The first time I saw my husband, he was promenading around the park with a notebook clutched tightly in his hand. Anxiousness shadowed his every movement, and I shouted out, “Good morning, beautiful!” It was embarrassing - and I looked like a complete fool while doing it - but nothing was more important than launching the compliment that had been itching on my throat. 

He stalled and, as if the nerve-racking emotions had dissolved, turned to face me and replied enthusiastically, “Good morning, handsome!” 

I smiled. Good morning to me, indeed.

We never went ahead of time to have a conversation. It was back in 2015 when I was first introduced to the league of my own in the office fifteen floors high from the ground. I hated the job to the core. While it was fun to finally put what I’d learnt in college into practice, I was unarguably young. And it was the youth in me that yearned for the freedom and liberation that life could offer, everything but the responsibility of cruising the company’s visions and missions like a cursed manacle.

But if anything at all that had the power to make me leave the bed and go to work early, it was him. I spent the whole morning waiting for him at the park adjacent to the company and we exchanged the same, never-changing greetings. Then a few days passed, I finally had the guts to delve deeper into our barely-there friendship. I learnt that his name was Taemin. He was a freelance writer and trespassing on Choi’s land was his favourite pastime. 

I asked him once out of curiosity, “Why do you like being here so much?”

“Because it’s pretty in here. Such a shame that the beauty of this garden is only made for elites,” he said while peeling off the wrapper of the cupcake that I bought for him.

“I agree. How did you even get inside?”

“Why? Are you going to report me to the higher-ups?”

I laughed. “Taemin, I’m the higher up.”

Within two months, we walked past the friendship status and became a couple. Oftentimes, he reminded us of the reason why he was there when he clearly wasn’t supposed to be in the first place. Meeting me, according to him, made the ordeal worthwhile. If he was ever caught and arrested - a word he used that left me wheezing against his shoulder - at least he knew he’d seen me. And that, too, was enough to make it worthwhile.

Thenceforth, our greetings changed. Instead of only shouting across the distance, I brought him flowers and treats for breakfast. Sometimes when I felt a tad naughtier, I pulled him to me behind the furthest corner and we shared multiple kisses there. Most of the time, though, it was him giggling while pushing me away. Not because he disliked my kisses, but because he was getting shy under my gaze. It was hilariously awful, especially when I tried so hard to tell him to be quiet, yet he barely listened. 

“Please,” I whispered between my muffled laughter and chased his chamomile tea coated lips, growling playfully. “I need my daily dose of kisses to go on with my day. Stop laughing at my misery and kiss me back, I beg.”

We were both overwhelmed by how good it feels to love someone and being loved in return. Every day, I walked into my office with the widest loony smile while Taemin left the park with the most prominent blush ever. People started to notice our pattern and hearsay disseminated very rapidly, but being one of the most powerful people in the company itself, no one dared to make a peep to the media. Even if they did, I wouldn’t care.

It was love. The best feeling someone could ever feel in this world.

The night before Taemin’s birthday that year, we met again. Not in the safe, private compound of the office park but the ample space of my living room, in the most personal wing of my house. I was so excited to celebrate it, but the meet-up was not all about that. Rather, I had to break it to him that I was leaving for Berlin the next morning which, inevitably, meant that I would be absent on his special day. It was going to be the first time we’d be apart since we met five months ago and I was not having the duty at all.

“Come with me,” I coaxed into his ear as we snuggled in my bed, the curtains were spread open to allow us to enjoy the overlooking specks of night lights around the city.

“But it’s a business trip,” he whispered against my jaw, the warmth of his open palm fell heavy on my bare chest. “Not a vacation.”

“What about your birthday?”

And he looked up at me, his eyes shone brighter than the stars outside, captivating me again with his beauty. “Birthday comes every year.”

At last, I left. I promised him two weeks with constant updates, daily FaceTime and stupid, ugly selfies in the suite to make up for the lack of time spent together. He was fine with that. In fact, he was even more excited for the video calls where he got to carry the phone everywhere as he talked my ears off. Me? I only listened to him while grinning, soothed by the thought of being loved needlessly even when I was miles and miles away.

By the time I came back, our bond had gotten more solid. Somehow, our fragile hearts were made of something much stronger than we thought. Being able to withstand the distance for two weeks? Bat crazy. That precious day of returning into each other’s embrace became the most pivotal moment in my life before it became his, then blossomed into ours. I spared no chance to offer him something that I considered big in our growing relationship: to move into my house and share his daily life with me.

When he agreed, I swear I saw Pluto.

The more we got to learn about each other, the more we were surprised by our commonalities. Mostly, it involved our favourite things to do during our leisure time - watching movies, sleeping (who doesn’t, seriously), making out. The last one was the cherry on top. I only figured it out when he came to me whining about his awful day at work, and when I offered him some snogging sessions, his face lit up that the whole mega weight of stress just evaporated from his small, slender body.

Same, though.

I loved to tell him that our similarities were going to be the firmest ground to stand on. Taemin agreed. He kept on convincing me that these little, inane coincidences were something more than just mere coincidences. They played the biggest part of our mythology that we were made for each other, even nestled amid other contrasting differences. Balanced out that way, both of us believed we were destined together.

I was 24 then, trudging fiercely into the business world without any failures. Taemin was 22, but we already started talking about the future as though it was something definite. In my life, I envisioned everything to be a certainty. If you have the will, you’re going to make it through regardless of the obstacles. In my life, too, obstacles were nothing new. People had the impression that I was served everything on a silver platter simply by keeping the Choi in my name and inheriting the largest share in the company, but I was raised differently. And with that, I believed, I was ready for the foregone conclusion that I wanted this. I wanted Taemin. I wanted the escapade that put our love as the sole indestructible energy - just like other technological forces, drag and gravity.

At that moment, I knew: 

I wanted Taemin all for myself.

Our two families never got the chance to meet. My parents were almost always busy flying here and there, commanding and demanding. His parents, on the other end, were skirted out of the city. Still in Seoul, but nowhere in the middle where businessmen like me and writers like Taemin generate money. Then, we settled on a plan. We were taking turns to meet each other’s kindred.

That night before winter break started, he brought me over to their house. It was frugal and simple and warm - like how homes were supposed to be. His parents, as I’ve imagined, turned out to be the wisest couple in the history of the world. They were soft-spoken and kind, even going as far as offering me their most amazing homemade spread they managed to provide within my two hours visit. It was the best spread I’ve tasted in life. 

The night before winter break ended, it was Taemin’s turn to meet mine. Unlike the cordiality that I experienced, he suffered from the high to no end expectations from my parents. The mansion was the exact opposite of their house, like heaven and hell, that every warmth just wafted into cold, terrifying air. I watched him trembling next to me as my parents interrogated him with questions, again and again until he stopped talking altogether; until I knew I’d had enough to snap at them both and called it a night.

The names that my parents called my lover stayed on his skin like a permanent scar. While cuddling, he recalled their questions but instead of asking them to himself, he asked me. 

“Why are you dating me?”

“Why do you think I deserve you?”

“What makes you think I’m anywhere near your standards to gain your parents’ blessings?”

He repeated the last question so many times and each time, he emphasised a different word. ‘What makes you think I’m anywhere near your standards to gain your parents’ blessings?’ ‘What makes you think I’m anywhere near your standards to gain your parents’ blessing?’ ‘What makes you think I’m anywhere near your standards to gain your parents’ blessing?’

I only hugged him tighter. My love, I said against his forehead. Nothing they said will ever change what I feel for you.

The feelings that I had for him were beyond words. I realised that before him, no one else had touched my heart the way he did. With that profound conviction, one day after three years of keeping our relationship on a static stop, I took him out to dinner at his favourite Japanese restaurant. When we were done firing away our orders, I stood up then dropped to one knee in front of him with a humble request of, ‘Taemin, will you marry me?’. Forty-something customers were the witnesses of that glorious moment - no photographers, no paparazzi, no formalities. Only strangers who felt deeply for our love and anticipated the answer as much as my nervous self did.

When he finally said yes, in his eyes full of tears, the whole place roared with cheers and congratulations. We converted the restaurant into a concert but instead of having a famous rock band on the stage and fans flooding the space, there were Taemin and me, dancing and laughing and crying with the same forty-other people drinking champagne to the best wishes for our marriage.

I once again saw Pluto that time.

And we walked forward together. He was Mr Choi just as much as I was one myself. There was no need to talk about how my parents reacted to the overall journey; from friendship to relationship to marriage. They were pretty much invisible the entire time, not even present on our wedding day. Unlike Taemin’s parents that I always compared to the pair of my sour ones, they were there, shedding happy tears that their son was married to someone that he loved so, so much.

To say I was disappointed in my parents was an understatement. Even after we’ve successfully exchanged vows, they had the audacity to ask if I was ready, that early, to marry another person - a person of their choice, a person of our standards. I said no.

Every day, I came back to my husband waiting for me in the living room. This sweet, contagious smile was spreading across his pretty face as he threw himself into my already opened arms, “Welcome home.”

I spun him once and tipped his head back then tasted his smile in a deep kiss. When I pulled back, the grin was plastered on my tiers instead. There, I declared:

“Never felt this good to be home before.”

Our careers were going as though neither was affected by the other. Except for the day where I disliked the idea of Taemin futzing around aimlessly to seek clients. It was dangerous for someone—especially my husband—to offer their expertise on random places and websites. I hated the fact that my husband was almost begging, so I suggested this one writing company.

“I could vouch for you,” I said while staring up at him. My head was very much comfortable on his lap and his fingers were encompassed between mine, pinched and massaged methodically. “I know them personally and there are many, many reasons for them to not turn down my request. I can assure you that much.”

“Yeah?” He spoke through amusement, never once pulling his fingers away. “Wow, that’s nepotism.”

The answer was far from what I expected him to say, but it hit so deeply that I started laughing immediately. My body was curled, fists resting against my own eyes as the laughter reverberated. “Stop,” I told him, almost choking on that simple word. “Stop being so smart, it’s hot. Big word right there.”

“Maybe if you stop being so casually .”

I grinned menacingly and sat up, turned to stand straight before carrying him up in a bridal style. He weighed nothing less than a feather that it was so easy for me to bring and toss him around.

“Maybe if you’re kind enough,” I crawled over my grinning husband and leaned down to kiss his plump lips. “To help me with my libido.”

Our married life was smooth sailing right from the beginning. Amalfi Coast was our honeymoon destination which we only made available after three months of being spouses. Taemin loved the beach because it made him happy. I agreed with the plan because I wanted to see him happy. There, in the Southern edge of Italy, we did exactly what people called the ‘essence’ of honeymoon - a befitting euphemism for having lots of amazing, enjoyable in between loving brunches on the seaside and beautiful dinners under the ceiling of bright, European stars.

We rarely fought. In circumstances where we did, it lasted for only a minute before both of us scampered to apologise and work things out again. We’ve had and done the good more than the bad in our life that we were sure the Gods blessed us with this easy journey together, even if it was opposed by my family and their overly poised cliques. It was going so well for two years that I ended up being so confident in myself, in Taemin, in our marriage that I didn’t see the serious setback coming.

And I, for sure, didn’t see it coming that quickly.

Especially after my therapist had declared that I was no longer facing difficulties in managing my anger. 

It started one night when I came back extremely toiled with work and he was there, in the living room as always, waiting to welcome me with the tightest hug he could ever provide using that small body of his.

“Welcome home,” he sang and threw his arms around my neck. The smile that I once labelled contagious somehow didn’t seem genuine that night, so I looked away.

“Min, are you okay?” He cupped my face in concern and I flinched slightly.

“I’m alright,” I deadpanned and leaned down to peck his lips shortly. “I need to clean up. I smell like tobacco.”

In the shower, my mind turned shambolic. I started to picture the scene again - of Taemin jumping off the couch to hug me tightly, of his smile that I’ve always loved but I rejected so suddenly, of my lame excuse to free myself from his hold and shower instead. Under the running water, I regretted what I did to my husband so when I came out and got clad, I apologised. I said sorry again and again, then begged him to never leave me, then returned to apologising needlessly.

My husband.

My very kindhearted husband, Taemin.

He always forgave me.

And I was relieved, even if the indication was enough to signal that I was falling back into the deadly outbursts of anger. I used to have difficulties with managing my emotions, especially during my teenage years. There was one time I punched the life out of one of my classmates because he was clicking the pen nonstop. I told him that it was disturbing; that something in me—a creature that is worse than a monster, crueller than any creature—would unleash itself and come into view if he kept doing it because I could feel it storing its wrath inside. What was there to expect from another 13-year-old anyway? Ignoring my kind request, he continued to click and unclick his pen, the sound only grew louder and louder the more I begged him to stop, egging me on until I couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

The irritability at school, the rage at the hospital and the tirades of nonsense in front of the doctor who tried to help - they suspected that I had anger issues. I said bull, but my behaviour said otherwise. The unprovoked temper tantrums in the hallway while waiting for the results for my lab tests finalised everything.

At 13 years old, I was diagnosed with Intermittent Explosive Disorder.

Fair enough. I was young when I first heard the name of that illness. Was it even an illness? Perhaps a disease. Maybe even a death sentence but in the antiseptic setting of the medical centre. My normal life as a teenager disappeared with the sole existence of that disorder. Since then, I was watched intently day in, day out. Every tilt of behaviour was reported from the nanny to my mother, then it was passed to my father before I was rushed to the sickening room of the family therapist.

The thing about this complication was, it would always come back to haunt me countless times for the rest of my life if I couldn’t handle myself. It knew no end. I was still suffering from IED when I was 15 and 18. Throughout my high school years especially after that incident in the classroom, I tried my best to keep my emotions under control. Every time I felt like getting agitated, I left the crowd and locked myself in a room, be it my own bedroom at home or the empty cubicle in the school toilet. There was no specific cure for this thing that was in me forever. The only key to survive, as my therapist always repeated like a hopeful mantra, was to set my boundaries and learn to communicate. Two years after that, antipsychotic drugs were added to my recovery regime. In that sense, I no longer saw myself as a successful person but a mad, soon to be locked in psych ward man.

However, when I turned 22, I stopped showing symptoms. I exhibited zero urge to get into heated arguments and physical fights. My records in the files were as clean as that one era of my life where IED was not a thing yet. We went through myriads of stops throughout the process - I went to meet with the former doctor that used to handle my first abysmal case, then the nosy hospital team, then the old psychiatrist, then my ever-so-kind therapist. They told me to wait for another six months without consuming the medications, to see if the calmness was my natural reflex or it only happened under the influence of any potent drugs.

Fast forward to six months later, I was declared free from IED.

Now, I was 26, a triumphant CEO and happily married. To be safe for four years, I should’ve known that relapses might be highly unlikely. Maybe I was just too tired from work that I accidentally brought the toxic feelings home and dumped them on Taemin.

Or so I thought.

But the episodes didn’t end there.

It was Sunday when I called the day off. On the sofa, with my head propped on a cushion, remote resting heavily on my chest, I busied myself by watching Netflix. My week had been unacceptably rough with meetings that stretched over long hours - ones that I had to adjourn over Taemin’s emergency calls sometimes - and mind-numbing discussions that ended with an amicable agreement, involving two banks investors over fun evening golfing.

I was physically and mentally exhausted, but coming home to Taemin always helped. We cooked lunch that day.

“Baby,” I called out without looking away from the TV.

“Yeah?” He answered distinctively. He was probably in the bathroom.

“When you’re done showering,” I said, partially assuming his current activity. “Or anything that you’re currently doing, do you mind cleaning the kitchen for a bit?”

“Why can’t you do it, babe?”

“I’m watching a film,” I responded. “All you gotta do is pop the dishes into the dishwasher, sweetheart.”

“No, but that’s so easy, my love. It won’t even take a minute. You can do it yourself, can’t you?”

We played push and pull with the request and demand, trying to make it a chore that was done collectively instead of individually. Most of the time, we did it playfully.

Except I was not feeling playful that evening. The more Taemin dodged the duty of cleaning the kitchen, the molten anger rolled more intensely in the depth of my gut. We’d cooked together and it was only fair for us to do the cleaning together, too. But I was tired. I worked every day beyond office hours without reprieve yet I never complained, because it was my responsibility. It was my job and that goddamn job was the reason I could afford everything that I was pampering Taemin with. I sacrificed my entire life slaving to my work just so I could make him the happiest person on Earth, just so I could make every mortal thing available for him to seize while he seemed to be doing nothing except writing and waiting for me to come home. It was entirely selfish of me, yes. He never requested anything - not money, not dimes, not properties. He never made me do anything that it felt wrong for me to get mad. He never did anything wrong that I wish I could say I wasn’t resentful, but at that moment, with the dirty dishes and his never-ending excuses, I hit my limit. I didn’t want to pause my movie just because he thought I was capable of doing it on my own. I wanted my husband to do it for me.

“You know what, I don’t want to be rude but I’ve done almost everything that I could to keep us standing on the ground and not afloat with stupid uncertainties. I go to work early, I come back late, I leave the country, I meet new people every single day.” My voice became taut as I exerted unnecessary pressure on each word. “I know you’re busy, too. But for one goddamn time, could you please do something in return? Because I’d love to get some ing help around the house!”

My outburst at Taemin ensued in silence throughout the furthest wing of the house. The verbal aggression hung low in the air and it suffocated both of us, but I wasn’t guilty of it. My heart, the one that resentment had taken up residence in, was racing, my hands were shaking and I was breaking sweats on the sofa. It took me long enough to process what I had said - yelled - to my husband that by the time I realised it, Taemin already scooched past the living room, did the dishes and returned to the bathroom, the door slammed shut.

I slept anxiously on the sofa that night.

As always, after a breakdown, I found myself cornering Taemin in our bedroom to say sorry. I tried explaining what happened without putting the spotlight on the IED, or the fact that it was taking a toll on me again, but what came out of my mouth was a random stream of ‘sorry’ and ‘I don’t know what had gotten into me’.

And yet, as always, after a breakdown, Taemin forgave me.

In the coming month, I took another day off. Instead of staying home and spending time with my husband, I went to my therapist. Not the one that had always worked with my family, but a personal therapist that I entrusted with my wishes and secrets. Her office was nowhere far from the mansion, so I assured Taemin that I was meeting an old friend over some coffee. He bought that lie, then pleaded that the coffee was changed into tea. He hated coffee.

It was our first meeting in four years. I told her about my clean records, about taking over the company, about meeting Taemin, about getting married. I told her about the bright side of my life. She was elated to know that I’d progressed greatly over the years. Then I broke the news about the unwarranted outbursts - the overloaded temper and the unforgivable surge of indignation in front of my beloved husband. I elucidated the palpable terror in him when I first yelled stra