Chapter Text
In a quiet, wealthy suburb, nestled behind meticulously trimmed hedges and a pristine lawn, stood a grand two-story house that was as much a prison as it was a home. The house belonged to Wooyoung and his husband, Junseo, a man whose wealth and status were reflected in every corner of the property. Despite its luxurious appearance, the house lacked warmth, it was tasteful but cold, and personality-lacking décor was dominated by shades of black, white, and grey. Each piece of furniture, every decoration, was a tribute to Junseo's late wife and soulmate, Jiwoo, whose presence seemed to haunt the very walls. Junseo never bothered to throw out any of her belongings and never allowed Wooyoung to touch them.
At 25, Wooyoung felt like a stranger in his own home, constantly compared to the perfect image of Jiwoo, who had passed away young, leaving Junseo a bitter widower. Wooyoung had entered this relationship young and naive, seeking comfort and stability only 5 years ago. When he met Junseo, a now 56-year-old businessman, their relationship began as a sugaring arrangement — a way for Junseo to distract himself from his grief. Over time, Junseo insisted on marriage, promising Wooyoung a life of luxury and care. However, the reality was far from that; Wooyoung found himself trapped in a life of constant comparison and relentless criticism, forever living in the shadow of Jiwoo. He was never appreciated, cherished, or even held lovingly. The marriage was no different to that of his sugaring arrangement, except now he felt like a free live-in maid.
Wooyoung's days usually started before dawn. He woke up quietly, slipping out of the silk sheets, and padded down the wide staircase to the kitchen. The kitchen was a modern masterpiece, with granite countertops and state-of-the-art appliances that Wooyoung had become an expert at using. He began preparing breakfast, moving efficiently and silently, mindful not to disturb Junseo's sleep. Cooking had once been a joy for Wooyoung, a creative outlet - Now it was a chore he could hardly enjoy anymore, another area where he could never meet Junseo's standards.
As the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, Wooyoung set the table with precision, arranging the cutlery and plates just as Junseo liked. He made sure to toast the bread to the exact shade of golden brown that Junseo preferred. By the time Junseo descended the stairs, dressed impeccably for another day at the office, breakfast was ready.
Junseo barely glanced at Wooyoung as he took his seat. His eyes scanned the spread, and a frown immediately creased his forehead.
"This bacon is too greasy," he muttered, pushing his plate away slightly.
"And the coffee is weak. Why can't you ever get it right? Jiwoo used to make everything perfect, without fail.”
Wooyoung's heart sank, but he had learned long ago that arguing was pointless. He sat quietly across from Junseo, eating his own breakfast in silence. Junseo's criticisms continued, touching on everything from the cleanliness of the house to Wooyoung's appearance. Each word was a barb, a reminder that he would never measure up to his husband’s late soulmate.
When the insults finally ceased, Junseo stood, smoothing down his suit. "I don't know why I bother expecting anything better from you," he said, his voice cold. Wooyoung stood as well, following him to the door.
"Have a nice day at work," Wooyoung said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. Junseo didn't respond, only grabbed his briefcase and left without sparing him a glance. The door closed with a definitive thud, leaving Wooyoung alone in the large, empty house.
He returned to the kitchen, cleaning up the remnants of breakfast. Each dish he washed felt like another piece of his soul being scrubbed away. The silence of the house was oppressive, broken only by the clink of dishware and the rush of water. This was his life now — A cycle of cooking, cleaning, and enduring. Jiwoo was an ever-present ghost, haunting Wooyoung with her unattainable perfection. Yet, Wooyoung clung to a sliver of hope, a dream of one day finding his own soulmate that would make him feel seen and valued…
Even if he’d long given up on finding his own soulmate at this point, secretly, and he wouldn’t even admit this to himself, he hoped.
As he dried the last plate, Wooyoung looked out of the kitchen window at the well-kept garden. The sun was rising, casting a warm glow over the flowers he had planted. It was a new day, another chance to get things right. But deep down, he knew that no matter how perfect he tried to be, it would never be enough for Junseo. He sighed, setting the plate aside, and turned to face the emptiness of the house once more, setting about fixing all the ‘mistakes’ Junseo had pointed out earlier about his cleaning.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Wooyoung spent the rest of his day in his usual soul numbing routine The floors gleamed, though they had been spotless since morning. The counters were polished to a shine with not a single speck of dust daring to settle. He scrubbed the bathrooms, vacuumed the rugs, and rearranged the living room cushions with precision. His mind raced, anticipating Junseo’s inevitable complaints before they even happened.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the immaculate house as Wooyoung moved to the kitchen. He planned tonight’s dinner with his usual care — a gourmet meal of roasted lamb with garlic and rosemary, truffle mashed potatoes, and sautéed asparagus. Junseo was due home at 6:30 PM, and the timing had to be flawless. Wooyoung glanced nervously at the clock every few minutes, carefully plating the meal so it would still be warm and perfect the moment Junseo stepped through the door.
By 6:15 PM, the lamb was resting on the counter, perfectly roasted and exuding a savory aroma. The mashed potatoes were creamy, and the asparagus glistened with butter. Everything was ready. Wooyoung arranged the plates on the dining table, adjusting the silverware one last time. Then he waited, his heart in his throat, as the minutes ticked by.
6:30 came and went. The house was silent.
Wooyoung checked his phone. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing. He tried to stay calm, convincing himself that Junseo was just running late. Traffic, maybe. Or a meeting that went over time. But as 7:00 passed, then 7:30, and the dinner sat untouched, growing cold, anxiety gnawed at Wooyoung’s stomach.
By 8:00, Wooyoung began pacing. He toyed with the idea of texting Junseo, but immediately discarded it. He knew better than to reach out while Junseo was at work — interrupting him would only lead to more biting remarks. Still, a knot of frustration tightened in Wooyoung’s chest. Why couldn’t Junseo have just let him know? A simple text, a call, anything to keep him from worrying. But no, there was nothing.
The food, which had once filled the house with a rich, comforting aroma, now sat cold and unappetizing on the table. Wooyoung busied himself by reheating parts of the meal, making useless attempts to salvage what he could. The lamb went into the oven, the potatoes back on the stove, but by 9:00 PM, it was clear nothing could restore the original perfection he had so carefully crafted.
With every passing minute, Wooyoung’s frustration grew. He knew Junseo would be angry when he finally arrived home, and even though none of this was his fault, he would be the one to bear the outburst from it. The thought made him sick with dread. He sat at the table, staring at the now cold food, wringing his hands together. The minutes dragged on, the oppressive silence of the house amplifying his anxiety. By 10:30, Wooyoung couldn’t take it anymore. He climbed the stairs, his feet heavy, retreating to the bedroom where he sat on the floor near the bed, staring blankly at the wall.
His thoughts drifted to the letter . Without thinking, he opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled it out, the familiar weight of the paper in his hands. The letter he had received on his 18th birthday — a time, a small symbol, and nothing else. 00:00.
The letter was supposed to tell you when and where you’d meet your soulmate, but Wooyoung had only received a time, with no date or place. He didn’t know what it meant. At first, he had clung to the hope that his true soulmate would reveal themselves eventually, that he would understand the meaning of the letter in time. But as the years wore on, that hope faded, especially after he met Junseo. Now, staring at the cryptic numbers, Wooyoung felt nothing but a hollow ache. Somewhere, deep down, he still yearned for the connection that this letter promised — a soulmate, someone who would love him for who he was, someone who would see him. Not like Junseo, who never saw him.
Just as he was beginning to lose himself in these old thoughts, the front door creaked open downstairs. Wooyoung glanced at the clock — 11:00 PM. His heart sank. He hastily shoved the letter back into the nightstand drawer and hurried down the stairs, smoothing his shirt as he went. His frustration was boiling over, and he wasn’t sure he could keep it contained.
Junseo walked in, still dressed in his tailored suit, looking immaculate as always. He had a tired, irritated look on his face, as though the world had done him a great injustice by making him work late.
“You’re home,” Wooyoung said softly, trying to keep his voice steady.
Junseo barely glanced at him, his expression sharp and dismissive as he strode into the dining room. His eyes fell on the cold meal that had been sitting there for hours.
“What is this?” he snapped. “Dinner is ruined. Cold lamb, dry potatoes. Can you do anything right?”
Wooyoung clenched his fists at his sides, biting his lip to keep from lashing out. “I didn’t know you’d be late. I thought you were coming home at 6:30—”
“You should have known,” Junseo interrupted, his tone icy.
“Why didn’t you just reheat it properly? You had hours. Jiwoo would’ve made sure it was perfect regardless of when I got home. Why can’t you?”
The mention of Jiwoo, as always, was a dagger to Wooyoung’s heart. He swallowed the bitter retort that was rising in his throat, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“I didn’t know because you didn’t tell me,” Wooyoung said, his voice trembling with frustration. “I waited for hours. I tried to reheat it, but it’s not going to be perfect because it’s been sitting out. I’m doing the best I can, but it’s never enough for you. I can never be enough for you.”
Junseo’s gaze darkened, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. “Of course you’re not enough. You’re not Jiwoo. You’ll never be her. She was perfect, and you’re—”
“Don’t,” Wooyoung interrupted for the first time, his voice louder, stronger. “Don’t bring her up. I know I’m not her. I’ve been trying so hard for years, and nothing I do is ever good enough. You criticize me for everything — the cleaning, the cooking, the way I look. And I feel trapped, Junseo. I don’t even get to see my friends. I can’t invite them over because you won’t let me, and I never have time to go out. I’m alone all day in this house, just waiting for you to come home and tear me apart.”
Junseo’s face twisted in anger, but Wooyoung didn’t stop.
“I’m not a machine, Junseo. I can’t be perfect all the time, and I can’t be her. I never will be, but I’m here, and I’m trying.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Junseo’s voice cut through the air, venomous and cold.
“You’re pathetic. Complaining about a life people would kill for. I’ve given you everything, and this is how you repay me? By whining about how hard your life is?”
Something inside Wooyoung snapped. Without another word, he turned on his heel and rushed to the front door. He grabbed his windbreaker and shoes, his movements quick and desperate.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Junseo’s voice followed him, sharp with disbelief, but Wooyoung didn’t answer. He yanked the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, his heart racing, tears burning in his eyes.
He walked quickly down the dark, quiet streets, his breath hitching as the emotions overwhelmed him. His feet carried him to a small park a few blocks away, where he collapsed onto a bench under a tall oak tree. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and the stars twinkled overhead, but Wooyoung couldn’t bring himself to look up. Tears spilled down his cheeks, his body shaking with silent sobs.
For the first time, Wooyoung let himself feel the full weight of his sorrow and frustration. This was not the life he had dreamed of, and it wasn’t the life he wanted. All he wanted was to be seen, to be loved — but tonight, sitting alone in the park, it felt like that was too much to ask for.
As a young adult, it had seemed like a good idea to have a sugar daddy, a man who would pay all his bills and college tuition for just a few nights of pleasure. It even seemed like a good idea to marry that same sugar daddy, and maybe hope that his life would turn out even better. He’d go on lavish holidays with his man and his friends, he’d live a good life.
Except that was too good to be true. How silly he was to believe he deserved that kind of life.
The weight of his feelings coming to the surface at last was pressing down on him like an unbearably heavy blanket. The frustration and helplessness of not being able to take control of his life had finally spilled over. He had thought walking away from Junseo, from the house, would clear his head — but here he was, in the darkness of the park, feeling more lost than ever. His chest felt tight, his hands shaking with a blend of anger and sadness. And before he could stop himself, he was yelling, letting out a broken, incomprehensible stream of words that made no sense.
"Why can't anything just work out well for once?! Fuck my life!" he screamed into the night, his voice hoarse, cracking. There was no one around to hear him, no one to witness his breakdown. The emptiness of the park only made it feel more unfair — like he was screaming into a void, and no one cared. "I try so hard! I do everything! And it’s never enough. Never. Enough."
Wooyoung kicked at the dirt beneath the bench, his hands pulling at his hair in frustration. The words that came out were spaced out and incoherent, but the raw emotion behind them was evident. His tantrum dwelled from years of being dismissed, criticized and feeling like he wasn’t enough. And here, in the silence of the park and the watchful eyes of the stars, he could finally release it. He could finally fall apart because no one was watching.
Or so he thought.
As he hunched over, heaving, trying to pull himself back from his mental breakdown, a soft, unfamiliar voice interrupted the night.
"Hey, you okay?"
Wooyoung's head snapped up in surprise, suddenly aware of a figure standing a few feet away. The man was tall and muscular, his broad shoulders evident beneath the black tank top he wore. A baseball cap sat low over his face, shadowing his features in the dim light of the park, but there was a warmth in his voice that made Wooyoung’s chest tighten even more.
Before he could respond, the church bell from the nearby chapel struck midnight. The deep, resonant bell echoed through the quiet streets. Midnight .
Wooyoung froze, staring at the stranger as the bell continued to ring. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, as if time itself had paused in that instant. All the impulses were so overwhelming all at once — The clock striking midnight, the stranger appearing, the connection he couldn’t quite put into words.
For a few long, silent seconds, they stared at one another. Wooyoung felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, an inexplicable sensation crawling through him. He blinked, breaking the moment, and turned his face away quickly, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. His heart raced as he tried to shove down the emotions.
"I don’t need any help," Wooyoung muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to break down in front of a complete stranger. "Just… leave me alone."
The man didn’t budge. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice light and teasing. "You sure? You were kinda yelling at the air a second ago. Seemed like you could use a tissue, or, I don’t know, maybe an ear?"
Wooyoung huffed, refusing to look back at him. He heard the soft crinkle of a tissue pack being opened, and a moment later, a tissue was gently placed on his lap.
"I don’t need it," Wooyoung said flatly, pushing the tissue away. "I can take care of myself."
The stranger chuckled lightly. "I’m sure you can. But you also seemed pretty worked up, and it’d be kinda hard to just walk away when someone’s crying their heart out in the middle of a park, don’t you think?"
Wooyoung glanced sideways at the man, who had now taken a seat beside him, casually leaning back as if they were old friends chatting on a quiet night.
"What are you doing?" Wooyoung asked, bewildered by the stranger’s nonchalant attitude.
"Just sitting. Thought I’d keep you company," the man said, shrugging. "Looked like you could use it. No pressure to talk, though — we can just sit here, I’m cool with that."
Wooyoung stared at him in disbelief. "Why?"
The stranger tilted his head. "Why not? Can’t leave someone looking that sad all by themselves. If you want to vent, I’m all ears. If not, we can sit in silence. Either way, I’m here."
For a moment, Wooyoung didn’t know how to respond. It was such a strange situation — a man, a complete stranger, just… sitting next to him like this, offering him support without asking for anything in return. His defenses were up, but something about the man’s easygoing nature made it hard to stay guarded.
"You don’t even know me," Wooyoung muttered, pulling his knees to his chest and turning away again.
"True," the stranger said, smiling slightly. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you. So, what’s got you yelling at the stars tonight?"
Wooyoung hesitated.
He didn’t know why, but suddenly the words were bubbling up inside him, desperate to spill out. Maybe it was because the man didn’t seem to expect anything from him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t told Wooyoung what to do or how to feel. He simply waited, offering his presence.
Before Wooyoung realized what he was doing, the dam broke.
"It’s my husband," he blurted out, his voice shaking with fresh tears. "He’s… he’s awful to me. He treats me like I’m nothing, like I’m just some servant in his life. No matter what I do, it’s not enough. I’m never enough." His voice cracked. "I’ve been trying so hard for years, and all he does is compare me to someone I can never be… someone who’s dead."
Wooyoung felt his throat tighten, but this time, he didn’t stop the tears. He reached for the tissue the stranger had left on his lap and wiped his face, sniffling. "I can’t… I can’t live like this anymore."
The man’s expression softened, his voice quiet but steady. "Sounds like you’ve been carrying a lot, huh?"
Wooyoung nodded, his tears falling harder now. "It’s like no matter what I do, I’ll always just be second place to him. He never even looks at me like I’m… like I’m worth anything. I feel so alone."
For a few moments, the man didn’t say anything, just letting Wooyoung cry without judgment. Then, after a pause, he spoke again, his tone calm. "I don’t want to tell you what to do, because it’s your life. But from what you’ve told me, you deserve a lot better than the way you’re being treated. Everyone deserves to be seen for who they are, not who they’re not."
Wooyoung looked up at him, surprised at the simple yet still so meaningful words. He wasn’t used to anyone offering him support like this, especially not without any ulterior motives. The stranger didn’t pry or push, he simply sat there, offering him space to feel what he needed to feel and say what he needed to say.
"Thank you," Wooyoung whispered. "I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this…"
The stranger smiled softly. "Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to someone who’s not involved in your life. No judgment, no pressure."
Wooyoung nodded, wiping his face again. The night felt lighter somehow; the crushing weight of his loneliness easing just a bit. They sat there for what felt like hours, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. The stranger’s light-hearted jokes and easy demeanor eventually brought small smiles to Wooyoung’s face, lifting the tension from his chest and relieving his shoulders from the massive rock that had been there. They talked about random things — the weather, the stars, music, and little bits of life. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was exactly what Wooyoung needed.
By the time the sky had begun to turn the faintest shade of purple, hinting at the concoming dawn, Wooyoung felt lighter, more at peace than he had in ages. He learned that the stranger’s name was San, and that he worked as a florist nearby. He learned that his hobby was going on runs and going to the gym, so that is why he was out here at such an ungodly hour. There was something about him — his warmth, his calm, that soothed Wooyoung in a way he couldn’t explain.
"I should get home," Wooyoung murmured, standing up slowly. "It’s late… or early, I guess."
San stood up too, nodding. "Yeah, I’ll walk you. Don’t worry, I’m not going to stalk you or anything. Just making sure you get home safe."
Wooyoung let out a small laugh, feeling unexpectedly comforted by the offer. They walked in comfortable silence, San’s presence beside him both reassuring and calming. When they finally reached Wooyoung’s house, San stopped at the gate, giving him a small, lopsided smile.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" San said softly. "You deserve to be happy."
Wooyoung looked at him for a long moment, his heart feeling strangely full. He was about to turn towards the door when San cleared his throat, his voice gentle yet a little uncertain.
"Hey, uh... before you go, can I get your number?" San asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You know, in case you need someone to talk to again. Or if you just... want to. I wouldn’t mind hearing from you."
Wooyoung blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He hadn't expected this — The offer of something more than a fleeting encounter. But then again, this entire night had been unexpected. His instinct was to retreat, to put up the walls he had so carefully built around himself. But there was something about San — his quiet kindness, his patience, the way he listened without judgment.
"Yeah, sure," Wooyoung replied softly, waiting for San to pull out his phone and hand it to him. Afterward, he typed his number in and even went as far as to send himself a text message so he could have San’s number as well. “There you go. I sent myself a text, so I have yours, too.” He clarified.
"Thanks," San said, pocketing his phone again. "Really. Don’t hesitate to reach out. Even if you just want to complain about your day or, I don't know, talk about nothing."
Wooyoung smiled, a genuine one that he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. "I might take you up on that."
San grinned, his eyes crinkling under the brim of his cap. "I'll be looking forward to it."
They shared a lingering look, smiling at each other, and Wooyoung felt an odd sense of warmth settle in his chest — A small flicker of hope, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
"Goodnight, San," Wooyoung said, his voice quiet but sincere.
"Goodnight, Wooyoung," San replied, giving him a small wave before turning and walking away, disappearing into the early morning fog.
Wooyoung stood there for a moment, watching him go, before turning back toward his house. He entered quietly, the familiar darkness enveloping him once again. The house felt as cold as ever, but tonight, something was different. Junseo was already in bed, asleep, as if nothing had happened. The untouched dinner still sat on the table, cold and forgotten.
But tonight, for the first time in a long time, Wooyoung didn’t feel the usual weight of despair pressing down on him. He didn’t bother cleaning up the mess that was left, not caring about his responsibilities as basically a free live-in maid. Instead, he slipped into bed, the soft glow of his phone screen reminding him that he wasn’t completely alone anymore.
He had San’s number now. And, maybe — just maybe — that meant something.
As Wooyoung closed his eyes, he felt lighter. He felt a glimmer of hope that tomorrow might not be so unbearable after all.