Chaerin knows it wasn't just Jiyong that made her feel this way. No, he would have had to take up an enormous amount of space in her heart in order to leave her feeling like this. Which was - scientifically if nothing else - entirely impossible. She did develop feelings for him, yes; and they confuse her beyond reasoning, so she decided not to try and sort them out at all. But it wasn't just that, just him - it's also her. It's this new pair of eyes through which she now sees the world; this new, clear point of view on things that she did not ask for. It's as though he left a piece of himself in her, and that piece kept growing and growing like an unwanted menace in the gardens of her heart and mind, and now there is no cleaning up the mess. 

But not tonight. Tonight is all about nachos and a marathon of ''A Game of Thrones''. Certainly nothing pathetic or poetic or sentimental or whatever. Oh no, the only feelings I will be having tonight will be for Jon Snow. She's decided. 

The familiar intro and the soundtrack seem to make all the stress seep right out of her. She couldn't wait to be done with work so she could finally have a date with Mr TV. And Jingyo. The cat snuggled up next to her as soon as Chaerin made herself comfortable, and he purred when she scratched him behind his ears.

''Don't be a Lannister and try not to scratch off my face, ok, Jingyo?''

The cat moves his tail in a manner that could only mean pleasure and comfort.

Before the episode can start running, she remembers to give Jingyo some food as well. She knows the cat will not leave her alone otherwise. Making her way to the kitchen, she reaches for the box of cat food on one of the upper shelves. It is empty.

''Ugh damn it! I forgot to buy you food, Jingyo.''

She grabs the keys off the coffee table before she nose-kisses her lazy pet. ''I'll be right back. Behave.''

It is a short and refreshing walk to the store and back. The way the lights of the city glimmer in the dark of the night almost make Chaerin fall in love with life.

When she unlocks the door to her apartment and pushes the door ajar to enter, she freezes right in place. A familiar tune is playing, no - humming, and she is pretty damn sure she didn't play any music before she went to the store. 

Odd, she thinks, I could also swear all the lights in the apartment were left on.

For a moment a light shiver goes through her. This is too weird and too damn eerie. She tries to trace back everything she did since she came back home from work, trying to remember playing that record. Ella Fitzgerald. And Louis Armstrong. She didn't plan a jazz evening. Could Jingyo have done it? He's not that clever. Nor that mischevious. Or is he?

''Jingyo?'' she calls as she locks the door behind her.

''Hi.''

Chaerin drops the market bag to the floor.

Kwon freaking Jiyong. He's standing there - literally just standing there, in all the glory of a simple white Givenchy blouse and black trousers, unmistakably chic Louboutin shoes, and his hands leisurely in his pockets. Leaning with his against the sofa, he looks like the most smug bastard that has ever walked the earthly realm. His hair is a shiny dark brown, his feet are crossed as well as he's leaning casually, a few of the upper buttons of his blouse are unclasped, and a small twitch of a smile is hanging on his face. Chaerin strides towards him fast and slaps him across the face with all her might.

''I may have deserved that,'' he mumbles, pressing a hand against his cheek.

''How did you get in here?!''

''You didn't lock the door properly,'' he mumbles, ''Seriously, it could have been a murderer.''

''It was a ten minute walk!'' she argues, as though that's the important point of the conversation.

He shrugs. ''And yet, I've entered.''

''That's because you're a psycho!''

''My point exactly.''

Silence. She gulps back all that is threatening to crack her voice and take her breath and start up an avalanche of tears and incoherent sentences. Better to be silent for a while until complete composure is achieved.

''I'm sorry,'' he breaks the silence, with all but a whisper.

''Why are you here?'' she asks, her voice even quieter. If she gets any louder now, she thinks, her voice will crack and she'll turn into a psycho as well. A creepy psycho who cries or screams over a stranger. Though he's not really a stranger, and she knows that too. 

She is now even more aware of the record humming in the background. Yes, ''They Can't Take That Away From Me'' by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. What the hell is he doing?

''I wanted to have dinner with you,'' he answers, ever so nonchalantly.

''What?''

''You're a far better cook than I'll ever be, but I did my best,'' he says, still smug enough for Chaerin to stab him with a fork and love every moment of it, she thinks.

She swallows. ''You came here,'' she says in the most calm tone she can manage, dangerously calm, ''Unannounced, sneaked into my apartment, brought your homemade dinner, just so I could eat with you.''

''Yes. It's getting cold, out there on the balcony, but any time you're ready.''

''I should kill you.''

''Can't kill a dead man, Chae,'' he shrugs.

Silence again. She wants to slap him again, but she also wants to kiss him, hard, and tear off that shirt of his that's almost mocking her. She doesn't know what she wants exactly. But not this. Not him behaving so utterly crappy.

''I hope you're hungry,'' he says.

''This is ridiculous.''

''Also, for the sake of the moment, please change out of those rags. It makes me feel overdressed.''

She could snort. She could laugh and cry all in the same. But she only huffs. What was it exactly that she missed about him? His arrogance?

She does all of a sudden realize what she looks like in comparison to him. He looks like he just came back from the fashion week in Paris, whereas she looks like Ugly Betty wearing everything baggy from head to toe and her hair in a messy bun with glasses the size of TV screens on her face. At least she has her makeup left on.

''You will go and sit there now,'' she says almost through her teeth, pointing at the balcony, ''And say your last prayers while I change. Then, I will murder you.''

And like that she strides into her bedroom and slams the door behind her. Jingyo jumps off the couch with a loud meow of distress.

The moment she closes that door, she takes a deep breath to calm down. No more voice wavering or her limbs trembling. He is there now, in all his calmness and composure. But everything is too much. It is too much all at once, and she is going to have to deal.

She's angry now; she is so furious she thinks steam could probably start pouring out of her ears. For a fleeting moment she fantasizes about slapping Jiyong a few more times. But no, dressing up first. She picks out her favorite JC/DC dress which was a gift from her father. Well, not exactly a gift, since she picked it out, but it was his money. Yes, great, she thinks as she zips it up, two can play that game, you smug bastard.

She lets her hair loose and decides not to wear shoes. Because who the hell cares? She's freaking home. 

It takes another long breath to exit her bedroom, and she tries really hard to steady her heartbeat. Her heart refuses to listen though; it's as though it wants to leap out of her chest. She's angry at herself now too.

No. Calm and composed. Two can play that game.

The short walk from her bedroom to the balcony seems to last an hour in her mind, as she goes through everything she wants to say to him. All the sassy comments and witty comebacks, yes, she has to prepare all the ammunition. But when she steps out and the fresh night air meets her, and she sees all the letters she's sent to a dead man lying neatly arranged on the table, her blood freezes. Her heart skips a beat or two, before it starts beating faster. Harder.

Oh, no.

All the sassy comments and witty comebacks have flown away with the wind. She doesn't even want to think about asking him how he got those. The same way he prepared all this, she supposes.

''You look pretty,'' he says, ''Even though you're barefoot like a wild woman.''

''I don't care,'' she blurts out, and she thinks she sounds so freaking childish she wants to slap herself across the face.

''Please, sit.''

She sits, neatly.

She doesn't know what to say. She has gone utterly mute. He, on the other hand, has now reached for the letters ever so casually, unfolding them one by one, starting with the first of the small column. There is no escape now. He is going to read them. She curses herself for ever being so pathetic. She wants to die, right then and there. She can feel her blood pumping upwards, heating up her cheeks and she curses again, but this time life entire. She does not want to blush crimson now that he is doing what he is doing.

He's reading them, excerpts from each.

''There are things left unsaid. You could've and should've just given me a proper goodbye, that's all. I would've given you a hug and the medical supplies. So there you go. you.''

''I haven't been the same. I hate it. I hate the way you opened my eyes in such a way that I am no longer able to be complacent with my life. Nothing seems right anymore. You spoiled it. You spoiled the perfect bubble and you left.''

''I've been thinking about you, probably a lot more than should be considered normal judging by our ''relationship''. I hope you've found what you were looking for - the kind of life you wanted. I'm no longer mad at you.''

''Are you better now? Is what you found on the other side of the fall really worth it? Is it worth jumping? I hope it is. I hope you have a better life now than you did earlier. But what were you thinking before you made that leap? What were you thinking during the fall? Were you scared? Did your life flash before your eyes? I wonder. I also wonder why I'm still writing to you.''

''You're not here, even though I see your face everywhere. The news still speculate about you. The papers still put you on frontpages. But you're not here. And you're not coming back. I wish they'd stop talking about you.''

''Jiyong, it's really ing stupid of me to miss you. It's stupid of me to write to you. Just get the out of my mind. You were barely here. Leave my head.''

Please don't read any further, she begs in her mind. Make him stop, God, please, please, please, not that letter, not that one, not now, please.

''I find myself- No, I'll leave this one for later.''

She lets go of the breath she didn't know she was holding. He pays it no heed.

''Jiyong, do you think about me at all? If you do, do you think about me as much as I think about you? If you do, do you think about me in the same ways I think about you? All I know is that you saw me and I saw you. There was fire hanging in the air between us. You hurt me and healed me. You broke me and rebuilt me. I still can't manage to get myself to even write down that I have feelings for you. But I do, oddly enough. And I wish these feelings would start diminishing. They're stronger every day, I'm afraid to say.''

He's done. He has folded all those latters back together in the most painfully casual way, and Chaerin wants to set him on fire. But she doesn't say anything. The snark is gone from her and she is at a loss for words. She doesn't even care anymore. All is out in the open.

She does not know what she expected, but she cetainly did not expect his hand outstretched in an invitation for a dance. It doesn't sink in immediately, so she just looks at that hand and blinks once, before she hears him say:

''Dance with me.''

''You're a douchebag,'' she says, but she takes his hand nevertheless.

He takes her arms and puts them around his neck, before he places his on her waist. They sway gently, close together, and for a while they don't speak. For a while, the only thing that can be heard are the soft hums of the jazz music. The dinner is all but forgotten now. He needn't have cooked.

''I am sorry,'' he mutters into her hair, for a moment losing himself in the smell of it. It smells sensational, like a mix of vanilla and orchids and some refreshing woody smells he can't quite discern. 

''Shut up,'' she mumbles into his shirt. 

He smiles, but she doesn't see.

''I am sorry,'' he says again.

''You just have to humiliate me, don't you?'' she snaps.

''I am trying to apologize.''

''Well, you're doing a crappy job at it.''

''What? I made you dinner! I made it all- I dare say romantic. Come on, this is me we're talking about, I don't think I can outdo this.''

''It's not about this,'' she snaps up, looking at him right in the eye, ''It's not about the food or the lightning or the music. It's just- Can you not be so stuck up all the time? You came in here all casual and nonchalant, acting like none of this is a big deal, and you read those letters-'' She pauses to take a breath and compose herself, lowering her voice. ''You read those letters, just like that, and then you ask me to dance like nothing happened, and I just wish you would apologize like a normal human being. Just once. With a little less apathy. A little less like a robot in a Givenchy suit.''

A short silence. She expects of him to answer something to that.

''I forgot you're barefoot,'' he only says, pulling her off the balcony into the apartment, ''Like an Amazonian.''

''See?! You're doing it! Right now!'' she says, and lightly punches him on the shoulder. 

He looks at her; looks at her frown, and the way her eyebrows have furrowed, and he looks at her with such remorse that Chaerin can now feel it. See it and feel it. Finally. 

His lips twitch in something awfully akin to sorrow, and he lightly pushes her out of their embrace and takes a step back. Chaerin starts missing the warmth of his body instantly, and something in her shatters at the loss.

''I know,'' he says in a low tone, almost like a hum blending in with the music. He slowly walks over to the gramaphone and removes the vinyl record. ''I know. I want to apologize a million times over,'' he says, his back still turned towards her as he's trying to place the record where it had been, ''And I would. I am sorry for so many things, but before all I am sorry that I pulled you into all this in the first place.''

''Jiyong, no,'' she speaks up, ''I chose to help you that night. It was my choice. Of all things, you cannot be blamed for that.''

''You were right,'' he says, still not facing her, ''This is ridiculous. I am a ridiculous man, Chaerin.''

''Jiyong-''

''No, let me finish,'' he insists, finally turning to face her, ''This is who I am. Utterly insensitive and cruel, spoiled and arrogant; I am an all-around obnoxious and egomaniac that I cannot believe you, of all people, have had the misfortune to meet. I am ignorant and oblivious to all that is beautiful and holy in this world. I have gone astray.''

He walks back up to her, stepping up again as close as they were when they danced. Chaerin can barely look him in the eye. He is too close, and she can feel the warmth of his breath tickle her face. She swallows, and she wishes she weren't so sad, she wishes she didn't feel sad for him - he deserved to suffer a little bit. This was supposed to be about her, not about him. But his regret pierces right through her. 

''I am all that,'' he says, ''But today, as I stand before you, I am also a man you've saved, in all the possible ways. So before I once more say I'm sorry, I thank you. And I'm sorry.''

He kisses her cheek ever so lightly and starts walking away - walking towards the door. He pets Jingyo once before reaching for it. She fights a battle on the inside - she feels like she should let him go; no matter how much she cares, she should not be the one to ask of him to stay, to run after him. She should let him go.

Except that she can't.

''Jiyong, stop.''

He freezes as his hand touches the doorknob, and before all - he is stunned. He probably did not expect her to stop him, she thinks, there's only so much pathetic reaching one can achieve.

''If I stay, you'll regret it.''

She doesn't care; she places a hand on his arm. ''I'll regret it if I let you go.''

''You don't know what you're saying,'' he insists, but she takes his hands now.

''You are forgiven,'' she utters after taking a moment too long to get herself to let it out, ''I may be silly and naive and utterly foolish. Borderline pathetic, perhaps. Which I am right now, as I've never been before. But I don't care. You are forgiven, and I want you to stay.''

He looks at her with such intensity, it seems as though he's analyzing everything that lies behind her eyes, as though he's trying to reach into her very soul. His brows are furrowed in something Chaerin cannot quite discern - whether it's concern, or uncertainty, or self-deprecation, or all three. But she knows one thing: the great Kwon Jiyong stands now before her, as vaulnerable as ever a person can get.

''This is it,'' he says and swallows, ''You know I'm crappy at these things. I can't even begin to tell you, so I will show you.''

For a moment Chaerin thinks he's going to kiss her, but no. He takes two of her fingers and places them on his wrist, before he moves them to his neck. He's showing her his pulse. Showing her, rather than telling her, just what her very being does to him.

The gesture leaves her breathless, almost literally - her breath is unsteady and it shakes in from the intimacy of it, almost like a sob. But she cannot ponder over it much - before she can even process it fully, Jiyong is pressing his lips on hers gently, tentatively in a kiss as soft as silk.

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A/N: so i know you guys wanted a sort of a happy ending and ugh i am such an audience pleaser and i don't know how i feel about this chapter but i hope you like it. the next one will be the last. i'm thinking about making it ty and i should like your opinion on that :3 i wouldn't make it typical , obviously, skydragon are pure ~*art*~ in human form, especially in this fic. thank you for all the wonderful feedback, i even had folk on twitter find me and thank me for this fic, y'all leave me in figurative tears, babes ;; <3