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Age Sixteen:
The bell rang, sharp and sudden, slicing through the noise of chattering students like a blade. Yeonwoo flinched. His books clutched to his chest, he kept his head down and moved with the current of the hallway, letting the crowd pull him along like a leaf in a river.
He always walked this way – shoulders hunched, bangs falling into his eyes, footsteps as quiet as possible. It was easier not to be noticed when he became part of the scenery. But that day, something shifted.
A body collided with his – firm but not rough. His books tumbled to the floor with a soft thud, papers fluttering like startled birds.
“I’m – I'm sorry,” he said quickly, already lowering himself to gather his things. “I wasn’t –”
“It’s okay.”
Her voice was low and even. When Yeonwoo looked up, he froze.
She was beautiful in a way that felt a little unreal. Tall, with long, ink-black hair cascading over one shoulder and eyes the color of violets in moonlight – cool, still, and unreadable. There was something almost intimidating about how calm she was. Like nothing surprised her. Like nothing could.
She crouched down beside him, her hand brushing against his as they reached for the same notebook. Her fingers were colder than his.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, eyes still locked on his.
Yeonwoo’s breath caught. No one ever asked him that. Nobody except for his parents and Junhyuk.
He shook his head quickly. “N-no. I’m fine.”
She nodded, handed him his notebook, then stood up without another word. He watched her go, stunned by how easily she disappeared back into the stream of students.
That night, Yeonwoo lay in bed with his heart still stammering in his chest.
He didn’t even know her name. But he remembered her voice. Her face. Her eyes. The way she hadn’t laughed, or teased, or stared too long like most people did.
She had just… looked at him. Like he was human.
And somewhere between that moment and the next breath, he fell in love.
Age Seventeen:
It was supposed to be a joke.
A ridiculous skit for the school festival. A lighthearted performance that involved crossdressing and lip-syncing and a borrowed white dress with lace at the hem. Someone thought it would be funny to put Yeonwoo in it - after all, he was “pretty enough already.”
And Yeonwoo, too afraid to refuse and too used to playing along, said yes.
He stood backstage with trembling fingers and flushed cheeks, pulling at the sleeves that felt too tight and too wrong. A ribbon was tied in his hair. Someone had even applied a bit of lip tint. He could hear the audience roaring with laughter before he even stepped out.
When the curtain rose, he smiled like he was okay.
But he wasn’t.
Because this wasn’t the first time people had dressed him up and laughed. This wasn’t the first time they’d touched his face and said, “You’d be prettier if you kept your mouth shut.” He felt his stomach churn with every cheer, every camera flash.
But then - he saw her.
Haesol.
She was standing near the back of the auditorium, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. No smirk. No glint of amusement. Just her eyes, steady and still, focused only on him.
Yeonwoo didn’t know why, but that look gave him enough strength to make it through the performance.
Later, when the show was over and the crowd dispersed, he waited by the vending machines behind the gym building. His heart was pounding so loudly he thought it might rupture. His palms were damp. He still wore the dress, and his voice trembled when he spotted her walking by.
“H-Haesol!”
She turned, hands in her pockets, and walked over.
“Hello," she said, glancing at the outfit but saying nothing else.
Yeonwoo swallowed hard. Why was she always so beautiful?
“I like you,” he said, too fast, too soft.
Haesol blinked. “...What?”
Well shit, now he can't stop. “I... like you,” he repeated, eyes wide. “I know I’m… weird looking. I’m not really manly or tall or even slightly cool. But I like you. A lot.”
"... Why?" She asks - her tone unreadable.
"I - I don’t even know why, exactly. Maybe it’s because you don't hate me everytime I make myself look stupid in front of you."
There was a pause.
His hands curled at his sides. He prepared for her to leave, to laugh, to say she didn’t feel the same.
But she didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, she stared at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly in thought. Then she tilted her head.
“Do you want to get tteokbokki?”
Yeonwoo blinked. “Huh?”
“Tteokbokki,” she repeated. “You said you like me. That’s what people do after confessions, right? Go eat something together?”
He didn’t answer right away. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out. He looked so stunned she had to nudge his arm.
“Well?” she asked.
“I - yes. Yes!” He smiled so wide it made his cheeks hurt. “Tteokbokki sounds perfect.”
They walked side by side to the street cart near the station. He didn’t even notice the cold wind biting at his legs. She ordered for both of them without asking. He paid. She handed him a warm paper cup of rice cakes and said, “Don’t let it get soggy.”
They sat on the curb, sharing food under a streetlight that buzzed faintly above them. The silence between them was soft, not awkward. Comfortable. Familiar, already.
Halfway through the meal, Yeonwoo peeked at her and asked, almost afraid, “So… do you do this with everyone who confesses?”
She didn’t look at him. "If I did that, I'd be bankrupt.” He holds back his laughter. "You're special.
His heart nearly burst. He smiled down into his cup, cheeks still painted red. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t from shame. It was from happiness.
Age Nineteen:
The apartment was almost completely silent, save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old floorboards shifting beneath them. It was past midnight. Rain tapped lightly against the single-pane window as if knocking to be let in.
They sat on the living room floor, backs against the wall, a half-eaten cup ramen between them. It was the third one of the night. Neither of them had the appetite to finish it.
Haesol’s apartment was still mostly bare - no decorations, no framed photos, not even a couch. Just a lamp, a worn-out mattress in the corner, and now Yeonwoo’s favorite hoodie draped over a chair.
He had started staying over more often. At first, he offered it casually. Then out of habit. And now… it felt like this place was slowly becoming his too, just by existing in it beside her.
Yeonwoo watched her in the low light, knees drawn to his chest. She looked so composed, even now. Violet eyes fixed ahead, face expressionless.
But something was different tonight.
“Do you ever wonder,” she asked, “if your past will keep following you no matter how fast you run?”
He turned to her slowly.
“I used to think that I just had to get older,” she continued. “That once I became an adult, everything would just stop. That it would all be... less.”
Yeonwoo didn’t speak. He could tell she wasn’t finished.
“My father made me model when I was six,” she said. Her voice didn’t tremble, but her hand curled into a fist. “He said I was too quiet to be good at anything else. That at least this way, I’d be useful. He used to scream at me before photoshoots. Once, he broke a hairbrush against my back because I messed up my hair curls.”
Yeonwoo’s breath hitched.
“My mother hated me. Everything about me was a curse to her.” Haesol went on. “It was only natural, of course. She didn't want me, or my father.”
The air between them turned heavy. Thicker than silence.
She looked down at her hands. “I have hard time believing that any good came from my existence.”
Yeonwoo swallowed, his throat tight. “Haesol…”
She finally looked at him. And for once, she looked tired. Not just physically, but in her soul.
“I never wanted to say it out loud, especially to someone with a... normal family.” she whispered. “But I trust you.”
He blinked rapidly, then reached out and took her hand - fingers cold and stiff at first, then slowly relaxing into his.
“I trust you too,” he said softly. “So… can I tell you something?”
She nodded.
Yeonwoo looked down at the floor as he spoke, like the words were too heavy to lift his gaze.
“When I was younger, people used to call me things. Said I looked too much like a girl. That I was asking for it, with my face, with my voice, with the way I walked.”
Haesol said nothing, but she didn’t let go of his hand.
“Hyeong Jun, especially. Once, he and his friends cornered me in the bathroom and said I should just stop pretending and act like the girl I obviously was." His voice shook, but he kept going. "He took... so many pictures. And he just kept laughing. Had no problem punching me if I made too much noise."
“I tried cutting myself. Thought maybe death was the only way to make it stop. But when I looked in the mirror, I hated myself. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.”
His shoulders trembled.
“I used to think I deserved it. That maybe if I was different - less pretty, less soft, less me - it wouldn’t have happened.”
He didn’t even realize he was crying until Haesol gently pressed her forehead to his.
“You didn’t deserve any of it,” she said. Her voice was low, firm, certain.
Neither of them said anything more for a long time. They just stayed like that, in the dark, forehead to forehead, fingers intertwined. Two people, scarred in different ways, trying to believe they could still be whole. And in that moment, something passed between them - something heavier than words, yet far gentler. A kind of understanding that didn’t need fixing or saving. Only staying.
Only loving.
Age Twenty-One:
The apartment was a blank canvas. White walls, bare floors, and a single window that let in the morning light. Haesol had lived there for years, but it still felt like a temporary stop rather than a home. The silence was heavy, the emptiness palpable.
Yeonwoo stood in the doorway, a suitcase in one hand and a small potted plant in the other. He looked around, taking in the sparse surroundings, and then turned to Haesol with a gentle smile.
"Mind if I add a little color?" he asked, holding up the plant.
She nodded, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Just don't overdo it."
Over the next few weeks, the apartment transformed. Yeonwoo brought in soft cushions, warm blankets, and framed photos of their moments together. The kitchen began to smell of his cooking—sweet pancakes in the morning, spicy tteokbokki at night. Laughter echoed through the rooms, replacing the once oppressive silence.
One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Haesol turned to Yeonwoo, her expression unusually serious.
"You've changed this place," she said. "It feels... alive now."
Yeonwoo reached out, intertwining his fingers with hers. "It's not the place," he whispered. "It's us."
Age Twenty-Seven:
The rain had been relentless that day, painting the city in shades of gray. Yeonwoo and Haesol walked side by side, sharing an umbrella that barely shielded them from the downpour. Yeonwoo's shoes squelched with every step, his complaints about the weather filling the air.
As they reached a quiet intersection, Haesol suddenly stopped.
"Marry me," she said, her voice steady and devoid of its usual nonchalance.
Yeonwoo blinked, water dripping from his bangs. "What?"
"I want to marry you," she repeated, looking directly into his eyes.
Yeonwoo's heart raced. He had imagined proposing to her countless times, each scenario meticulously planned. Yet here she was, turning the tables in the most Haesol way possible.
"But I had a plan," he stammered. "There were going to be flowers, and music, and -"
"Too slow," she interrupted, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "So, will you marry me?"
Yeonwoo laughed, the sound mingling with the rain. He nodded, tears mixing with raindrops. "Yes. Yes, I will."
Age Twenty-Nine:
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the modest wedding venue. Yeonwoo stood nervously in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for the third time. His delicate features were accentuated by the soft lighting, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and anxiety.
In the adjacent room, Haesol was the epitome of calm. Dressed in a simple yet elegant gown, her violet eyes reflected a rare softness. She glanced at her reflection, then at the bouquet in her hands, and allowed a small smile to grace her lips.
The ceremony was intimate, attended by close friends and family. Junhyuk stood proudly as Yeonwoo's best man, while Im Nari and Chung Harang flanked Haesol as her maids of honor. The atmosphere was filled with love, laughter, and a few tears. Ok, fine. A lot of tears if they're counting his parents' reactions.
As the officiant pronounced them married, Haesol turned to Yeonwoo with an uncharacteristic grin. Without warning, she scooped him up in her arms, bridal style.
"Haesol!" Yeonwoo exclaimed, his face turning crimson. "Put me down!"
"Not a chance," she replied, carrying him down the aisle to the amused chuckles of their guests.
That night, as they lay in bed, Yeonwoo nestled against Haesol's shoulder.
"I couldn't imagine a life without you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Yeonwoo looked up at her, his eyes filled with emotion. "Then let's make sure we never have to."
Age Thirty:
The apartment was filled with the soft coos and occasional cries of newborns. Yeonwoo gently rocked a tiny bundle in his arms, his delicate features illuminated by the morning sun filtering through the curtains. Beside him, Haesol cradled their other child, her violet eyes fixed on the baby's serene face.
"They're so small," Yeonwoo whispered, awe evident in his voice.
Haesol nodded, her usual stoicism softened by the presence of their children. "They get that from you."
"Hey!"
Haesol smiled, brushing her fingers against their daughters. "She's quite the eater."
Yeonwoo chuckled, the sound light and joyful. "She gets that from you."
Haesol raised an eyebrow. "I'm not chubby"
"We'll see," Yeonwoo teased, earning a rare smirk from her.
As the days turned into weeks, the couple navigated the challenges of parenthood together. Late-night feedings, diaper changes, and lullabies became their new normal. Despite the exhaustion, their bond grew stronger, fortified by shared responsibilities and unconditional love.
One evening, as they watched their twins sleep, Haesol reached for Yeonwoo's hand.
"I was scared," she admitted. "Scared I wouldn't be a good mother."
Yeonwoo squeezed her hand gently. "You're doing amazing. They're lucky to have you."
She looked at him, vulnerability in her eyes. "I'm lucky to have you."
He smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "We're lucky to have each other."
The apartment, once filled with the laughter of children and the chaos of early parenthood, had settled into a tranquil rhythm. Yeonwoo and Haesol, now in their forties, found comfort in the quiet moments. Shared breakfasts, evening walks, and the simple joy of each other's company. Their twins had grown into independent young adults, embarking on their own journeys. The house, though quieter, was never empty of love.
They aged slowly, then all at once. Haesol’s hair grayed at the temples. Yeonwoo’s joints started to ache, but he smiled anyway. They went to parent-teacher conferences, anniversaries, funerals.
In their fifties, Yeonwoo's parents passed away, leaving behind a legacy of kindness and resilience. The loss was profound, but Yeonwoo found solace in Haesol's unwavering support. Her hugs and gentle reassurances meant everything to him. And so did the fact that he knew she loved them just as much as he did.
As they entered their sixties, the arrival of grandchildren brought new light into their lives. Yeonwoo's gentle nature made him a favorite among the little ones, while Haesol's quiet wisdom provided a steady presence. Their home once again echoed with laughter, a testament to the enduring cycle of love and life.
Yeseul passed in her seventies. Junhyuk two years after. They held each other, tighter each time someone was gone.
Time had taken such a toll on his body, but every loving gaze from Haesol made him feel ten years younger.
Age Eighty-Nine:
The house was quiet now. The laughter of children and the bustle of daily life had faded into memories, leaving behind a serene stillness. Yeonwoo and Haesol, both in their late eighties, spent their days in gentle companionship, cherishing the simple moments.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the room, Yeonwoo sat beside Haesol, their hands intertwined. Her once dark hair was now silver, her violet eyes still holding the depth of a thousand unspoken words.
"Do you remember," Yeonwoo began, his voice soft, "when you said you couldn't imagine a life without me?"
Haesol turned to him, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "I still can't," she whispered.
They sat in silence, the weight of their shared memories enveloping them. The room was filled with photographs, mementos of a life lived fully - each one a reminder to their enduring love. Sure enough, Haesol couldn't live a life without him. Passing away in her sleep a few weeks later was proof enough of that. Yeonwoo, though heartbroken, found solace in the legacy they had built together.
He received so many "get well soon" wishes, so many pitiful glances, but he paid them no mind. After all, he had more of a reason to look forward to his eventual death. Knowing that his wife was waiting for him on the other side was all the comfort he needed.
Yeonwoo's ninetieth birthday came a lot faster than he thought. His children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren surrounded him. Those little bundles of joy were kind enough to help blow out his candles. As the night went on, a sense of fulfillment flooded his chest. A feeling that last up until he went to sleep in his once, shared bed with Haesol.
"Look at what we've built together." He murmured, looking at the picture of them on their wedding day sitting atop his dresser.
On his ninetieth birthday, Yeonwoo passed away in his sleep, a serene smile on his lips with the picture of them cuddled close to his chest.
Age ____?:
A gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers and the warmth of the sun. Yeonwoo stirred, his eyes fluttering open to a sky so blue it seemed endless. He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings - a serene meadow, dotted with wildflowers, and a solitary tree standing proudly nearby.
He looked down at his hands, noting the absence of wrinkles, the smoothness of youth restored. Confusion flickered across his face, replaced quickly by realization. This was not the world he had known.
"Yeonwoo."
The voice was soft, familiar, and filled with emotion. He turned toward it, his heart catching in his chest. There she stood, Haesol, her violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her long dark hair flowing gently in the breeze.
For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of their reunion rendering words unnecessary. Then, with a choked sob, Yeonwoo rushed to her, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She held him just as fiercely, their souls reconnecting in a moment that transcended time and space.
"Turns out I couldn't imagine an afterlife without you either," she whispered, echoing the sentiment they had shared so many times before.
Yeonwoo pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands. "Now you don't have to."
They stood beneath the tree, the world around them fading away, leaving only the two of them, together once more.