●Flashback
I stood in the hallway, standing at the heavy double doors that once led to Taehyun's
"forbidden room."
"I want it,"
I'd told him, weeks ago. I was half-joking. Half-challenging. He hadn't flinched.
"If I'm staying here, I want a library. My library. With books I love. Not records of people you've destroyed."
"Done," he said simply.
I hadn't expected him to listen.
I was standing before those doors, I pushed them open—I froze.
The shelves lined with black folders and bloodstained ledgers.
In their place: soft lighting, velvet curtains in my favourite shade. A reading books.
Shelves lined with romance novels, fantasy epics, worn poetry books that felt like old friends.
A vase of white sunflowers sat on the desk. My favourite.
I stepped inside slowly, fingers brushing the spines. A book I once cried over. Another I read and thought I'd never find again.
Books I'd sobbed over. Books I'd clutched to my chest in silence. Books.
Books that held pieces of me no one asked about—yet he remembered all.
Behind me, a soft voice said, "You're welcome."
I turned.
Taehyun leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching me quietly.
"I didn't ask you to do all this," I said.
"I know."
"You kept all these details?"
He raised a brow. "You talk in your sleep."
I laugh, despite myself. "That's creepy."
"That's love," he said softly. "You love quietly. I remember loudly."
He walked over, picked a book from the shelf & handed it to me.
Then he asked softly, "If you had to choose just one. Do-or-die? Which one would be?"
I pointed at one.
"Why these?"
"Because they saved me... They taught me what faith feels like. What it means to lose everything and still choose love. They made me believe... that broken people can be whole. That there's beauty in healing—even when the wounds never leave."
Taehyun was silent for a beat.
"That's real loyalty."
I looked up, startled.
He smiled coolly. "You try so hard to look untouched. But I've seen your cracks, dove. And you're still the most whole thing I've ever known."
I clutched the book to my chest, smiling shyly myself.
"The male character is my... first fictional crush-love."
Taehyun's brow arched. "Really?"
I nodded dreamily.
His smile faded just slightly. "Him?"
I laugh, enjoying my breath of power.
I laugh under my breath, shrugging now, deliberately. "No one can be him."
He blinked. "Is that a challenge, dove?"
I gave him a coy look. "Let's find."
Taehyun stepped forward, slowly, the shift in his energy unmistakable. Possessive. Slightly unsettled. Completely intrigued.
"He is fictional," he muttered, as if the very idea bothered him. "I'm real."
"Exactly," I said sweetly, stepping around him toward the shelves.
"And still."
His eyes narrowed. "Still what?"
I grimaced over my shoulder. "Still not him."
He stared at me like I'd committed treason.
"I could build a kingdom," he said, voice low. "Burn down the world. Love you in every life. And still chose some printed ink over me."
I smirked. "Ink? Printed ink never gave me a headache."
He closed the distance in a second, backing me against the bookshelf, voice like silk over fire. "Careful," he warned, eyes glinting.
"You're flirting with danger."
His jaw clenched.
I tilted my head, pulse racing. "So was him. Maybe that's my type."
And in that breathless moment between pride & jealousy, I realized.
I like teasing the devil just a little too much.
Then he leaned in closer, so close I felt the brush of his breath against my cheek. "Try it, butterfly," he whispered, dark & amused.
"Compare me to your fictional saint again."
I raised my brows, loving every second of this. "He had a genius IQ. He could solve the unsolvable maths, books. Fight his demons without turning into one."
His eyes darkened, unreadable. "And what I have?" he asked, voice deadly soft.
I licked my lips. "Money. Power. A brooding face. Mafia connections. A questionable past. A questionable present."
He narrowed his eyes. "That's all?"
I shrugged innocently. "You're not him."
"You want devotion?" he said softly, a fire in his eyes. "Fine."
In one smooth move, he dropped to one knee in front of me, took my hand, and pressed his lip to it—like I was something holy. His eyes never left mine.
"I'd rewrite your favorite story just to be the man you loved."
"Chapter by chapter. No saints. No salvation. Just me—bleeding on every page."
I froze. My heart forgot how to beat.
He rose again, eyes locked with mine. And stepped in even closer—his forehead brushing mine now. "Still not him?" he whispered, lips grazing mine (barely).
I was supposed to win this game. But I'd lost the moment he knelt.
My heart shuddering. My hand still tingled where he kissed—
"Don't do that," I whispered. Pulling away.
Taehyun stilled, his brows lifting slightly. "Do what?"
"Kiss my hand. Kneel like that." I shook my head slowly, eyes searching his. "It doesn't feel romantic. It feels... wrong."
His eyes darkened slightly, as if he thought he crossed some invisible line.
"I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable—"
"I know," I interrupted softly, placing a hand on his chest. "But I don't want that kind of love."
He stared at me, in silence.
"I don't want worship. I don't want you kneeling. I want you beside me. With me. In everything." My voice cracked a little. "I want you in my life. And in next one. In every universe. Not below me. Not above me. Just... with me."
His breath caught.
"I just want you as my Heaven," I whispered. "In both lives. This one... and whatever comes after."
He stared at me like the universe had just handed him everything he never thought he deserved.
"You already have me," he said quietly.
His words wrapped around me like silk—and
I felt it. That terrifying warmth.
That pull. Too much. Too fast. Too real.
Suddenly, I realized what I had just said.
Wait... What? No. No way.
I was supposed to be distant. Controlled. Cold. Not... falling for him.
Not melting into his touch. Not surrendering to his stupid rookie eyes.
My chest tightened in panic. My pride screamed for damage control.
I cleared my throat, snapping out of the trance, taking a step like nothing happened. I crossed my arms with faux casualness.
"I wasn't talking about you," I said. "I was talking about someone I'll fall in love with." A smirk tugged at my lips. "You know... eventually."
His face didn't change immediately. Oh, he was annoyed. Deliciously annoyed.
"And what exactly do you think this is?" he asked.
I shrugged. "A moment. A mistake. A mood. Maybe just a sugar crash?"
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice like warning. "You keep pushing me away like that, love... one day I might stop chasing."
I held his gaze with a terrifying spark. "Good, then I'll finally be able to breathe,"
I leaned in so slowly, until I could feel his breath brush across the shell of my ear.
"You think I kneel because you're winning? No, baby. I kneel because I know what happens when I stand back up."
My breath caught.
He slid one hand to my waist, the other resting over my back—light, but enough to remind me who had just taken back control of the moment.
"You talk about falling in love with someone, someday," he continued, voice barely above a whisper. "But you're already falling, aren't you?"
"I'm not," I said quickly.
His smile was wicked now.
"You're," he murmured, brushing his nose against mine, "and it's driving you crazy that I got into your skin. Into your head. Into that guarded little heart you swore no one could touch."
I swallowed hard.
"And you hate it," he added, his mouth hovering over mine, "but not enough to stop."
I froze.
You want to run? he whispered. "Run. I won't stop you."