Jihan’s POV
I’m excited in a way that makes me feel exposed.
Not the loud kind of excitement—no bouncing, no grinning to myself—but something quieter, tighter.
Something that sits just under my ribs and refuses to settle.
I keep checking the calendar on my phone like the numbers might change if I stare at them long enough.
Two days.
Two days since my heat ended, and my body finally feels like it belongs to me again.
The fog has lifted.
The ache has softened into something gentler, something almost hopeful.
I wake up without my skin buzzing, without that constant pull dragging at my instincts.
I can breathe again.
I can think.
And all I can think about is him.
Two more days until his birthday.
Two more days until I see Wonbin again.
“I know you can’t wait to see him, hyung,” Chansoo says, adjusting his sleeve with deliberate slowness.
“You’ve been smiling at your phone for days.”
“I have not,” I say immediately, too fast to be convincing.
He hums.
“You have. And you’ve been rereading messages. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
My ears burn.
“We were just… talking.”
“Talking,” he repeats dryly.
“Sure.”
I shove his shoulder lightly, but my heart is thudding too hard for me to deny anything.
Because it’s true.
Every message from Wonbin feels like a small gift—measured, careful, but undeniably there.
He asks if I ate.
If I slept well.
If my stomach feels better.
He remembers things I didn’t think mattered.
And every time my phone lights up, my chest does too.
“You still owe me an explanation,” I mutter.
He exhales, then finally looks at me seriously.
“She found me because of you,” he says.
“That night you came over crying. You left smelling like me. She followed it.”
My stomach drops.
“Chansoo…”
“But it’s okay,” he says quickly.
“We talked. Really talked. She said she won’t force me into anything. She said… you’re enough.”
The words hit me harder than I expect.
My eyes sting.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Thank goodness.”
I lace my fingers through his, squeezing.
“Your happiness matters more than anything. You know that.”
He scoffs softly.
“You’re not fooling anyone, hyung. You like him.”
I don’t deny it.
“I just…” I hesitate.
“I don’t know if he feels the same.”
Chansoo studies me for a long moment.
“He wouldn’t keep showing up if he didn’t.”
I nod, even though my heart doesn’t fully believe it yet.
I tell myself I’m ready.
I’m not.
The moment I step into the hotel, everything hits at once—the music, the lights, the overlapping voices.
It’s bright and loud and alive in a way that makes me feel suddenly small.
I’m escorted inside, and I spot familiar faces immediately—family, laughter, warmth.
But then—
I see him.
Wonbin stands near the center of it all, surrounded, effortless.
He looks… unreal.
Calm, confident, his presence anchoring the space around him.
Omegas laugh easily at his side, drawn in like moths to something warm and steady.
My chest tightens.
I remind myself not to assume anything.
I remind myself of the messages.
The cookies.
The way he asked me to come.
And then his eyes lift.
They find me instantly.
The room seems to tilt.
He looks at me like he already knew I’d be there—like he’d been waiting.
Something in his gaze sharpens, softens, all at once.
My breath catches painfully in my throat. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
I become acutely aware of my clothes, my hair, the care I put into everything.
I wanted to look good for him.
I wanted him to notice.
The intensity makes my nerves falter.
I look away first, heart racing, taking a step back—
A hand closes gently around my arm.
“Hey,” he says.
Quiet.
Careful.
“Where are you going?”
I turn back to him, suddenly close enough to smell him properly.
Warm.
Familiar.
Grounding in a way my body recognizes before my mind does.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” I say.
“I was just—”
“You’re not interrupting,” he says, smiling.
“You actually saved me.”
I blink.
“I did?”
He glances behind him briefly, then back at me.
“Yeah. I was starting to feel trapped.”
Something small and hopeful blooms in my chest.
“I think our families are already together,” he continues.
“I can take you there.”
I nod.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly shy.
“Happy birthday.”
I hand him the bag.
“You didn’t have to,” he says, but his smile is soft, genuine.
Careful, like the moment matters to him too.
“I wanted to,” I admit.
We walk side by side, and I can feel him matching my pace without thinking.
When he notices Chansoo at the table, something flickers across his face—tight, unreadable.
Jealous?
The thought makes my heart stumble.
We sit.
The party continues around us, but it all fades into background noise.
I only notice the way Wonbin leans slightly closer when he talks to me.
The way his attention keeps drifting back, even when others speak to him.
He looks… present.
And for the first time, I let myself think it—maybe I’m not imagining this.
Maybe this ache isn’t one-sided.
Maybe this is what it feels like when wanting someone finally meets the possibility of being wanted back.
The thought terrifies me.
But it also makes my heart feel impossibly full.
We end up seated beside each other.
Not across.
Not politely spaced apart.
Beside.
I don’t know who made that decision—Grandma, maybe, or Mihyun with that knowing smile—but when I realize it, my heart stutters.
Our chairs are close enough that our knees nearly touch.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of him without actually being pressed against him.
Too close.
And not close enough at the same time.
Wonbin settles in first, relaxed but attentive, one arm draped over the back of his chair.
When I sit, my sleeve brushes his forearm.
It’s accidental.
Barely there.
Still, my breath catches.
He glances at me, just briefly, lips curving in something that isn’t quite a smile.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes,” I say too quickly.
Then, softer, more honest, “I think so.”
The table fills with noise—glasses clinking, laughter rising, conversations overlapping.
Grandma talks with Abeoji.
Mihyun leans in toward Chansoo, asking him something quietly.
Yunjoo is arguing with one of my cousins about music.
But somehow, despite all of that, it feels like the space between Wonbin and me grows heavier.
A quiet pull threading through the chaos.
At some point, he leans closer, lowering his voice.
“You look… different.”
I blink.
“Different how?”
“Lighter,” he says after a pause.
“Like you’re not in pain anymore.”
My throat tightens.
“My heat ended a few days ago.”
“Oh,” he murmurs.
His jaw tightens just a little, like the word does something to him.
“I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
Our eyes meet, and something warm spreads through my chest.
It’s strange—how easy it suddenly feels to talk to him like this.
How natural.
When the food arrives, he reaches for a dish at the same time I do.
Our fingers brush.
It’s barely a touch, but it sends a spark up my arm.
I freeze.
He does too.
For a heartbeat, neither of us pulls away.
Then he clears his throat, cheeks faintly flushed.
“Sorry.”
“I—no, it’s okay,” I say, smiling despite myself.
From then on, it keeps happening in small ways.
He nudges a plate closer to me when he notices me eyeing it.
I murmur a quiet thank you, and he ducks his head like he’s embarrassed by the praise.
When someone across the table asks me a question, he listens closely, watching me answer like it actually matters.
At one point, Grandma comments on how well we’re getting along.
“You look comfortable together,” she says, eyes sharp but satisfied.
My face burns.
Wonbin laughs softly.
“He’s easy to be around.”
I risk a glance at him, heart pounding.
He’s not looking at Grandma.
He’s looking at me.
Later, when the music gets louder and people start standing, he leans in again.
“Do you want to step outside for a bit? It’s loud.”
I nod immediately.
Outside, the air is cooler.
Quieter.
The noise dulls behind us, and suddenly it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of us standing under the soft glow of the lights.
We don’t stand far apart.
“I was nervous you wouldn’t come,” he admits quietly.
My chest tightens.
“I almost didn’t.”
He turns toward me fully then, brows knitting slightly.
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to assume,” I say.
“I didn’t want to… want something that wasn’t really there.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath for a while.
“I wanted you here.”
The words are simple.
Honest.
They make my heart swell.
Back inside, we return to our seats, closer than before.
Our shoulders brush now and neither of us moves away.
When someone makes a joke, he leans in to laugh, his breath warm against my ear.
“You smell really good,” he murmurs before he can stop himself.
I freeze.
Then laugh softly, mortified.
“You can’t say things like that.”
He looks just as flustered.
“I—sorry.
I just—”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly.
“You smell nice too.”
Now it’s his turn to look away, ears pink.
For the rest of the night, it feels like we exist in our own little orbit.
Small smiles passed back and forth.
Quiet comments meant only for each other.
Comfort settling in without either of us realizing when it started.
By the time the party winds down, I realize something with a quiet certainty that settles deep in my chest:
I’m not chasing him anymore.
We’re meeting each other halfway.
And for the first time, that feels safe.