Oh no. He's doom.

He truly is a walking disaster.

It was night time when the phone rang. Yoong was sleeping when he called. Taeyeon yelled at him from the other side of the line. He was panic. Yoong was panic. He bolted out from bed, took couple of clothes and necessity from all over his dorm room into his duffle bag. He literally ran as fast as he could−like a pitbull chasing after him−and hailed a cab straight to the airport.

It was a hectic night.

His mind was all over the place. He even wonder how could he not forget to snatch his passport from his drawer. It was amazing and left him in great awe for a moment, but then he almost had an heart attack for a millisecond when he thought he left his wallet because for God sake, he desperately needed to fly back home urgently.

The flight was utterly chaos. At least for him. He even almost forget to leave a notice to his boss and texted him just before he boarded the plane and turned off his phone. A flirty stewardess, a tall, willowy, graceful and elegant and French-manicured and smells like kenzo counter at the perfume section, offered him another blanket which he rejected because, for the love of God he was a restless nerve ball and in need of valium.

He's tired.

Yeah, try to fly across the world, twitchy, sleep deprived with borderline panic attack.

He was the first one to get out of the plane and he ran. Again. And he almost tackled a young lady, with a gleaming strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail−along with her red enormous polycarbonate samsonite luggage−straight to the ground when he tried to hailed a cab. Fortunately, she is nice and pretty and polite and her oversize sweatshirt was positively pleasant smell of floral-stained softener his female ginger headed co-worker used. Her smile is great, with perfect pearly white teeth like she's auditioning for a ing toothpaste commercial. And she let him to took the cab first after he said he was in rush to the hospital.

"Did I miss it?" he is breathless and his temple is glisten by a fine sheer sweat.

The first thing he notices is a couple of delighted and surprised gasps and 'God, finally' and 'Yoong!' from the room. Then Yuri storms from Sooyoung arm and throws her Fiji water bottle to God knows where and crushes him into a very tight bear hug. Sooyoung pats him on his back before joins Yuri dusting dirt and crumbs from his flannel shirt. Taeyeon gives him a half-hug while Yoong can hear Yuri complaining about his filthy shirt and how he reeks like dragons dung while straightening his slightly crooked glasses on his face.. He told her about the lousy cab driver who reeks of onion and Indian food, and the tortillas grains on the dusty-suspiciously-very-unsanitary-looking seat and that she should be just grateful that he safely arrived here and not wheeled and tied on a freaking gurney.

Yoong says his apologize to Taeyeon and sent a sorry smile to Tiffany who's still laying on the hospital bed with a soft pink woolly blanket covering her from her feet to her belly. She looks exhausted, the wavy thick of her brownish hair is piled in a bun on top of her head, few short strands loose from its tie and tucked behind her ear, but she's glowing and she definitely looks happy. Very happy.

Yoong walks to the bed and notices Sunny and a guy, he thinks he's one of Taeyeon cousin? Last time he heard from Jessica, her other bestfriend is dating a nice and funny bloke who knows how to compliment her exquisite taste of shoes whenever they meet.

And there she is.

Her eyes grew so big, zeroed at him, and her lips are parted slightly.

Jessica.

It is not a dumbstruck moment, or an instantaneous minute when his tiredness magically evaporates, or left him breathless. Nothing like any acute electrical struck when their eyes meet across the room nor his stomach does somersault when he sees her. But it feels like when you can verify and validate your hypothesis, when you finally formed a well plotted plan and successfully executed it.

It's such a pleasant feeling.

She looks positively quite shock for him. Did Taeyeon or Tiffany not mention about him coming back here or what? Well, he guesses he has to apologize later to her for assuming that their friend informed her about his arrival.

But there she is.

Strong, silent, deliberately intimidating exterior, hair slightly unkempt but longer than before and fell softly around her face, and her dainty fingers is playing on the chubby, plump, pinky surface of what Yoong sees as a tiny creature she is holding in her arm.

It is so tiny.

No. She is so tiny. The baby is so tiny.

And she does look fragile. He's gonna break it. Oh God. This is so wrong.

"Yoong, mate" Taeyeon says proudly, his hand on Yoong's back and subtlety guide him to his newly born baby girl. Taeyeon and Tiffany tell him about the eight hours of the agonizing and tiring and nerve-wracking moments from they rushed to the hospital to the time when the elderly family went home to rest after they saw their granddaughter bundled up in a snugly warm pink blanket.

Yoong is having a ing whiplash. The new parents seem like don't realize this but Yoong is scared, and in his head is forming a very realistic image of every single possibilities and every ing scenario where he breaks her neck or her finger or her limbs. He can hear Taeyeon talking−something like hole and dilatation and about Tiffany crotch like Yoong has a right to know what's going on between his wife legs−in the background while he envisions his imaginary self dropping the little tiny girl whom calmly sleeping on Jessica's arms.

God, he's screwed.

"Hey, so you want to hold her?"

He blinks.

Does Taeyeon get crazy or something? This is worse. Their hopeful, glistening with pride, excitement eyes are killing him. Do they realize that there is a chance−a ing big chance−that he'll drop her?

"I... Um, I'm good. And I'm dirty and smelly and-"

"That's rubbish. She'll be fine. Just take her. Jess, give her to Yoong"

Now Yoong believes Tiffany must broke something in her brain while she did the labor. He helplessly stares at the baby and drift his eyes to Jessica. Hopefully, she got the massage to just keep the baby.

Damn. Should he? But how? He got no idea how to hold a pink-faced, and pink neck, or lack of thereof, tiny creature who's grunting in her sleep and brushing her tiny fist to her chin. Is there even a class for this?

"I don't think that's a good idea, Tiffany"   

She narrows her eyes at him.

"You don't want to hold your god daughter?"

"No. Not like that" he groans. "I'll hold her later. When she's, um,....bigger. And sturdier"

Then it dawns on them.

And there's a couple of muffled chuckles and snorts from the others. And for some reason Taeyeon seems so shock and suddenly so determine to teach him how to hold properly. 'You will learn now, and you'll ing hold my child right now because you'll be raising her with me and you'll have to babysit when I want to have my way with my wife' that's what he said before drags him to the corner of the room.

That's why Yoong spent an entire twenty minute for a private lecture from Taeyeon and spent the whole thirty minute holding his first goddaughter, Irene. He won't put that tiny bundle of joy and warm and sunshine down until Yuri practically kicks him out to wash up and changes his clothes.

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"Hey Yoong, wait"

He is walking in the hallway of the barely crowded hospital. Those pastel colour scrub worn by nurses and doctors are passing from every corridors but not so rushed and a few visitors is here and there. The late morning rather pleasant in this floor, unlike the emergency room, or maybe because this isn't Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital where every single version of drama and disaster could happened.

He is on his way to the toilet after Yuri tossed him along with his grey duffle bag out of Tiffany's room. His baby Irene−of course she is his baby−he....astonished, at how he felt when he held her. He won't put her down after the first time she clutches her tiny, ineffectual fist on his shirt or after he found out her folded ears are the most adorable things although it reminded him of the elf's ears in the Lord of The Rings.

He should find time to visit Mr. Kwon and asks about those crossbows he had. Just in case. Who knows in the future he has to barricade Taeyeon's house from the stray boys. Damn. He was supposed to be the fun uncle, not this crazy overly protective creepy old man.

"Hey" he stops. "God, sorry I haven't even greet you properly, have I?"

Jessica grins and shakes her head. "Um.." she shifts her weight from foot to foot and saunters over to him. And he notices, can’t really help but notice, that she’s slender, and she’s pretty in a way that’s more intimidating than it is soft. She's skinny, in a way more than the last time he saw her physically, the jeans and a black woollen turtle neck jumper she wears didn't hide the fact of how thin she becomes.

He steps back when she's almost a foot from him.

"W-what are you doing?" he stutters,

voice warbling with incredulity.

She stops and blinks. Completely oblivious and confused.

"I'm going to hug you. Isn't obvious?"

"Um no" he drawls. "That's not gonna happen. Not, at least, until I change this ty shirt and bleach myself clean and smell like a proper normal human being, and not like I was just thrown into a dumpster"

She one of her brows.

"You hug everyone back there just fine"

"Just let me wash up first, alright. Then we can catch up properly over coffee or something. What do you say?"

He nervously flicks his tongue out to prod at the cushion of his lower lip, and wonders if he’s imagining the faint pink blush suddenly staining the apples of her cheeks.

She hums. And he takes it as a yes and turns toward the toilet.

"Or maybe we can go to my place later?"

She is nervous. And anxious. He can tell that. And he knew how hard it is. How scary it could be. And how excruciating the tension. To be open. Being ajar and unsecured and left the decision to the other party. To offers everything that you have to be toss or accept by other person. She is betting. The ball now is in his hand.

And Yoong never been this certain and sure with his answer.

"Well.. actually, I was planning to invite you to came to my place after the coffee. We could dust my couch and swept the floor. Another pair of hand would be a nice aid, you know" he says, the edge of his lips is curled up as he glances at her. "But I think we'll be more comfortable in a more pristine place than that dusty abandon abode of mine"

He takes immense satisfaction from the fact that her cheek is blooming red and that san yet dazzling smile is forming on her face.

"I'm going to change first. Just go back to the room and wait with the other for now, alright"

He grins and turns his back again. But suddenly he is stopped by a pair of delicately small pair of arms around his torso and a faint smell of white musk from her and warm welcoming body pressed on his back.

He missed those.

How unexpected.

The sudden revelation comes as somewhat of a surprise when Yoong, in such indecorous state; tired after more than ten hours of flight, and yearning for a nice warm breakfasts, realized he reached the certain point where he missed this woman, currently hugging him, so badly.

He missed those long and trimmed fingers of hers that always brush the edge of his jaws whenever they kiss. He missed her gentle touch that loves to brush his hairs whenever it falls to his face. He missed the intoxicating scent that is so hers that he could practically taste it from her skin. He missed her hot steady breath between his shoulder blade and her arm across his ribs when she holds him in his sleep. He missed her warm and soft skin that always so inviting to be touch and cares and to be love.

It is brief. It is so brief that it is cruel. To give something that isn't quite satisfied him. To left him begging for more. To left him breathless and exposed to such temptation.

She steps back from him even before he could react.

She suddenly simpers, flashing him a small, coy smile that makes all his senses collectively tingle at the prospect of imminent danger.

"I'll go for now then" she says, a playful edge to her voice, her hands fold together behind her back. "And..Yuri's right. You kinda smells..." she bites her lips, fighting a grin, which undoubtedly failed because she's now grinning like Cheshire cat for Alice in Wonderland. "...funny"

He chuckles as he faintly hears the soft giggles of her as she walks away from him.

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She is tracing her finger on his jaws−no, not actually−she is playing with the short, untrimmed, and dishevelled stubbles. His palm is on her back, slipped under her grey tank-tops, and making varied unformed shapes on her skin with his leisure drag. It is early in the morning, and her alarm woke them up, because it is Monday, and she has to work.

He can feel she lightly touch the stiff hair with the tip of her fingers. He thinks she has a rather has a vague opinion on this hairy state of him. He realized it tickles her when he kissed her nape, and when he peppers small kisses on her skins, and when he grazes his face on her inner side of her thigh. This last two days they spent together on her bed are full of giggles and titters from her, because she's sensitive and so ticklish. He asked her if she honestly hate it and wants him to shave it all off. But she only said 'Hate is a strong word and it's up to you if you want to grow it or not'.

"What time is your flight?"

She lays the side of her face on his shoulder and put her hand on his chest. He can feel her all soft, yet solid on his body. All those velvety skin and touch and unhurried tracing she did on him these past couple days. The hot kisses she gave him−all over him− were as hard and demanding as what he gave her when he was worshipping every inch of her. They were a wave of a bad storm, with teeth clashing and bruising kiss and desperate touch, when they arrived at the neat and pristine flat of hers. His lips roved and snapped and tugged at hers, hard and unforgiving and with an undercurrent of aggression that should not astonish her as much as it did. She left him breathless and he returned it as much as or even more.

Because his chest was firm and his skin is tingling and his mouth is hot against the column of .

Because the tension in her muscles is beautiful as it spirals deeper and coils tighter and she exhales when he slides two callused fingers down on her torso and to her hips and delved it between her legs. And it was quick and hard and breathtaking and she’s clutching at her sheets like they’re going to save her, because she was drowning, like she was literally drowning for her breath were short, stalled and stuttering, and she’s arching her back and her hips are hitching and she was so responsive and beautiful, and he wants to drank from her often.

Then after that they unrushed, and slow, and exploring. Languid kisses and ardent touch. Because they're not just an eruption of lust, they not all surge of impulse and adrenaline. They're a clarity, and unobscured mirror of passion. They're not mistake. They are not an erroneous.

"This evening, after lunch. Why?"

"Nothing"      

She purses her lips.

"Hey, what is it?"

"Um, well" she sounds hesitant. "We're still steady, right?"

"What'd you mean?" he asks with shrill shrieks. "I believe after what we did this past two days are an obvious fact about our apparent liaison"

"I just want to make sure, alright. No need to be so smarmy about it"

"Fine. What else do you want to make sure? Just shoot it, I'll try to be less cheeky and more bearable this morning" he picks his glasses from the drawer and rest it on the bridge of his nose.

"I need to know if...." she say unsurely then grunts. "God. No. Nothing. This is stupid. I feel like an idiot. Just forget it, Yoong"

She buries her face to the white sleek pillowcase.

"I give you this chance. I promise I'll be darling and answer it genuinely" he gently put his palm on her back, soothing her cotton grey tank-top and the strand of her hair on her back.

"Just ask now, or forever hold your peace and we'll never talk about it again"

She groans softly and muffled by the pillow.

She tilts her head to the side and looks him square in the eyes. She's still sceptical and it's so visible on her face that she's torn. But then she squares her shoulders and lift her chin up, and her mind is made.

"Are there or were there any other girl you involve with?"

He blanches.

"What kind of question is that? I never knew you think of me so-"

"See! I've told you this is so stupid. Just forget it"

"Where's this coming from? Why'd you suddenly-"

"I just want to know where I stand!" she interjects harshly, suddenly straddles him, seems perturbed and flustered. She’s anchoring him to something, something important, something she demands, and something he's so decline to say.

There is a silence. She looks at him. And to him, she is so regal, so impossibly statuesque in their intimate and close position.

"You are exactly where you're supposed to be" Yoong finally says, tone low and slightly strained.

What does he has to say? A row of passionate declarations of affection, which he found highly impractical? Believe him, he has the list, tucked away in the back of his mind, nearly an alphabet’s worth of cheesy and out-of-character confessions.

But as he promised her, his answer is as good as he could give her now. It is a frank and genuine, and without any sugar-coated or cherry-on-top or other unnecessarily bull, because that's what he offers to her.

He hopes they are in the same page, and she understands.

But instead, she grits her teeth hard enough to strain a muscle in her jaw. She is indignant and looks at him in slight disdain and resent for a long second, that he feels like eternity. She pulls the tangled sheet between them, and manoeuvring around their limbs to get to the bathroom.

He groans and closes his eyes when he hears the sound of running water from the en suite.

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His heart is pounding, wildly and disorderly, he can feel it drumming on his ears. And it impulsively incline when he hears the sound of the water stop running from the bathroom. A couple of minute of tremendous apprehensiveness before she opens the door, clad in a flimsy dark mahogany red robe. She walks toward her vanity, untangling her wet hair and spare him a glance.

"There were girls−here and there−usually when my co-workers and I went to a pub, who offered to buy me drink"

She stiffens. She is facing him, stares at him in such a state−topless, sitting at the edge of her messily, unmade bed.

"And?"

"And most of times I, um, politely rejected them like a gentleman"

She crosses her arms over her lower abdomen.

"Most of times?"

"In my defences, I don't even know their names, or even walked them back home. I was never even in the closed room alone with them, not even when they suggested it and all the more with an excessively touchy tendencies some of them possess"

"And why is that?"

Yoong scowls. What is this? He stays silent as he appraises her, and he loathes the change in this moment where he becomes wary and defensive and incapable of her customary emotional detachment and bitter about it. He hates it when she somehow pushes and drives him into being such a terrible person.

"Well, I think you know it, don't you? You're practically drifting this to that direction" Yoong threw her hands into the air. "But, it, you know. I don't give a about them all, not those slag girls, not that flirty stewardess, not my red haired co-worker, not even a nice girl I met at the airport. Because I don't care. Maybe because they didn't have an overly high-pitch of screams that endangered my ing eardrums, or maybe because they didn't have a horrible cooking skills, or maybe they couldn't make me constantly listen to their favoured song"

"I don't even know what kind music they like" he mumbles, eyes darting everywhere but her.

Yoong sits stock-still and paralyzed, knuckles white and nails digging his palm. He can’t explain the chaotic sort of desperation currently churning−haphazard and disorganize−in the pit of her stomach and he can’t, he can’t stop wondering when it all got so ing complicated, whether this cowardice imbecile had always been inside him or just this twisted mind of his that always keep him locked inside.

He is deep into his head, until a nicely strong scent of white musk invading him. It is so close to him like he could taste in with his tongue. She’s combing her fingers through the tangled ends of his hair and give a gentle tug of his hair before kisses his scruffy, unshaven jaws. Those cold, fresh from shower palms is freezing, like an glacial ice grazing and numbing him, cooling his seething hot−because he feels like he got a sunburn from inside out−and briskly thumping in his chest. Like a breath of fresh air. It’s like he was drowning and she saved him.

Then she slowly pulls back and walks then sits on the seat in front of her white vanity table.

"Yoong, be a darling and please help me prepare some breakfast, will you? I have to prepare for work" she says, her eyes on the mirror and she's brushing her wet hair.

He blinks. And confused. A little. But then he doesn't know what to say. Or do. So he unearths his white shirt from the foot of the bed and put on his jeans and his glasses, before saunters to the kitchen.

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He got her a bowl of freshly cut fruits and a cup of hot black coffee. He wanted to go and fetch some delightful crisp and buttery pastries from the patisserie at the corner of the block−which he used to bough her when he was in some trouble and desperate for her mercy−but it was still too early for the shop to be opened. A couple of good croissants and cinnamon rolls along with a cup of hot chocolate are a humble offering when he wants to plea for forgiveness. Oh, and mint chip ice cream for her stress remedy.

She is eating, digging and munching, while sitting on one of the stool and reading the newspaper after gave him a smile−a  kind of smile practiced by thousand well-brought-up young ladies; it was narrow, and very pretty, and it was very polite−and it left Yoong with inordinate trepidation as he took sip from his mug.

"Anyway" he breaks the silence in the room, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the edge of grey-and-white granite beside her stainless steel range that has six tightly coiled burner−what the hell all those for? Jessica was barely cook or even use a stove, let alone six of it.

He makes a small, awkward-that-it-was-so-apparent-and-mildly-embarrassing cough, to get her attention because it seems like she is in a quiet moment of undisturbed tranquillity with her breakfast and the paper. And he felt ignored. He, distinctly, is being ignored, when actually he wants−craves to spent his time properly with her. Well, not that the last two days that they spent inside her flat wasn't proper, it was beyond and amazing to be frank. But now, that they only have less than an hour for them to be physically in a rather close distance, she treats him like he is a freaking ornament of her kitchenette.

He'll be exiled again for another a year and two months, and doesn't know when they actually can meet again, and his bloody flight is in less than seven hours. He only can be with her now before she go to work, before he'll go to meet his parents then drop by to Taeyeon's place to visit his baby Irene before go the airport.

He refuses to be overlooked.

"Your cooking isn't all bad, you know. It's decent. And.., um, edible"

She studies him for a couple second before back to her reading.

"I thought my lack of culinary skills is well established and known"

"Well, it worth a shot though" he shrugs and takes a hefty swig of the dark liquid from his mug. "And you know that Blackbird is in, like, every single one of my spotify playlist, right?"

And that impudent bint only hums. Not even single glance at him. Damn. Although that little curve at the edge of her lips can be consider as reaction, but it far from enough. It definitely not enough.

 "I think I have to go now or I'll be late" she briefly looks at the watch on her wrist, and put the fork down, beside the bowl, on top of that granite island in the middle of her kitchen. And before he could stop her, she's already wearing her coat and her hand is on the brass door handle.

"Jessica" he calls her when she's in the hallway of her flat. He is standing at the door, the very door of her flat, the cold morning breeze is brushing him but he doesn't care. His eyes are on her brown ones, his finger are drumming on the surface of the wood door frame. He opens his mouth, but quickly  closes it back because speaking without thinking has never and will ever end good for him.

"Um, we..., I mean, are we okay?" he finally blurts it out, then he holds his breath.

She stares at him for a long, long, moment, features carefully arranged in a blank, impossible to read mask−and then her lips twitch into a smug smile that could encourage a collective presumptuous thrill in his mind.

Damn it. His is kind of into it, though.

She saunters toward him−slow and calm and fluid move, the click-clack of her heels on the solid marble floor is nearing him. Then her palm were already on each side of his neck and pulling his face down, crashing their lips together−more like brushing−soft and gentle and quick.

When she pulls away a couple of seconds later, completely calm despite her flushed cheeks, he’s certain that he looks like in a bewildered awe because his mouth is slightly ajar, and he still can taste her cherry chapstick in his tongue, and his hand stilled on the door. He’s gaping and he knows it’s unattractive, but you know what’s really attractive? That triumphant gleam in her eyes as she smirks in his face.

"We're okay"

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Notes: So that's it, fellas. This is the end of the story. It's kind of late than I planned, but I was quite caugh up. I still don't know if I'll start another story or not (I have so many rought plot in my head and a couple of badly written story), but maybe if I find a story or plot or whatever that settle for me and I think quite decent, I promise try ti share with you guys. So, please leave a comment (or vote if you think this story deserve it), share what you think about this story, the plot, the way I tell the story, the way I write (you can compare it to my other story as well if you want) or anything (a constructive critics are very welcome, you know), that will make me definitely happy as well as encourage me to write. 

Thank you :)