Kyungha had a simple routine planned out in the summer. She planned to read numerous medical journals and practice suturing until her fingers turned white, but of course, staying with Kyungsoo and Jongin was the same as ting all over her plan.

She walked in on them for more than one occasion. Kyungha probably couldn’t get the image out of her brain even after bleaching her eyes out. Soleil and Taeyong often came over with Haeeun, so the Do/Kim house was even more of a mess.

At this time, her older brother and his husband had adopted Jeon Jungkook, respectively letting the little boy keep his full name.

Jungkook was shy during the first week of meeting everyone else. He originally kept to himself most of the time, but Taeyong was an annoying festering brat at age three, so he followed Jungkook around constantly.

There’s a knock on Kyungha’s door one afternoon. "Come in,” she drones.

Tiny footsteps creak on the wooden floor behind her. Kyungha drops her highlighter, spinning around in her chair to see the little nine-year-old. He doesn’t say anything as he glumly stares at the ground.

Kyungha frowns. “What do you want?”

He startles at her blunt tone. Kyungha wasn’t doing anything of importance, but she preferred being alone, especially clear of children.

Since Haeeun was quite close to her brother, Soleil and Taeyong were almost always over, even worse in the summer. Something about being bored at home since Baekhyun worked all the time. Kyungha grew up in a loud atmosphere, and she'd love for some silence, which was wishful thinking.

Jungkook cowers, shoulders slumping even more. “Tae kept following me. I didn’t know where else to go.”

At the mention of him, Kyungha's ears perk. Her eyes widen, and she jumps to shut the door quietly. “Did he follow you in here?”

The boy’s eyes are wide. “N-no? We were playing hide and seek, and I ditched him.” Jungkook sounds ashamed as he murmurs the last part.

Kyungha snorts, which startles the boy again. “Why are you so timid, Jungkook?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles quietly.

She sighs and kneels down to his level. “Come on, look at me.” He heeds her, eyes curiously blinking at her. “First of all, stand up straight. You shouldn’t slouch. It’s not good for your back. When you grow old, your back will be permanently bent. Do you want that?”

He shakes his head frantically and pushes his chest out, standing erect. Kyungha laughs a bit under her breath. He’s adorable. “Noona, you’re pretty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, shortie. I never said you could flatter me.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Flatter? What does that mean?”

“Never mind about that.” She shakes her head. After heaving a deep breath, she speaks again. "Were you bullied, Jungkook?”

The boy suddenly looks uncomfortable. He chews on his lips, hesitating to answer. “Are you going to send me back if you find out I’m broken?” It's an innocent answer, but to her, it’s ominous—almost like this nine-year-old is used to this notion. She may be detached, but Kyungha knows what it's like to feel alone.

She smiles gently at him, smoothing a finger through his hair. “I couldn't even if I wanted to. My brother would never allow that. He adores you.”

Jungkook pouts. “You’re lying. Dad is a meanie.”

“Because he's a worrywart. You’re his first child and the most special.”

The nine-year-old turns to silence as he ponders this. After a beat, he asks, “noona, how are you so strong?”

Kyungha clucks her tongue. “I’m not. I’m just good at faking it. Ever heard the phrase ‘fake it til you make it?’”

The boy shakes his head. “Does that mean you were bullied too?”

Kyungha treads carefully. Even to an innocent child, she doesn't like to speak about it with anyone. “Do you want to know how to be strong?”

Instead of answering, she decides to change the topic. Jungkook nods excitedly. “Yeah!”

She smiles adoringly, pinching his cute cheeks. “Stand tall, and don’t let anyone ever talk down to you. Remember that you will always know yourself the best. Be confident and trust that you're right, but don’t be cocky. No one likes a smart .” Her eyes widen when his little arms wind around her neck.

“You're so cool, noona. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Kyungha pats his back. “Alright, now go downstairs before Taeyong throws a tantrum.”

As Jungkook leaves her room, she senses another presence beside her door, hovering just outside. She cranes her neck to see the figure.

It’s Oh Sehun in the flesh. Why is he here?

“Sweetheart.” He waves at her, letting himself in her space. Kyungha gets off from the floor. His eyes scan her space unapologetically. “It’s really—wow—neat in here.”

She fondles with the bottom of her shirt. “I can’t focus in cluttered spaces.” Silence falls between them.

It’s been weird since the wedding. She hadn’t seen him for three or four months. It’s currently mid-June, and on the east coast, it is sweltering. The air is always sticky as the sun beats down on every crevice it can find.

“You’re surprisingly gentle,” he comments. It’s out of nowhere, and it catches her off guard.

“Stop spouting rubbish,” she murmurs, rubbing her arms. “Why are you here?”

Sehun steps closer, a plastic bag crinkling beside him. “I brought you tampons,” he answers awkwardly.

Kyungha narrows her eyes at the plastic bag in his hand. Then, she groans in mortification. “D-did Kyungsoo put you up to this?”

She started her period the day before, which mildly bothered her. Kyungha’s always had an irregular cycle, so she never knew when her period came. She had to ask Haeeun to lend her some feminine products, and Kyungsoo only found out yesterday.

Sehun smiles reassuringly. “It’s not that bad. You’re like a little sister to me. Besides, Haeeun was like ten times worse. When I annoyed her, she’d send me pictures of bloody tampons. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

Kyungha nods uncomfortably, “alright, well. Thank you.” She held out her hand. He dropped the bag on her hand.

She watches him smile weakly before turning to leave. Kyungha’s body moves on her own and before she’s realized it, her fingers are curled on his sleeve.

He turns to her halfway. “Yes?”

“Can you—uh—show me how to suture?” She asks shyly.

He goes through several expressions before a large grin slides on his pretty face. “And why would I help you?”

Kyungha doesn’t know how she's supposed to answer. “Is it so bad that I want to get a head start?”

He laughs. “You’re so cute, has anyone ever told you that? I was only joking, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

“Come on.” He nudges his head toward her door.

She scrunches her nose. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” he answers nonchalantly.

Sehun’s apartment is spacious and located in the middle of the bustling city. Somehow, the sound of traffic and car horn faded out when he showed her in, tossing his keys on the counter. His place takes advantage of an open concept. His kitchen is small, but it’s functional. There’s a white marble island that stretches in the kitchen space, connecting to his living room where there lay a white leather couch and a large bachelor pad-esque television. He has large modern windows, and the shades are remotely controlled.

Other than those noticeable features, the place is bare bones. He sees that she’s staring intently at the empty spaces. “I really only use this place to sleep.”

Kyungha shrugs. “I didn’t say anything.”

He offers her a weak smile. “Hold on a second, I think I have one of my practice suture kits upstairs somewhere.”

When he returns, he’s holding a box of items.

“I brought some other things that helped me at the beginning of med school. There are some workbooks in here too. They may be outdated, but I hope it helps.” He hands them to her, but as soon as she tries to grab it, she almost drops it. He coughs, but it suspiciously sounds like a laugh. Sehun heaves the box on the counter. “I’ll drop it off with you when I take you home later.”

Sehun’s method of teaching is spartan. He’s hellish. Usually, Kyungha would be okay with it. She's met many professors who are strict, but Sehun is just on another level. She's almost afraid to do anything because he’s expressionless and offers no input until she s up.

“Alright, now loop it around.” Kyungha hesitates under his instruction. He clucks his tongue. “Too slow, now you’ve let the patient bleed out.”

She drops the suture scissors and forceps on the counter. “I give up,” she grumbles, putting her head down. Kyungha’s exhausted from sitting straight all day. She’s been here since it was light outside, and now it’s dark.

“Kyungha?” Sehun’s voice sounds far away. Kyungha yawns, closing her eyes. She’ll only sleep for a minute.

When she wakes up again, she’s not in her room. She sits up, panic kicking in. Kyungha can tell she’s on the second floor, but there aren’t any rooms. The second floor resembles a second-floor terrace more than anything. It looks over the first floor, which she recognizes as Sehun’s place. Staring around, his room is comfortably decorated. She’s sitting on his bed which is in the center and facing the back wall.

He has a bed stand, and the next thing she notices that he has a lot of: books. He has large bookshelves that reach the ceiling. They wrap around the second floor. She feels like she’s in a library. It's surprisingly homey. Homier than the first floor.

Kyungha checks her phone. It’s 10 AM. She feels the space next to her. It’s smooth. He didn't sleep here. There’s a text message on her phone.

I hope you know that it’s not safe to not have a passcode. Then again, I’m the one who hijacked your phone. You can stay as long as you want. I’ve already let your brother know you were with me. You have a cute sleeping face, sweetheart.

She snorts when she sees the contact name he’s put in.

Your favorite oppa♡

Kyungha gets up to stretch, and her eyes catch his book collection. He has numerous medical journals. Her finger itches to touch them. She peers around her. It wasn’t like he was here anyway.

She reaches for one, expecting to see that it’s from one of the more famous medical researchers. She expects to see clinical trial records or surgical experience, but she never—for the life of her—expected to see the loopy sprawling of Oh Sehun.

Her fingers trace the leather-bound. She flattens it and loses herself.

June 17, 2028

Today was the first day of orientation. I can't stop thinking about what the chief of surgery told us today. He told us all to quit right away if we didn’t have our head on straight. It made me question everything. Why did I become a doctor? Was it because Dad is one? Did I ultimately want to make my old man proud?

I met this guy named Jongdae today. He told me the reason why he became a doctor. It was due to his mother’s appendectomy. The surgical removable of an appendix. It’s one of the simplest surgeries that we read about in textbooks and learn about in school, but Jongdae stated that the moment his mother’s surgeon told them that her surgery was a success, he said he felt a spark. From there, he knew that this was what he wanted to do.

I didn’t have that. I’m afraid that I’ve uselessly pushed myself to become a healthcare professional. If I don’t feel passion, does that make me a fraud?

June 26, 2028

I’m exhausted. Since the age of ten, I’ve been diagnosed with insomnia. It’s never bothered me because I’d find ways to distract myself at night. I’d flip through my dad’s old anatomy books for fun, or I’d throw parties. High school was easy. Medical school was easy. I had a simple routine that I stuck through. I’d either party or study through the night.

I only need two hours to function, three if I was lucky. But now that I’m thrown out into the wild, I constantly feel at a loss. I’m slower than my peers. I got chewed out today for staring off into space. Sometimes I wish I took pills, but then I’d never feel like myself. I’d see her in my dreams. That’s worse than being sleep deprived.

My shrink recommended keeping a diary. Is that what this is? I was always against it because I felt pathetic. Who writes their feelings down in a journal anyway?

Me. I guess.

July 4, 2028

I couldn’t be home today because I was on call. My friends at work all complained, but I wasn’t angry. I had a responsibility. Though I can’t remember the last time I’ve had real food that wasn’t a granola bar or microwavable mac and cheese.

My stomach is growling right now. Dad texted me a picture of barbecue. I can’t stop thinking about brisket, ribs, and glistening buttered rolls. I can probably die thinking about all of the foods that would clog my veins.

Anyway, all my friends were at our house today to celebrate Independence day. Meanwhile, I’m being a sap in room 1308. It’s the only nap room here where no one uses because it’s supposedly haunted. I guess I’m watching fireworks with the dead tonight.

Kyungha lies on her back, staring at the ceiling. His handwriting is still imprinted in her brain. She can see the backward way he writes his ’s’ or the weird way he writes his ‘o’ starting counter clock-wise. She traces the way he signs off at the end of every entry.

Who knew he was such a romantic? When she closes her eyes, she imagines Sehun as an intern, scared and sleep-deprived. He’s unsure of his future. She feels the same way, and for some reason, his words resonated with her. Why did she want to become a doctor?

Kyungha thought it was because when she was younger, Kyungha desperately prayed she could fix her brother. He only really had those nightmares of their dad when his death anniversary came around, but her young naive mind thought that she could find a way to cure Kyungsoo one day, which lead her to read medical books about the brain. Eventually, the little girl became hooked, and that was it.

Though she knew now that it was impossible for her to fix her brother, Kyungha couldn’t see another path for herself. She imagined what it would be like to hold a scalpel—what it would be like to stare down at the human brain and make someone’s pain go away—if only for just a moment.

Kyungha doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep again when she feels herself being shaken awake. Her eyes blink open groggily to see Sehun. He’s wearing scrubs, and the man is frowning down at her.

She jumps and because his head is mere inches away; They conk heads. Kyungha groans, clutching the ringing pain. He also groans, but has the decency to ask her, “, are you okay?”

She nods. “Still alive,” she manages through her blurry vision.

When the pain settles, the awkward air returns between them. Sehun glances at her tentatively. She realizes there’s a small plush throw over her, and one of his pillows is placed under her head.

“What time is it?” She asks, avoiding his eyes.

Sehun replies in a casual tone, “it's 2 in the morning.”

“What?!” She springs up, surprised. Surrounding her, his personal journals are still there. She’s read through the majority of them.

He snorts, “you must’ve been really absorbed in my writing.”

Kyungha flushes. “It’s not like that,” she denies, turning her head indignantly.

Sehun nods with a disbelieving glance. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Then, he begins to stack his journals in a pile. She continues to avoid his eyes as she helps him organize the space. In the middle of it, her stomach growls. She buries her face in her hands, wanting to die of mortification.

First, she was caught red-handed going through his things. Next, she didn’t come home for practically two days. Three, she’s just proven to him that she hadn’t done anything else all day as she was focused on reading his journal entries.

Kyungha is aware he’s hiding a bemused expression under the tight-knit seriousness on his face. She glances around, looking for places she could possibly bury herself under.

Sehun gets up, dusting his hands on his scrubs. “You coming?”

She glances at him, head tilted. Gingerly, she gets up from his rug and begins to follow him downstairs. He quietly whips up a creamy pasta dish in fifteen.

Kyungha’s forgotten about her mortification for a few minutes as she focuses on his broad shoulders and his strong back. She wonders what it would be like if he had his arms around her. Immediately realizing what she just thought, she slaps herself lightly on her cheeks. She must be losing it. She had to go home. Stat.

Distracted, she doesn’t realize the clang of the plate in front of her as he drops it down. She blinks at the simple dish. A swirl of pasta with meat intertwined. There’s a sprinkle of cheese on top and a simple garnish of green. She sniffs. The smell makes her dizzy, but she wills herself not to move.

He chuckles lightly. “Sweetheart, it’s only pasta, egg, cheese, and bacon. Don’t worry about me poisoning it.”

Kyungha hesitates, and Sehun picks up a fork, twirling some pasta noodles. It’s hypnotizing. The way his wrist flexes and his veins extenuate as he’s doing it. He pushes the noodles gently on her lips. It feels sensual—out of her comfort zone. Yet, opens instinctively, and he pushes it in further.

She bites down, chewing on the snappy noodles. They delightfully bounce around in and eventually, she swallows.

“So?” He teases, eyes glinting.

Kyungha doesn't want to admit it. But every part of her body knows it. It’s simply a fact at this point.

It’s ing delicious. The dish is overwhelmingly simple, but it makes her stomach churn, pleading for another bite and another.

She doesn’t answer, and he slides the plate toward himself. Kyungha’s desperate, and she’s also really, really hungry. Her fingers wrap around the base of his wrist. “I want some more,” she blurts breathlessly.

Kyungha must look ridiculous and pathetic because Sehun stares at her with an unreadable expression. He shakes his head. A small movement, unnoticeable to others, but Kyungha’s used to watching him. She catches every movement he makes. Deliberate or not.

And she also realizes how much of creep she must sound like.

He shakily exhales, ing the fork in her palm. “Eat,” he murmurs.

Kyungha doesn’t need him to tell her to because, in the span of nine minutes, she’s wolfed down everything. He’s staring at her with his usual amused eyes, tapping an irregular beat on the counter. He isn’t looking away, so she squirms uncomfortably in her seat. “I was hungry, okay?” It comes out soft and unlike her.

Why does he make her such a…a girl?

He throws her a funny look. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

Sehun quirks a brow at her. “Looking at you like what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Her words come out clipped. Another thing he does to her. It’s like whenever he’s in her vicinity, she loses the ability to function. She stumbles off of the barstool and heads toward the exit of his apartment.

“Hey, where are you—where are you going?” His voice follows her.

“I’m going home,” she answers.

His palm pushes down on the door when she attempts to pull it open. “Kyungha, you might as well stay another night. It’s late. Kyungsoo will kill me if I let you go home at this hour.”

Kyungha turns around and backs right into the door. His palm is still on the door, but now, it’s next to her head. Her eyes widen as she feels her pulse skyrockets at his closeness. He doesn’t move and instead, stares at her intently.

“Fine,” she forces out. “Fine, I’ll stay. Can you move?”

He backs up, and she feels her oxygen levels normalizing again.

Sehun is gone again. She hears the tittering of the shower water in the distance. Kyungha is curled on her side on his bed with his covers over her. It smells so…Sehun.

She brings his duvet closer to her nose. He smells woodsy and masculine, but it’s not an artificial smell. To her, it doesn’t feel like the notes are chemicals from a lab. Chemicals that she can probably list out. And well, she can’t list the chemical compounds of his smell. It’s unlike anything she’s ever come across.

Kyungha closes her eyes, and eventually, the distant sound of water blurs away into silence.

She stirs awake when she feels an arm. A strong muscular arm. It’s not hers. It’s curled around her waist. She shivers, feeling the pressure of fingers against her spine. Kyungha’s mind clears, and her nose tingles.

The familiar woodsy smell is stronger now. It’s pressed against her skin. She has nowhere to go. She can’t run from it.

It belongs to Sehun. She knew that already. But the reason it’s so strong is that he's here. He’s right next to her. She gasps inaudibly, realizing the position they were in.

Kyungha’s nose is pressed up against his neck. Her forehead tingles when his breath hits her periodically. She’s lying on his arm, and he’s basically cuddling her—though it’s more accurate to say he’s holding her at gunpoint. Several feelings race within her. Panic. Fear. Uncertainty.

But then there’s sleepiness. Comfort. Warmth.

What if she just stayed this way? It would be so easy.

It’s still dark outside, and her body grows lax again without her permission. Kyungha’s breathing slows. Just a little bit, she tells herself. At the mercy of sleep, she instinctively snuggles closer to him. He mumbles sleepy words that she doesn’t process, and he shuffles, adjusting his chin on top of her head. His legs stretch and shift until they’re comfortably sandwiched between hers.

The last thing she remembers is releasing a content sigh when he tightens his arm around her waist. Then, it’s dreamland calling her name again.