Title: I Didn’t Mean To (Make You Mine)

Pairing: Kris/Seohyun

Wordcount: 1300~

Summary: Does his happiness mean nothing to them?

"If you think that by giving birth to me gives you the right to run my life, you're wrong Mom." He wonders how calling his very own mother mom sounded so foreign to him. "So please, don't make me wish I was never born in this family." Though his unsteady voice betrays the façade he is so desperately trying to hold unto, Yifan still does his hardest not to break in front of his mother by blinking away his tears that are threatening to fall.

Since young, he is trained to follow orders and that his parent’s will always comes first before his and pleading with his mom right now is going against everything he was taught. He must look pathetic in her eyes, seeing her look of faint disgust and disappointment, but he's tired, so damn tired of everything. While he holds his mother’s piercing stare, he half-hopes that her stern feature and sharp eyes would somehow soften, but Yifan is let downed when Chairwoman Wu remains passive. He has stooped low, asking just for this once they’ll let them be, but no. His mother's cold heart can't be moved. With one last look at his mother, he storms off her grand study room, fitting to be the workplace of a powerful woman running a multi-billion won conglomerate. He's done being the puppet of the Wu Enterprise.

He doesn’t waste time lingering outside of his mom’s workplace in the mansion. How can she show no compassion when her own son is practically begging? Slightly trembling from keeping all his emotions in, he’s angry, frustrated and dejected that he just wanna scream. He ignores his personal secretary’s attempts at stop him from stepping out, and before he knows it, he’s inside his red GT-R, driving out of the Wu premises.

He passes along the streets of Gangnam, one of the most prominent areas in Seoul where only the privileged few could afford to own a property in. Pulling on a deserted road, he pulls the hand-break just because someone told him never to drive while he is high on his emotions.

He removes his tailored suit, throwing it on the passenger seat and loosening his tie that seems to be suffocating him before continuously hit the steering wheel of his car to vent out his anger. When his hands felt numb from being slammed a number of times against a hard surface, he ends up gripping the steering wheel instead that his knuckles turn white. Does his happiness mean nothing to them? He has always been the perfect son. He did every single thing they asked of him, and just this one request they can’t give their approval?

He steps on the accelerator and the smooth roar of the engine helps clear his mind. He takes the road once more, heading to a more humble part of Seoul, where houses aren’t as lavish as those he is used to seeing from his side of the town.

He parks in front of a rundown building that looks in dire need of renovation, judging from its outdated structure that was the trend decades ago to the worn peeling paint that appears to be a few shades lighter than its original color. In short, a place