a little. “I was holding a bowl of soup. The floor was a disaster.”

He tried to stop laughing but couldn’t. “That’s something out of a cartoon, Luly.”

She groaned softly and hid her face against his chest. “I swear, motherhood has humbled me more than any mission.”

He rested his hand on her back, still smiling. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“I bruised my ego,” she muttered. “That was enough.”

He chuckled again, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Next time Haely drops a banana, I’ll come save you.”

She hummed. “You can save the banana instead.”

He smirked. “Fine, I’ll save both of you.”

Luly laughed quietly then, a soft real sound that filled the room. After a moment, she shifted closer, curling fully against him.

Haesoo whispered, “You’re impossible.”

“Mm,” she said sleepily, “and yet you still hold me.”

He smiled, eyes closing. “Always.”