Author's Note: Almost at the end now 3 thanks for sticking around.

Twelve.
I'm here just like I said, though it's breaking every rule I've ever made
I'm a little more careful, perhaps it shows
But if I lose the highs, at least I'm spared the lows
And I would tremble in your arms
What could be the harm to feel my spirit calm

"All the ladies are disappointed that I'm now officially off the market," Pyo Chi-su gloats, grinning brightly from ear to ear. Freshly engaged to the girl who edged past his tough facade, he's sitting forward in the garden chair opposite Jeong-hyeok, elbows propped on the table, brimming with energy as the setting afternoon sun splashes colors behind him.

Ri Jeong-hyeok knows it's an attempt to lighten the mood. He makes for quite morose company these days, but Chi-su is a good sport. He can keep the conversation going, one-sided, for a good hour. He wisely steers clear of any mention of that woman, even though Jeong-hyeok is sure he misses her too. She would have had all sorts of witty things to say about their friend's engagement. Ah Chi-su-ssi, someone melted that ice cold heart? Is she sure though? Let me speak to her.

Imaginary Se-ri draws a small smile across his face. "Congratulations – I'm really happy for you. How long are you in Pyongyang for?" Jeong-hyeok asks politely. He's been so distracted that he may have already missed the answer to that question. Since Seo Dan's impromptu visit three weeks ago, he's been steadily building towards the conclusion that he simply cannot stay here. It's a painful realization that shatters him, but it also gives him something he hasn't had in months. Hope. With that glimmer, August makes him feel like a person again despite the niggling voice inside him that insists: if left long enough, Se-ri will move on. Maybe she's better off without him, as much as the thought kills him. She's a survivor. He knows that much.

"Just two nights. I'm here on a special assignment," Chi-su is saying, and his expression suggests he's said something else. "Are you okay, Captain Ri?" he asks finally.

He's definitely not okay. He's dallying between two scenarios to his life: should I go or should I let her be? Her life would be so much simpler without him. What if she doesn't want him anymore? For weeks, he's been unable to think of much else. "Yes, I'm fine, just thinking. What did you say?" He clears his throat and focuses on Pyo Chi-su.

"I said I need to speak to the Director of the General Political Bureau before I leave. Is he available?"

Secretly grateful for the request, Jeong-hyeok pushes his chair back. "Sure, I think he's around. I'll take you inside," he offers.

They both get up and start towards the house. His mother catches them at the entrance, greets Chi-su with a warm smile and favors Jeong-hyeok with the pitying look that seems to be getting worse day by day.

"Is Abeoji around?" he poses.

"Yes, he's in his study," she replies gently, like he's going to break.

"Thank you. This way, Pyo Chi-su-ssi," he mutters, points the other man in, but before he can follow, his mother stops him with a hand on his forearm. He meets her gaze evenly, ignoring the sadness reflected back at him.

"Jeong-hyeok-ah, Seo Dan-ssi dropped this off for you," she says, handing him a small white envelope. "I was coming to find you. She couldn't stay, but she said to tell you that she came to Paris and she forgives you."

The sudden rush of feeling inside him is so overwhelming that the world spins beneath his feet for a few seconds. She came to Paris. She forgives him. He fakes a half-smile through the wave of nausea. It must look like a grimace because his mother's eyes flash with concern. He takes the envelope and excuses himself, leaving his mother standing with Pyo Chi-su at the backdoor to their house.

When he's inside his room, heart thudding sickly and hard against his ribs, he carefully tears the small envelope open and slides its contents into his open palm. A small piece of paper with clear concise handwriting and a harder, glossy plastic sheet in black and white. Something like panic seizes him. He sets aside the paper, holds up the X-ray-like image where he can trace the vague whitish outline of a fully formed fetus. For a moment, he can't breathe, a faint sense of realization gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He snatches the paper off the table desperately.

Ri Jeong-hyeok,

I, too, wish for so many things. I wish I didn't have to write this letter. I wish I could have told you about our baby in person. I wish you hadn't left the way you did. I wish we could be doing this together. I wish things were different. I wish you'll get to meet Baby Ri one day.

I guess this time fate left us with a little gift, and I know you must have a lot of questions. I'll try to answer them. As of today, the sixteenth of July, I am thirteen weeks pregnant. I still don't know the gender of our baby. I'm eating and sleeping well (a bit too well, all I seem to do is sleep!) I'm lucky to have more support than most people can dream of, and I'm really excited. I didn't think I would be when I first found out, but now that Baby Ri and I have spent some time together, I can't imagine being without this little growing human inside me, who is as much a part of you as he or she is a part of me. My doctor says Baby Ri is healthy and is about the size of a passionfruit right now. So small, I know! It's amazing because in the ultrasound, Baby Ri looks like a full person. How can a person be so small?

I'll write again soon, when I find the Ribelli Quartet again.

Yoon Se-ri

He looks at the ultrasound image again, feels a cold sheen of sweat on his face, an inhuman sound clawing its way up through his chest, something heavy and choking, like a sob too long suppressed. He wants to howl with beastly pain, unbearable longing. He feels his throat constrict and the hot, urgent press of tears behind his eyes. All the tears he hasn't been able to shed flood out of him like a dam has been broken.

Baby Ri.

Their baby. Se-ri is pregnant. The tears streaming down his face drip onto the letter, and he shakes them off carefully, dabs the paper against his shirt to dry it off. When his mother comes into his room, he's holding the ultrasound up to the light, gazing at it hungrily, like he can learn more by studying every curve, every shadow, every indent, every perfect little finger and the shape of that beautiful little head.

His mother, drawn by whatever sounds he's unconsciously made, is beside him, hand curved over his shoulder, murmuring questions, staring with him in wonder. She pries the ultrasound out of his hand, cries with him, silent tears sliding down her cheeks in commiseration as if she's already mourning the loss of her own child.

"I have to go," he says with sudden clarity, his voice hoarse. The decision he's been struggling with for weeks is absurdly easy now. He's going to be someone's dad. He and Yoon Se-ri are having a baby. Baby Ri. "I feel like I'm being ripped apart from the inside," he chokes out.

"I know," she says softly, strokes his hair with such tenderness that it makes him want to cry harder. "We can't have everything, and sometimes we have to make the most difficult sacrifices," Umma says, her voice steely with resolve. She shifts, steps back and gives him the most timid, courageous smile – not the pitying one. "Rest for a bit. I'll get you some water."

"Thank you," he murmurs. You're a good mother, he wants to say, but he doesn't because all he can think about is Se-ri, their baby, and the kind of father he'll be. Baby Ri.

Jeong-hyeok absently watches her stride out of the room with purposeful steps, and he doesn't know it now but that image of her is how he'll remember her for a long time to come.

Come October, she misses him a bit less.

Autumn paints the city in earthly hues of crimson, gold and auburn, and everything falls away, sweeping her sadness under a colorful, cheerful carpet of dead leaves. It feels cathartic, and she stops thinking about him all the time. There are hours of the day now that pass without a single Ri Jeong-hyeok thought passing through her mind. It's a small consolation, given her situation, but she celebrates it as a victory nonetheless. Everyone still treats her like she's seconds away from collapsing, but she thinks it's mostly because of the hard-to-hide baby bump, courtesy of baby boy Ri, who makes his presence known in more ways than one. The fluttering kicks are so precious she finds herself waiting for them with bated breath.

There are still moments when she passes a man on the street with a toddler on his shoulders or she hears a piece of classical music or she's just lying in her bed alone at night and her body physically aches for him. It knocks the breath out of her when the pain of missing him is just as fresh, as sharp as that first day he left in the Interlaken. But the moments pass, and she learns how to deal with the yawning gap of his absence. She wonders sometimes when or if she'll ever see him again. She wonders what he thought of her letter, that message she sent with Seo Dan. She wonders about Seo Dan and her band, and why they haven't traveled since Paris. She wonders if he'll send something back when they do.

Se-ri doesn't let herself dwell, though. She shakes the thoughts off as soon as she steps into the lush elevator of her apartment building and presses the button to her penthouse. It was a long day at the office, followed by dinner with two of her more ardent board members, and her feet actually hurt – pregnancy perks. The elevator doors part with a smooth whoosh. Sighing quietly to herself, she unlocks the door and steps in.

The living room lights are on. A chill crawls down her spine, her senses immediately picking up clues her mind can't quite assimilate. She freezes by the doorway as she picks up on the hazy noise of a body moving inside the house. How did someone get into her apartment? Just when she starts to back up, intent on running for her life, she hears a voice.

"Yoon Se-ri," someone calls out, and that voice is so meltingly familiar, it stops her dead in her tracks. It cannot be. "It's me." It's his voice. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes against the wild pounding of her heart – a mixture of fear and anticipation. When she opens them again, she's still in her doorway and someone is in her living room. Has she finally lost her mind? With bold determination, her feet carry her into the living room, quick steps that defy all reason, and –

"I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't think… I'm so sorry."

Okay, this is real. Her heart stops for a second, and Baby Ri kicks up a storm of complaints. Ri Jeong-hyeok is halfway between her and the couch, as if he was on his way to her but was interrupted by the sight of her. He stands there, in the middle of her living room, staring at her with the eyes she wondered if she'd ever see again. He's just there – without explanation. Ri Jeong-hyeok is in her living room, in Seoul of all places.

They take each other in wordlessly, for a full minute or two. She can't tell. This magical thing he does to time is worthy of poetry. The whole world comes to a standstill in his presence.

The realization sinks in in waves. He's tall – always taller than she remembers – and he's dressed in all black: black jeans, black long-sleeved crew-neck shirt, black socks. He looks different, a little the worse for wear, like he's been to hell and back once or twice. His hair is longer, not styled, falling across his forehead in soft dark tresses, and he's thinner.

"Ri Jeong-hyeok-ssi," she breathes, her initial shock wearing off. He's in her living room, and he's staring at her, at her baby bump under the canary yellow Valentino dress. "What are you doing here? How are you here?"

He lifts his gaze to hers. It's unadorned, pained, brimming with longing. The tears in his eyes trigger her own. "It's a long story," he says, and his voice is thick with it. "But I'm here for good. I have nothing, just my freedom, the clothes on my back and a Chinese passport." He holds out both hands with a self-derisive half-smile. Everything feels and sounds like a dream, but she doesn't think the Ri Jeong-hyeok of her dreams would look this tired. "You look good," he says softly, tenderly, and he can't seem to decide if he wants to stare at her face or her swollen stomach.

She places her black Saint Laurent sac-de-jour on the floor, wipes the tears off her cheeks messily, and stands her ground. Unlike their last reunion, she doesn't rush into his arms. Once bitten, twice shy. "You look different."

Jeong-hyeok glances down at himself, like he's trying to see what she sees, then he shrugs. "It's been a rough few months," he admits wryly.

"Seo Dan said…" she trails off, swallows past the monstrous hurt rising in her chest. "You got my letter," she states, and if he notices the chill entering her voice he doesn't say anything.

He nods. "Thank you for going to Paris and sending it."

"You're welcome," she says coolly, placing a hand reflexively on the firm curve of her stomach. She gives it a small rub where the baby kicks hard in protest now of how her heart is grinding against her ribs. "So that's what it took?" she asks, and she tries to sound more curious than wounded. But oh it hurts. Sharp, like rejection. It's ridiculous how she begrudges their baby his ability to bring his father crawling over the 38th parallel, cutting all ties with his previous home – something she clearly wasn't worth on her own.

Ri Jeong-hyeok has the audacity to look confused. "What do you mean?" When he takes a step towards her, she steps back reflexively, and it stills him.

"You came here for the baby." It's a statement of fact, and Se-ri says it without her voice breaking. She hates how badly she wants to throw herself into his arms and weep away the hurt he's caused. She hates that even when his face is sallow and weary, he's the best thing she's ever seen, and she's itching to brush away the hair across his forehead. She's never wanted anything or anyone more, in her whole life.

He watches her face closely and frowns at what he finds because he can discern her every emotion as easily as putting together a child's jigsaw puzzle. "Se-ri-ya," he sighs. "I came for you and the baby, our baby, yes." When she doesn't say anything, he walks towards her, stops less than a foot away, and visibly breathes her in, eyes closed. "I wish you could see what my life looked like for the past six months. I wish you could know how much I missed you, how I thought about you every second of every day, how sorry I am. What I did was stupid and selfish, and I don't expect you to forgive me or to want me. I wish I could take that day back and spend that last night we had talking about our plans for the future and how we were going to find each other again because we always do. I would give anything for a second chance of doing that day differently. I thought of a million better ways I could have handled it," he divulges, and the anguish on his face shakes her to the core. "I wish I was good with words, but I'm not." He looks away, over her head, blinks roughly against the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. It's funny he should say that. Jeong-hyeok doesn't say much, but when he does, she finds him poetic, a master of words that unravel her like a loose ribbon. His eyes drift back to hers, and somehow he's managed to mask all that pain behind an impenetrable façade. As good as he is at reading her, he's also good at shutting her out when he wants to. "I'm not here expecting anything from you," he says flatly. "You told Seo Dan you forgive me, but that doesn't mean you still want me. I understand that. I can just be a friend and a father to our baby if that's all you want, but I'm here."

She nods past the lump lodged in her throat, swiping away at the tears that won't stop coming. Of course Ri Jeong-hyeok has tortured himself. He looks absolutely miserable, and there's a part of her that wants to hold him and comfort him. Another part can't quite let go of the utter devastation of that morning she read his letter in their bed, alone. She can't just forget the torment of the past six months, but God how she wants to. Maybe her heart is too damaged.

"Please don't cry," he says gently, and his fingertips feather across her cheek. The contact sends a jolt of electricity down her spine. Oh Jeong-hyeok. "Can I hug you?"

"Yes," she whispers. When he wraps his arms around her, folding her into him like she's a piece of his body that's gone astray, it feels like home. She lets loose, sobs against his chest, and he holds her tighter. His lips pressed to the top of her head, he murmurs of apologies and love until her crying dwindles into sad sniffles.

"The baby's kicking," he says, voice full of awe.

"You can feel it?"

"Yes, right here," he smiles, sliding a hand between them to where her belly is pressed to his lower abdomen. "It was a hard kick."

"He doesn't like it when I cry."

Jeong-hyeok leans back to gaze down at her with so much feeling. "He?" he echoes.

"Yes," she confirms with a small tremulous smile. "I didn't think I'd get to tell you that in person."

He hugs her again, a little harder now. "A baby boy," he murmurs, more to himself than her as he finally releases her. "My mother said she thinks it'll be a boy," he says wistfully, something bittersweet clashing inside him, and he doesn't hide the way it flits across his features. More painful memories.

"She knew?" Se-ri prods, wondering about his parents' reactions to their predicament, to letting their only remaining son leave their lives for the foreseeable future. What happened?

"Yeah she knew," he tells her, and his sense of loss is palpable in the melancholy curl at the corners of his lips. "She made this happen."

"How? How are you here?"

He draws in a deep breath and starts to walk her through his journey to her living room. "I didn't know much about the details of their plan. I think that was by design because they knew I would hesitate. Umma had my father organize it with help from Pyo Chi-su. The day I received your letter, she saw the ultrasound and left me in my room to get some water. She didn't come back though. Chi-su and my father did. It was an ambush, and I was completely off-form," he muses, and as he speaks, he looks like he's somewhere else for a few seconds. "They injected me with something, a drug, that knocked me out. It made it seem like I had died. They announced my death, had a medical examiner declare me dead and held a funeral."

"You're dead?" she repeats, dumbfounded by the permanency of that decision.

"Officially, in North Korea, yes."

"Then what happened?" she presses.

"Do you want to sit for a bit?" he offers delicately, and she nods because she's overwhelmed, and all of her exhaustion sets in at once. He takes the liberty of holding her arm, and she's tacitly glad that he walks her to the couch and sits down beside her.

"And then?" she asks again, gratefully sinking back against the soft cushions.

He smiles at her impatience, and this one at least is not sad. It's amused, adoring like he's forgotten how tenacious she can be and the reminder tickles him. "I was unconscious for this part, but what I gathered is that Pyo Chi-su drove me over the Chinese border where one of my father's contacts took me in. I woke up in China in someone's hut in a village I can't name, with a letter from my parents, a news clipping of my death from The Pyongyang Times that claims an accidental overdose, and some cash. It took me days after waking up to recover from that drug," he recalls.

Impulsively, Se-ri reaches for his hand and curls her fingers through his with a light squeeze. "How did you get here?"

He stares at their hands for an interminable second, then he rubs his thumb against the back of her hand in a meltingly warm gesture. He's smiling again when he looks at her, and his dimples have the sway to erase the fatigue from his face for a moment. "That was the easy part. I took a flight from Shenyang to Seoul. I took a taxi here, and your lock still had my fingerprint registered on it, so I let myself in."

She smiles back, but she wants to know more and fires another question at him. "How long were you in China?"

"A couple of months. I had to lay low the first few weeks. That region of China has close ties with North Korea. I didn't want to risk being seen by the wrong people," he explains. "The story of my death was big news, because of my father's position and my brother's death a few years back. People were talking," he pauses to run the fingers of his free hand through his hair. "After that, it took me a few weeks to get documented and have a passport issued. The moment I got that passport, I booked the first flight I could find."

Their eyes meet and hold, and everything falls away like the season. "How brave of your parents to make that sacrifice," she says softly, her voice breaking with emotion.

"I don't think they could stand the sight of me moping around their house anymore," he jokes, but neither of them laughs. Everything sits heavily between them, years of longing, wounds still fresh, bruises tender, and this unexpected boundless freedom. She doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't seem to know either.

"You must be exhausted," she says finally.

"Let's call it a night," he suggests. "We'll talk again in the morning – if you want."

"I do," she murmurs.

"Good," he breathes out a sigh of relief, lets go of her hand and comes to his feet. "I'll walk you to your bedroom and let myself out."

Se-ri gives him an incredulous look. "And go where?"

He picks up a small black backpack she hadn't seen lying on the coffee table and slings it over his shoulder. "I'll stay somewhere close by."

"You'll stay here," she says firmly, in a tone that leaves no room for dissent. "I have two guest bedrooms. Well, one. The other is being remodeled into a room for the baby," she rambles, and it feels awkward to relegate the father of said baby to a bedroom two doors down from hers when he's seen her naked from every angle in her most intimate moments. It would feel more awkward to crawl into bed with him six months later, after the most emotionally intense conversation of her life. Outside of her internal debate, Ri Jeong-hyeok's jaw is set stubbornly, and he's shaking his head. "Please," she utters, and that quiets whatever protest he was going to make.

He lowers his chin in acquiescence. "Okay, I'll stay tonight," he concedes.

She stands up triumphantly. "Here," she gestures for him to follow her. "I'll show you the room."

Ri Jeong-hyeok is startled awake by a faint cry.

He sits up straight, sheets pooling around his waist, cold air whispering across his bare chest, and he only allows himself to be disoriented for a few seconds. He's in Seoul, in Yoon Se-ri's guest bedroom. It's the middle of the night, and the soft, mewling sound is coming from her bedroom.

Pushing the covers away, he shoots out of bed and hurries down the hall, towards her. The door to her bedroom is slightly ajar, and he bursts in without hesitation. Inside, it's calm, infinitely calmer than the racket in his chest. A dim yellow nightlight sits on her vanity table, illuminating her room just enough to tell him she's asleep, dreaming, tangled in her sheets, one naked long leg draped over what looks like a body pillow. Another sound slips past her parted lips. It's a moan, and what he construed as fear in his groggy state now sounds more wanton than anything. He feels himself flush with arousal as she twists around to lie on her back, displaying a flimsy ebony satin nightgown with a loose, dangerously low neckline. Her fingers curl into a fist, and he can swear she breathes his name.

The temptation to get a closer look is irresistible. He walks towards the bed slowly, carefully, but he trips on her slippers, and the quiet shuffle rouses her.

Her eyes snap open and instantly find him. They trail over his underwear, his bare torso to finally meet his gaze. Her pupils are two black pools, ringed by a pair of strangely bright chocolate irises. She's awake, and the color blooming on her face is too telling. Jeong-hyeok doesn't look away as he pushes past every remaining doubt and takes another two steps in her direction, lowering himself to the edge of her mattress in one uninterrupted movement. He brings a hand to her face, fingers gently pushing away the moist tendrils of dark hair clinging to her cheek. Her lashes flutter over her eyes like the wings of a butterfly, and her next breath trembles. This time when she opens her eyes, he sees unmistakable desire in them.

"Jeong-hyeok-ah –" The husky timbre of her sleep-roughened voice makes him press his fingers to her lips, silencing her.

He doesn't want to talk anymore, not right now. "Shh," he whispers. "Don't say anything," he beseeches her.

She doesn't, and when he runs his hand down her arm, she shudders under his touch, lips opening on a shaky breath. With a low groan, he leans down and touches his lips to hers. That kiss, chaste, soft, and then hungry, animalistic ignites a wildfire between them. Se-ri wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, her tongue pushing unspoken words into his mouth. She bites and licks at his lips, hurting and soothing in turns. It drives him crazy, and he gets greedy, hands claiming every inch of exposed skin, slipping under her nightgown to her waist, pushing her underwear down her thighs. She frees her legs of it as his hand finds her stomach. He curves his palm over the swollen, firm bump lovingly, breaking free of their kiss to stare down in wonder at where their baby sits pressed between their bodies.

"He's sleeping," she whispers tenderly, fingers threading through his hair.

"I'm not sure he can sleep through this," he growls, his breath hot against her neck. She whimpers and lifts her arms to help him pull the nightgown over her head. The darkness makes it hard to see properly, but the silhouette of her heaving breasts has him catching his breath. "They look bigger," he remarks and rubs his thumb across one hardening nipple. She moans, loud and long. "Good?" he asks quietly, kicking off his own boxer-briefs as he watches her writhe beneath him.

"Yes."

He does it again, pinches lightly, brings his mouth to her other breast. When he sucks the hardening peak into his mouth, she cries out and arches into him, her nails digging into his shoulders, the back of his neck. He gives her other breast the same treatment, swirling his tongue around her nipple until her hips start bucking into him, and she's making sounds so needy they make him impossibly harder. Jeong-hyeok thinks he might die of arousal before he actually gets around to doing anything.

He starts to trail wet kisses up her neck, to the sharp line of her jaw and whispers in her ear, "Turn away, onto your side."

She rolls onto her right shoulder, giving him her back, and he spoons her from behind, chest flush against her back, lips teasing down the side of her neck. "Please," she hisses, throwing her head back against his shoulder.

He stops teasing and slides his hand around her body, between her legs. She's so wet that they both moan when he touches her. "Were you having a wet dream?"

She hums something unintelligible, an affirmation, as his index finger finds and strokes her clit. The head of his erection is pressed against her, and it's taking every ounce of his willpower not to slide deep inside her wet heat. "Please," she whimpers.

"What do you want?" Restraint roughens his voice.

"You."

It's all the invitation he needs. He rocks his hips forward, penetrating her in one long, deep stroke until she's full, and nothing he remembers comes close to this feeling. Every memory or figment of his imagination pales in comparison to the real thing. He sets a slow, savoring rhythm, and it keeps them both keening, reaching. When she's had enough of his patience, she twists her torso to plant a torrid, messy kiss on his mouth, her harsh whisper ordering him to go faster and harder. He does both. "I love you so damn much it hurts," he pants into her ear, and his words coupled with that relentless cadence of his body driving into hers shatter her. It's just as well because he follows her over the edge mere seconds later, coming inside her quivering heat.

They spiral down together, their breathing fast and heavy, inharmonious in the gentle glow of her bedroom, bodies still curled together. Eventually, he moves onto his back and pulls her into his arms. She comes willingly, cheek pressed to his chest, one arm wrapped around his upper body, one leg curled over his – an apt replacement to her body pillow. He runs a warm hand down the curve of her spine, and she purrs against him.

"You never did fight fair," she says into the aftermath, her voice pensive even as her fingertips dance across his abdomen.

"Fighting this is hopeless. I've already learned that it's a losing battle," he tells her and feels her smile against his chest. "It looked like a good dream," he teases. "What was it about?"

"You," she confesses, unabashed even as his heart thumps madly against her cheek.

Jeong-hyeok clears his throat. "Do you have these dreams often?"

"Lately, yes," she sighs. He has the distinct feeling the tables have turned and he's the one being toyed with now. "Pregnancy hormones are driving me insane."

He tries to keep his tone neutral, clinical. "Sensitivity? Arousal?"

She hums. "Both."

He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he feels her laughter skim across his skin, warm air and shaking shoulders.

"Breathe," she advises coyly, so he lets out a large whoosh of air much to her amusement. "Where do we go from here?" she wonders.

"You tell me. I'll go wherever you want to go." The freedom, the ability to say that, intoxicates him.

Se-ri pulls back and slides up the bed, laying her head on the pillow next to his. He turns to face her, and she's so beautiful, it takes his breath away. "I let my guard down with you," she says, and her vulnerability is the most courageous thing he's seen. "And you hurt me when I never thought you would, not in that way. I always knew it would hurt when you left. Keeping it from me hurt in a different way."

"I know," he mutters. "I won't make excuses for it."

"I still love you, but you know that," she announces it so casually as if his whole world doesn't hinge on that statement. His pulse is erratic as she considers him for a few seconds. "I just need to learn how to trust you again."

"How?"

A small smile whispers across her lips. "We've done this all backwards, so now we start slow – dating."

"Dating," he repeats, like he's testing the word on his tongue, and it's hard not to smile back at her when her eyes do that thing like happy little upside down crescents.

"And no sex," she adds, an afterthought that wipes his smile away.

"No sex?" This time he's dubious, and he lifts a single disbelieving eyebrow.

She mutters under her breath something about him being too pretty for his own good and rolls her eyes playfully. "Okay, maybe some sex," she yields.

"So dating and some sex."

"It almost sounds normal…" she trails off and lifts her hand to lay her palm across his cheek, eyes glittering at him in the shadows. "Normal and boring."

"Yoon Se-ri, nothing with you is ever boring," he counters. "I want your normal and your crazy – all of it."

"You want everything with me," she reminds him.

"I do."

A/N: Reviews are love x