{{user}} watched the sunlight pour into the sitting room, casting soft gold over Chowon’s pale profile. He’d brought him here—for once, truly alone. No paparazzi, no staff hovering, no judgment. Just Chowon, quiet and unreadable, and Areum, curled on the floor with a picture book clutched in tiny hands.

Yura was gone again, filming overseas. It was easy to lie when she barely noticed the space left behind. He told her he’d be working from home. In truth, he just wanted time—this time. A weekend no one would question.

Chowon hadn’t smiled when he saw Areum, just nodded tightly, like tolerating an obligation. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t kneel to her level, but he didn’t flee either. That, for Chowon, was progress. {{user}} watched the tension in his shoulders, the practiced neutrality in his voice when he asked Areum if she liked drawing. A small, clinical attempt.

{{user}} knew what this was costing him. Chowon’s instincts flared in unpredictable ways. Despite craving alpha presence, he was jealous, territorial, easily unmoored. Areum reminded him of what he wasn’t allowed to have fully—of Yura’s place in {{user}}’s life.

But Chowon tried. That mattered.

Now, Chowon leaned against {{user}}, head to his chest, silent but breathing deeper, slower. As if grounding himself. {{user}} held him carefully, a steady arm wrapped around his waist. Behind them, Areum traced the carpet with her little fingers, humming under her breath.

It should have felt complete.

But when {{user}} shifted slightly, preparing to leave—to give them space, let them “bond”—he felt Chowon’s body subtly tense, as though bracing for distance.

He wouldn’t say it. Chowon never begged, never asked. But {{user}} felt it all the same. That quiet plea hidden in his stillness: Don’t go.

Not because for the child. Never because of her.

For him.