The smell of something sweet and light woke Jinyoung up from his bed in the guest room. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds, casting the room in a soft glow. There was the quiet sizzle of a pan in the kitchen, and Jinyoung knew Yena was already up making breakfast. Throwing the covers off, he got changed and brushed his teeth before heading to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Yena greeted, flipping a paper thin pancake. “I’m making crêpes. Can you set out the fruits and spreads on the table?”

“Of course,” he agreed, picking up all the small bowls and setting them on the table, getting spoons for each of them. “Are you sure it’s a breakfast food? It smells so... sweet.”

“American breakfast foods can be sweet too,” she replied. “Besides, it’s not like this is an entire French breakfast. Actually,” she frowned, “the French don’t eat too much of a breakfast as it is, from what I read. If you want something else, just let me know.”

“Anything you cook will be fantastic,” Jinyoung said loyally, setting the plates.

“Alright, alright, no more flattery out of you,” she teased, setting down a stack of crêpes separated by pieces of parchment paper. “The crêpes are already sweet enough, I don’t need you to be sweet too. Let’s eat.”

He chuckled as the two settled down at the table and began to eat. Like she had told him, the crêpes were sweet, but, mixed with the different fruits and spreads Yena had laid out, it wasn’t too overpowering. “Man, if I knew staying with you meant I would be trying so many different cuisines, I would have stayed with you earlier.”

“Well, maybe, maybe not,” she hummed. “I felt like you need a distraction, and what better way can I distract you than my specialty, food? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?”

He laughed outright this time, the sound of Yena’s laughter joining his. “Definitely. Besides, you save me the money to travel to all these places and try their food.”

She shook her head, looking rather aghast. “Don’t compare my food with its traditional cuisine! It can’t compare, similarly to how Korean food is different outside of Korea unless it’s made by someone who spent time in Korea learning the traditional recipes and can be trusted to maintain the integrity of the culture represented in the dish!”

Jinyoung almost choked. “Wow,” he said after he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Yena-ya, I didn’t know it was a touchy subject.” His tone was light and joking, but she still jolted in shock and realization.

Yena visibly reddened, and she ducked her head. “I, uh, I get really passionate about cooking. It’s the same for Yugyeom too with medicine and food. It’s one thing we share in common.”

“Well, it’s nice to see it now,” he said softly, giving her an equally soft and gentle smile.

The past week and a half had been... strange to say the least. Ever since he arrived at her apartment building that night, things had taken a strange turn. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he hadn’t been able to mention it to Yena while in the middle of his family turmoil.

She hadn’t questioned anything when he called her on the drive over, simply giving him the passcode and her apartment number. She had fed him the French Onion grilled cheese sandwiches she had made earlier, showed him to his room, and let him sleep without a single mention of his family. The next morning, though, she reminded him to meet her at Paradise Café at eleven, like they had planned, before leaving for work. When he met her for lunch, she had asked about the dinner, and he had told her everything: from his father’s honesty to his mother’s request for solitude. She had simply listened, taking in everything and mulling it over before replying simply, “I told you they weren’t like normal chaebol parents. You had nothing to worry about.” Somehow, that made Jinyoung feel a little better. Yes, he had known his parents probably wouldn’t have disowned him, but hindsight was 20/20, wasn’t it? In that moment, all he could think of was the negative scenarios his mind went to in a moment of irrationality and fear and anxiety, and logic had been shoved into the closet for the time being. Now that most of it was over, he could relax, as long as he didn’t dwell on his mother’s impending decision.

As soon as this issue was over, however, another one came along, this time, concerning Yena and Jinyoung themselves. Yena had been the perfect host, years of training and experience drilled in her head, and there were never any awkward or uncomfortable moments, but... it was almost too comfortable. He stopped feeling like a guest and started feeling like... like a husband. He would wake up to Yena humming as she made breakfast and prepared their lunches.  He would come home to Yena cooking dinner. The two of them would eat dinner together while sharing work stories. When they were done, Jinyoung would insist on Yena resting while he washed the dishes. The two would talk some more while watching dramas, relaxing from their day before going to bed at the same time. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.

They were playing house, and it was making him so confused. He was gay, yes, but he was so comfortable living with her, essentially like husband and wife. Even the living situation wasn’t abnormal: it had been their original plan when they got to the age where they had to serious talk about their upcoming marriage. If he had to, he could be very content marrying Yena and living with her for the rest of his life, but that still didn’t change the fact that he was gay. He could never give her what he wanted, and he would be taking away her opportunity to get it herself. He didn’t know what was going on, only that it was a serious issue, but he couldn’t get away. He didn’t have anyone else to go to besides his parents: everyone else he knew were business partners, kept at a careful, professional distance, and not trustworthy enough to stay with for extended periods of time without reason.

Before he could fall deeper into his thoughts, his phone rang. Jumping up hastily--and banging his knees on the table--he answered the call while moving to his room for some privacy, in case it was a business call. “Yes?”

“Jinyoung-ah?”

His heart stuttered. “O-Oemma.” She had called him Jinyoung-ah, not Jinyoung-sshi. That had to mean something, right?

“Jinyoung-ah,” there was something wearied yet soft in her voice, like Jinyoung had taken years off her lifespan, “can we meet for lunch today?”

“Of course, oemma,” he replied, voice gentle.

“Meet me at the restaurant we always go to at noon,” she said.

“Yes, oemma,” he agreed dutifully.

There was a long pause, and then his mother said, “I love you, Jinyoung-ah.”

Jinyoung let out a dry sob, breath caught in his choked-up throat as he took in his mother’s words. She still loved him. She still cared about him. That was enough, wasn’t it? “I love you too, oemma.” he breathed.

“I’ll see you soon,” she replied. “We can talk more then.”

“Alright, I’ll see you at lunch,” he complied, and then hung up. As soon as he did, a huge smile broke out on his face, and he felt giddy. Excitedly, he jumped up and down, ran around his room, and did his best to release all his pent up energy from being so happy. It wouldn’t do to go to work so ecstatic: he wouldn’t be able to focus.

Two or three minutes later, he had calmed down enough to get ready for work. He would be a little late, but it was worth it. Besides, he was the boss’ son, and he didn’t mind using it to his advantage just this once.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

Jinyoung let a very manly screech and whirled around to see Yena leaning against the doorway of his bedroom, an amused smile on his face. “Yah, did you forget to knock?”

“I did,” she replied easily. “You just didn’t hear me. I kept hearing noises, though, so I thought I should just check on you anyway. So... I’m assuming this is good news, but work wouldn’t make you this happy, so I’m going to make a guess and say that your mom came around?”

“Yes! Well, not really,” he clarified. “She just wants to meet up for lunch today, but she said she loved me. That has to count for something, doesn’t