The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the air as Seol Yoona pulled a tray of croissants from the oven. She carefully arranged them on a cooling rack, their golden layers crisp and delicate under her gentle touch. Outside, the rain drummed steadily against the windows, turning the quiet streets into a blur of dim lights and reflections.
The night was peaceful. Just the way she liked it.
Then the door swung open with a sharp chime, and the peace shattered.
Yoona looked up just in time to see a woman step inside, dripping rainwater onto the tiled floor. She was tall, with sharp features and dark, intense eyes that swept over the bakery as if she was checking for something. Her white shirt was soaked through, clinging to her frame—except for one area, where deep red bloomed at the sleeve.
Yoona froze.
The woman glanced down at her own arm, almost lazily, before exhaling. "Damn. Thought that stopped bleeding."
Yoona set the tray down with a little too much force. "...You’re hurt."
The woman smirked, stepping further inside. "That obvious?"
Now that she was closer, Yoona could see the exhaustion in her face—though she carried herself with a careless confidence, there was a tension in her posture, like she wasn’t used to standing still for long. The cut on her arm didn’t look deep, but the blood had seeped into the fabric, turning white into crimson.
"You should go to a hospital," Yoona said cautiously.
The woman gave a low chuckle. "Don’t like hospitals. Besides, it’s just a scratch."
Yoona hesitated. She didn’t know who this woman was, but something about her presence sent a shiver down her spine—not fear, exactly, but a quiet sense that she wasn’t someone who usually walked into places like Cloud Nine.
Still. She was hurt.
And Yoona had never been good at looking away when someone needed help.
With a sigh, she ducked behind the counter and pulled out the first aid kit. "Sit," she murmured, motioning to a stool by the counter.
The woman’s brows lifted slightly. "You always patch up strangers, or am I just special?"
Yoona shot her a look. "You’re bleeding on my floor. It’s bad for business."
The woman huffed out a laugh but didn’t argue. Instead, she slid onto the stool, watching with open curiosity as Yoona took out antiseptic and gauze.
"What were you even doing out in this weather?" Yoona asked as she carefully rolled up the sleeve of the woman’s shirt, exposing the shallow but nasty-looking gash beneath.
There was a pause, just a fraction too long.
"Bad luck," the woman finally said. "Got into a little... disagreement."
Yoona frowned. "With who?"
Another pause. Then, a smirk. "You ask a lot of questions, baker girl."
Yoona huffed. "I have a name. Seol Yoona."
The woman tilted her head slightly, as if considering that. "Yoona, huh?" There was something almost thoughtful in the way she said it. "Nice name."
Yoona tried not to feel flustered. "And you are?"
A grin. "Jinsol."
Just Jinsol. No last name. No explanation.
Yoona pursed her lips but didn’t push. Instead, she focused on dabbing antiseptic onto the wound, ignoring the way Jinsol tensed slightly under her touch.
"You should be more careful," Yoona murmured, wrapping the gauze around Jinsol’s arm with gentle precision. "You could’ve gotten seriously hurt."
Jinsol’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across her face before she schooled it back into amusement. "You’re a real soft one, huh?"
Yoona sighed, securing the bandage. "And you’re a real pain."
Jinsol chuckled. "Fair." She flexed her arm slightly, testing the wrap, then leaned back. "So, this place yours?"
"Yeah," Yoona said, glancing around Cloud Nine with quiet pride. "I opened it a few years ago."
Jinsol hummed, eyes trailing over the warm lights, the carefully arranged pastries, the little handwritten signs displaying flavors of the day. "It’s nice. Cozy."
Yoona blinked. That wasn’t what she expected from someone like her.
"...Thanks," she said, a little uncertainly.
Jinsol’s smirk returned as she glanced at the tray of croissants. "Now, do I get one of those, or is the first-aid service where your kindness ends?"
Yoona rolled her eyes but grabbed one, placing it in front of her. "Since you’re a paying customer now."
Jinsol pulled out a few crumpled bills, sliding them onto the counter with a smirk. "Gotta support small businesses, right?"
Yoona had the distinct feeling she was being teased, but she let it slide. Instead, she watched as Jinsol took a bite of the croissant, her expression shifting slightly—almost imperceptibly, but enough for Yoona to notice.
"...Good?" she asked.
Jinsol glanced at her, then leaned forward, resting an elbow on the counter. "Dangerously good."
There was something in the way she said it that sent an unexpected warmth creeping up Yoona’s neck. She looked away, clearing her throat. "Right. Well. Try not to get into any more ‘disagreements,’ Jinsol."
Jinsol grinned, finishing the last of the croissant. "No promises, baker girl."
And with that, she stood, adjusting her jacket before heading for the door.
Yoona watched her go, a strange feeling settling in her chest.
Something told her this wasn’t the last time she’d see Bae Jinsol.
And she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a very, very bad thing.
—
For the next few days, Seol Yoona tried to forget about the strange woman who had walked into her bakery late at night, bleeding and smirking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She tried to ignore how, for some reason, she kept glancing at the door whenever the bell chimed, half-expecting to see Jinsol’s lazy grin and dark, knowing eyes.
But when four nights passed without another appearance, she told herself it was for the best.
And then, on the fifth night—just as she was locking up—the bell rang.
Yoona sighed. “We’re closed—”
“I know.”
She turned to see Jinsol, leaning against the doorframe like she belonged there. Unlike before, there was no blood on her, but her shirt was still slightly damp from the drizzle outside. Her hair was a little messier, her jacket unzipped just enough to reveal a hint of the white tank top beneath.
Yoona’s heart did a weird little thing in her chest. Annoying.
She crossed her arms. “You again.”
Jinsol smirked. “Me again.”
Yoona exhaled. “Are you here for another first-aid session? Because I’m not running a free clinic.”
Jinsol chuckled. “Nah. Just here for the croissants.”
Yoona narrowed her eyes. “Right. And totally not because you have nowhere else to go.”
Jinsol’s smirk didn’t falter, but something in her expression shifted just slightly. It was gone in a second, though, replaced with amusement. “Maybe I just like the atmosphere.”
Yoona sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned back toward the counter, flipping the sign from Closed to Open with a shake of her head. “Fine. But if you’re gonna show up at weird hours, at least help out.”
Jinsol raised a brow. “Help? You mean, like… work?”
“Yes, work,” Yoona said flatly, already tying an apron around her waist. “You do know what that is, right?”
Jinsol placed a hand on her chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m very hard-working.”
“Mmm.” Yoona pulled out a tray of dough, setting it on the counter. “Then prove it. Here—help me shape these into rolls.”
Jinsol looked down at the dough like it was a foreign object. “…You sure you trust me with that?”
“No,” Yoona said, already demonstrating the motion. “But I figure I should put you to work since you keep showing up.”
Jinsol huffed out a laugh. But to Yoona’s surprise, she actually rolled up her sleeves and copied her movements—awkward at first, but with surprising patience.
Yoona stole a glance at her hands. They were strong, calloused. Not the hands of someone used to delicate work, but she was trying.
“…You’ve never done this before,” Yoona observed.
Jinsol smirked. “What gave it away?”
Yoona huffed. “You’re folding it wrong.” She reached over, guiding Jinsol’s fingers carefully. “Here. You need to press gently. Like this.”
Jinsol went still. For a moment, there was nothing but the warmth of Yoona’s fingers on hers, the quiet hum of the bakery, the soft glow of the kitchen lights.
Yoona suddenly realized how close they were.
She pulled back quickly. “There. Try again.”
Jinsol’s smirk deepened, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she copied Yoona’s motion—still clumsy, but better this time.
After a few more attempts, she finally shaped one properly and held it up. “Not bad, right?”
Yoona pursed her lips, trying to hide her smile. “Barely acceptable.”
Jinsol chuckled, but there was something in her eyes—something softer, almost… fond.
Yoona looked away.
“So,” Jinsol drawled, placing another roll on the tray. “You always make strangers work for their pastries?”
“Only the ones who mysteriously show up at my bakery in the middle of the night,” Yoona muttered.
Jinsol tilted her head. “What if I wasn’t a stranger?”
Yoona frowned. “What?”
Jinsol leaned slightly closer, her voice dropping just a fraction. “What if I kept showing up?”
There was something in the way she said it—like a promise, or maybe a warning.
Yoona swallowed. “Then I guess I’d have to put you on the payroll.”
Jinsol laughed, the sound warm and unexpected. “Dangerous offer, baker girl.”
Yoona rolled her eyes. “Right. Because clearly, working in a bakery is so risky.”
Jinsol just smiled, but there was something unreadable behind it.
If only Yoona knew.
—
Outside of Cloud Nine, Bae Jinsol was not the woman who fumbled with dough under Seol Yoona’s watchful gaze.
She was a ghost in the city’s underbelly, slipping between shadows, leaving nothing but whispered threats and the scent of cigarette smoke in her wake.
Tonight, she wasn’t in a warm bakery, teasing a pretty baker about croissants. Tonight, she was standing in a dimly lit alley, the cold bite of metal heavy against her back where her gun rested.
Across from her, a man groaned, slumped against the damp brick wall, his nose bloodied and swollen. Jinsol flicked the cigarette from her fingers, watching as the embers hissed against the wet pavement.
"See, I really hate when people make me chase them," she sighed, rolling her shoulders. "It’s exhausting."
The man spat blood, glaring up at her. "You—your people—don’t own this city."
Jinsol smiled, but it wasn’t kind. "Mm. That’s cute." She crouched down, resting her elbows on her knees, her dark eyes sharp and unreadable. "But let’s be clear, yeah? If you put your hands where they don’t belong again, I won’t be so patient next time."
The man flinched as she reached for him, but all she did was pat his cheek mockingly. Then she stood, dusting off her jacket like she hadn’t just beaten the hell out of someone in the middle of the night.
A few feet away, one of her gang—Haewon—leaned against a car, watching. "You’re in a good mood today."
Jinsol exhaled through her nose, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Yeah, well. Something like that."
Haewon raised an eyebrow. She’d known Jinsol for years, had fought beside her, had watched her turn from an impulsive street fighter into one of the most feared names in the city. She’d seen her angry, cold, indifferent.
But this? This was something else.
"You been sneaking off somewhere?" he asked, only half-joking. "You got some secret hobby I don’t know about?"
Jinsol smirked but didn’t answer. Instead, she tilted her head toward the car. "Come on. We’re done here."
Haewon watched her for a beat longer before sighing and following.
And as the city lights blurred past the car windows, Jinsol’s thoughts drifted—against her better judgment—back to Cloud Nine.
To warm pastries and the scent of sugar. To soft hands bandaging her arm without hesitation. To a pair of curious brown eyes, sharp but kind, looking at her like she was just another stranger, not a name that made people flinch in the dark.
Yoona didn’t know who she was.
And Jinsol wasn’t sure if she wanted her to find out.
—
The warehouse smelled like rust and gasoline, the kind of place where deals went bad and bodies disappeared. Jinsol stood near the center, shoulders loose, hands shoved in her pockets, but her eyes—sharp and calculating—missed nothing.
Across from her, three men sat at a table littered with open cash-filled briefcases and flickering cigarette embers. They weren’t from the city. She could tell from the way they held themselves—too eager, too reckless.
"You understand the deal," Jinsol said smoothly. "You bring your business through our territory, you pay the tax. Simple."
The man in the middle—Kang Seok, some wannabe player from out of town—leaned back, dragging his cigarette along the edge of the table. "You’re charging a lot for someone who hasn’t proven she can back it up."
Haewon, standing just behind Jinsol, tensed.
Jinsol, however, just smirked. "You’re cute, hyung-nim. Think I need to prove myself to you?"
Kang Seok chuckled, but it was the kind of laugh men gave right before they did something stupid.
And then he did.
With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a gun from under the table.
Jinsol was already moving.
The moment the metal gleamed, she sidestepped, fast, grabbing a nearby chair and shoving it forward. The legs caught Kang Seok’s wrist, knocking his aim off just as a shot rang out—missing her by inches, shattering a wooden crate behind her.
Haewon was a second behind her, drawing her own gun.
The warehouse exploded into motion.
Jinsol didn’t bother with a weapon—not yet. She surged forward, grabbing Kang Seok by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the table. The briefcases toppled, cash scattering.
"You really wanna play this game?" she muttered, pressing her forearm against his throat.
One of his men lunged at her. Jinsol spun, grabbing the guy’s wrist mid-swing and twisting it sharply. He screamed, dropping the knife he’d been aiming at her.
Haewon fired a warning shot into the air.
"Next one's in your skull," she warned, gun aimed at the last guy standing.
The room froze. Heavy breathing, the lingering smell of gunpowder.
Jinsol let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders. Then, just to make a point, she snatched Kang Seok’s discarded gun off the floor, unloaded it, and tossed it onto the table like trash.
"You’re alive because I’m feeling generous," she said, voice casual but edged with steel. She picked up a few of the fallen bills, fanning them out between her fingers. "Clean up your mess and pay up. Or next time, I will prove myself to you."
Kang Seok coughed, nodding hastily.
Jinsol grinned, patting his cheek. "Good boy."
Haewon exhaled, lowering her gun. "Can we not get shot at every time we make a deal?"
Jinsol just smirked. "Where’s the fun in that?"
And as they walked out, leaving chaos and fear in their wake, she thought—just for a moment—of a tiny, warm bakery, where the only things in the air were sugar and flour.
A different kind of danger.
And one she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle.
—
The rhythm of baking was familiar, comforting. Kneading dough, shaping pastries, watching the oven light glow as golden crusts rose to perfection—it was the kind of quiet she preferred.
Not that her life had always been this quiet.
She wasn’t just a baker. Not really.
She had once been Seol Yoona, the chef’s prodigy, studying under one of the best patissiers in Seoul. At twenty-four, she had been on the fast track to working in Michelin-starred kitchens. Her hands had memorized delicate sugarwork, intricate chocolate tempering, the precise balance of flavors that made critics write poetic reviews.
And then her parents died.
One car accident, and suddenly, she was alone.
She left Seoul, abandoned the world of fine dining, and moved to this quieter part of the city, where she opened Cloud Nine with what little savings she had left. A small bakery. Hers.
The work was hard, the hours long, but it was hers.
And yet, on days like this—when the early morning chill seeped into her bones, and the silence of the empty bakery stretched too far—she wondered if she had done the right thing.
Was this what her parents had wanted for her?
The bell above the door chimed.
Yoona turned, expecting a delivery. Instead, she found Lily, her best friend and only employee, yawning as she walked in.
“You look like hell,” Lily said by way of greeting, slinging her bag onto the counter.
Yoona rolled her eyes, wiping flour off her hands. “Good morning to you too.”
Lily grabbed a freshly baked scone from the tray, taking a bite. “Still losing sleep over that mysterious stranger?” she teased, mouth full.
Yoona stiffened. “I—what?”
Lily waggled her brows. “Oh, please. You’ve been distracted ever since that weirdly hot woman came in bleeding all over the place.”
Yoona scowled. “She wasn’t bleeding all over the place—”
“Uh-huh.” Lily smirked. “And she totally hasn’t been back, like, three times since then.”
Yoona opened her mouth, then closed it. She had seen Jinsol a few more times. Always at odd hours. Always smirking like she had some secret Yoona wasn’t in on.
And the worst part?
Yoona didn’t mind.
Lily leaned on the counter, studying her. “You ever think it’s weird? How she just shows up?”
Yoona hesitated.
Yes. It was weird. Jinsol never gave details about herself. She avoided simple questions—Where do you live? What do you do?—with a smirk and a change of subject.
And yet… Yoona wanted to believe she was just a night owl with a love for croissants.
“I don’t know,” Yoona admitted, frowning. “She doesn’t seem dangerous.”
Lily snorted. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”
Yoona sighed. “Look, she doesn’t talk about herself, but she’s… I don’t know. She doesn’t feel like a bad person.”
Lily raised a brow. “She gives major bad-girl energy, though.”
Yoona ignored the way her stomach twisted at that.
Lily shrugged. “Hey, your life. Just saying—don’t get too close until you know what you’re getting into.”
Yoona rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.
Because, deep down, a part of her knew Lily was right.
And yet, when the bell chimed again that night, and Jinsol walked in with that familiar lazy grin, Yoona didn’t tell her to leave.
She just sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and asked, “You want the usual?”
—
The night was cool, damp from an earlier drizzle, but inside Cloud Nine, it was warm—comforting. The scent of fresh bread and melted butter lingered in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of cinnamon.
Jinsol stepped inside, her usual lazy smirk in place, but there was something different tonight.
The world outside had been chaos. Blood on concrete, a gun still warm in her hands, a deal turned sour. But here? Here, it smelled like sugar, like something soft.
Like something she wasn’t sure she should have.
She shrugged off her jacket, draping it over a chair without much thought. The fabric was damp from the misty air outside, and underneath, her white tank top clung to her just enough to hint at the way her body moved—fluid, sharp, like someone used to a fight.
At the counter, Yoona barely spared her a glance.
"You’re late," she said, rolling out dough with smooth, practiced motions.
Jinsol smirked, stepping further in. "Didn’t know I was on a schedule."
Yoona sighed, wiping her hands on a cloth. "If you’re gonna keep showing up at this hour, you might as well work."
Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a clean rag and tossed it at her.
Jinsol caught it effortlessly, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Yoona gestured toward the tables. "Start wiping."
Jinsol should have complained. Teased her, maybe, said something flirty just to watch her get annoyed.
But instead, she just… did it.
She didn’t know why.
Maybe it was because of the way Yoona didn’t ask too many questions. Maybe it was because the bakery was warm, safe in a way Jinsol wasn’t used to.
Or maybe it was because Yoona was looking at her differently now.
Not suspiciously. Not warily.
But… with something else. Something Jinsol couldn’t quite place.
And that? That was dangerous.
Yoona didn’t know what Jinsol was.
Didn’t know that only two hours ago, Jinsol had a man begging at her feet in a dark alley. That her fists were still aching from the impact of bone against bone.
Yoona had only seen her like this—half-dressed, lazy smirk, pretending to be some regular nobody wandering in for a midnight snack.
Jinsol exhaled through her nose, shaking off the thought, and got to work.
Yoona wasn’t watching her.
At least, she kept telling herself she wasn’t.
But it was impossible not to notice.
Jinsol moved like someone who had nothing to fear. Her arms, toned in a way that came from something real rather than a gym, flexed slightly with each swipe of the rag. The dim lighting of the bakery cast shadows along the faint scars on her skin—small, healed-over marks Yoona had never noticed before.
She wanted to ask.
But she didn’t.
Because it wasn’t her business. And because Jinsol wasn’t her problem.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
Yoona turned back to her work, focusing on kneading the dough. The motion was automatic—press, fold, turn. But her mind wasn’t on the bread.
Jinsol had been here a few times now. Never at normal hours. Never talking much about herself. And the worst part?
Yoona didn’t mind.
Which was a problem.
"Something on your mind, baker girl?"
Yoona flinched, nearly dropping the dough.
Jinsol was closer now, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, smirking in that way that made Yoona’s skin heat for no good reason.
"No," Yoona said quickly, looking back at the dough.
Jinsol tilted her head. "You sure? You keep staring."
Yoona did not flush. "I wasn’t staring."
Jinsol chuckled. "Right. Must’ve been my imagination, then."
Yoona exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm.
This was fine.
This was just some annoying, overly charming woman who showed up at weird hours and flirted too much.
That was all.
"Just dry off before you catch a cold," Yoona muttered, kneading the dough a little harder.
Jinsol smirked, stretching her arms above her head, causing her tank top to ride up just slightly, just enough for Yoona to see the defined lines of her abdomen before she quickly looked away.
"You worried about me?" Jinsol teased.
Yoona refused to react. "No. I just don’t want you sneezing near the bread."
Jinsol laughed, loud and genuine, and Yoona hated how it made her chest feel light.
There was something too easy about this.
Something about Jinsol’s presence that felt like standing too close to a flame.
And Yoona wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull away or step closer.
Yoona shoved the tray into the oven, trying to shake off whatever this was.
When she turned back, Jinsol was watching her again—but not in the way she usually did.
It wasn’t teasing.
It wasn’t flirtatious.
It was just… watching.
Like she was seeing something Yoona didn’t understand.
And then, before Yoona could say anything, Jinsol reached for her—just the lightest brush of fingers against her cheek.
"You had flour," Jinsol murmured.
Yoona felt her pulse jump.
For a second—just one—she thought Jinsol might say something else. Do something else.
But she didn’t.
She just stepped back, smirking again, like nothing had happened.
Yoona swallowed. Dangerous.
This was dangerous.
She turned away, pressing a hand to her chest like that would steady the pounding inside.
And behind her, Jinsol just kept smiling, like she knew.
Like she had already won.
—
Another night, another visit from Jinsol.
Yoona hated this.
Not this—not the warmth of the bakery, not the scent of fresh pastries in the air, not the hum of the city settling into its quietest hours.
She hated her.
Bae Jinsol.
Jinsol, who strolled in at odd hours like she belonged here. Jinsol, who flirted just enough to make Yoona’s pulse stutter but never enough to make it serious. Jinsol, who was dangerous, but not in any way Yoona could properly name.
And worst of all?
Jinsol, who was currently standing way too close behind her, watching over her shoulder as she worked.
Yoona exhaled sharply, trying to focus on anything but the heat of Jinsol’s presence. "Do you always stand this close to people, or am I just lucky?"
Jinsol smirked. "Depends. Do you like it?"
Yoona let out a dry laugh. "You’re unbelievable."
"And yet," Jinsol murmured, "you never tell me to leave."
Yoona tensed. Because that was true, wasn’t it?
Jinsol was not supposed to be part of her life. She was a question mark—an unsolved problem. Yoona should have set boundaries. Should have told her to stop coming.
But she never did.
Instead, she let Jinsol linger.
And Jinsol knew it.
Yoona turned slightly, meeting her gaze. Jinsol’s eyes—deep, unreadable—were watching her too closely. Studying her like a puzzle she was trying to figure out.
"You’re in the way," Yoona said, voice quieter now.
Jinsol didn’t move. If anything, she leaned closer, just slightly, her breath warm against Yoona’s ear. "You sure about that?"
Yoona swallowed.
Her pulse was too fast.
Her skin was too hot.
This was nothing. This was stupid.
She grabbed the tray she had just finished preparing and took a deliberate step away, putting much-needed space between them. "Yes. Go be useless somewhere else."
Jinsol chuckled, finally backing off, like she’d won something. "Cold, baker girl. Real cold."
Yoona didn’t answer. She just shoved the tray into the oven a little harder than necessary.
Because if she let herself acknowledge what almost happened, she might do something stupid.
Like let Jinsol get even closer.
The night stretched on.
Jinsol, true to form, made herself at home, lounging in a chair by the counter while Yoona worked.
It should have been annoying.
It was annoying.
And yet… the bakery felt empty when Jinsol wasn’t there.
Yoona didn’t want to think about what that meant.
Instead, she focused on the dough in front of her, shaping soft, even folds.
"You ever get tired of it?" Jinsol asked suddenly.
Yoona frowned, not looking up. "Tired of what?"
Jinsol gestured vaguely. "This. The routine. The quiet."
Yoona hesitated.
Because yes.
Because sometimes.
Because on some nights, she felt trapped by the stillness, haunted by the dreams she had abandoned to be here.
But admitting that to Jinsol—someone who never seemed to stay in one place, someone who carried secrets like they were stitched into her skin—felt like giving her something too real.
So instead, she said, "No. I like it."
Jinsol tilted her head, studying her. "Liar."
Yoona’s hands stilled.
Jinsol smirked, but there was something softer underneath it now. "You could’ve worked anywhere, right? Some fancy place in Seoul, some big-name restaurant. But you’re here. Why?"
Yoona’s throat tightened. "Because I want to be."
Jinsol hummed. "Mm. I think you’re hiding."
Yoona stiffened. "And I think you’re projecting."
Jinsol grinned, but there was something sharper in it this time. "Maybe."
A beat of silence.
Then Jinsol leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, too close again.
"Tell me something true," she said, voice quieter now.
Yoona swallowed. "Why?"
Jinsol shrugged. "Because I think you’re tired of lying. Even to yourself."
Something in Yoona snapped.
She slammed the dough down hard, turning to face Jinsol fully, frustration burning in her chest. "You don’t know anything about me."
Jinsol didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even blink.
She just looked at Yoona—really looked at her.
And then, to Yoona’s absolute fury, she smiled.
"Not yet," Jinsol murmured. "But I will."
Yoona’s breath caught.
Because it wasn’t a threat.
It wasn’t even a challenge.
It was just… a promise.
And Yoona—despite everything—wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop her.
—
It was late. Even by Jinsol’s standards.
Yoona had locked up nearly an hour ago, cleaning up the last of the flour-dusted countertops, humming softly to herself. The warm glow of the streetlights outside flickered against the bakery’s glass windows, casting long shadows across the empty tables.
She should have gone upstairs to her tiny apartment by now.
Should have crawled into bed, let the exhaustion pull her under.
But something was off.
Jinsol hadn’t shown up tonight.
And Yoona had no reason to care.
None at all.
Except… she did.
Because Jinsol had been here almost every night. Always at the same hour, strolling in with that lazy smirk, like she had all the time in the world.
And yet, tonight? Nothing.
Yoona shook her head, frustrated at herself. It wasn’t her business. Jinsol was an annoyance, a puzzle she had no reason to solve. If she didn’t show up, good. It meant peace.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
And then—
A sound.
Faint, barely there. A shuffle of movement just outside the bakery.
Yoona froze, heart kicking up in her chest.
She moved cautiously, creeping toward the door, peering through the glass.
And then she saw her.
Jinsol.
Slumped against the side of the building, breathing hard.
Her jacket was missing, her white tank top sticking slightly to her skin. And in the dim glow of the streetlights, Yoona saw it—the unmistakable dark stain spreading along her side.
Blood.
Yoona’s stomach dropped.
She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
She unlocked the door fast, stepping out into the cool night air.
"Jinsol."
Jinsol’s head jerked up at the sound of her voice.
And for the first time since Yoona had met her, her cocky smirk was gone.
Instead, she looked—vulnerable.
Tired.
And then, just like that, the smirk was back—forced, but there. "Hey, baker girl." Her voice was rough, weaker than usual. "Miss me?"
Yoona ignored the way her chest tightened and grabbed her arm, pulling her up before she could argue.
"Inside. Now."
Jinsol let out a soft chuckle but didn’t resist.
That worried Yoona more than anything.
Jinsol winced as Yoona eased her onto one of the bakery chairs, hands gentle but movements sharp with frustration.
"What happened?" Yoona demanded.
Jinsol exhaled, tipping her head back. "Relax. Just a scratch."
Yoona’s jaw clenched. She grabbed a towel, pressing it against the wound despite Jinsol’s attempt to wave her off.
Jinsol hissed but didn’t push her away.
Yoona, however, wasn’t done.
Because now that she was looking closer, she could see the details she had been ignoring for weeks.
The faint bruises that never seemed to fade.
The callouses on her hands, the kind that didn’t come from an office job or an easy life.
The way she always moved like she was ready for a fight.
Yoona’s stomach twisted.
She had known something was off.
But now, with blood on her hands, she couldn’t pretend anymore.
Jinsol winced as Yoona dabbed antiseptic onto the cut on her arm, her sharp inhale betraying the fact that, yes, it did sting like hell.
"Stop squirming," Yoona scolded, her voice firm but gentle.
Jinsol smirked despite the pain, leaning back in the chair. "Not my fault you’re taking your sweet time."
Yoona shot her a glare before returning to the wound, carefully pressing a fresh gauze pad against it. She was so focused, her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers soft but steady.
Jinsol could feel the warmth of her touch, the way her fingertips barely grazed against her skin.
It was distracting.
Too distracting.
Jinsol tilted her head, watching her. "You always this gentle?"
Yoona huffed. "Not when my patient is being annoying."
Jinsol chuckled, but before Yoona could pull away, she moved.
Fast.
Her hands grabbed Yoona’s waist, pulling her in with little effort.
Yoona gasped as she stumbled forward, her hands instinctively landing on Jinsol’s shoulders for balance.
And then—
Jinsol shifted, guiding her down until she was sitting on her lap.
Yoona froze.
Her breath hitched as she found herself suddenly pressed against Jinsol, her knees on either side of the chair, her face inches from hers.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Wh-What are you—?"
Jinsol smirked, her grip on Yoona’s waist still firm but not forceful.
"Figured this would make it easier for you," she murmured.
Yoona’s heart hammered in her chest.
Jinsol’s gaze was dark, unreadable, flickering between her eyes and her lips.
Too close.
Too warm.
And too much.
Yoona swallowed hard, trying to focus. "I swear, if you don’t sit still, I’ll—"
Jinsol raised an eyebrow, her lips curling. "You’ll what?"
Yoona clenched her jaw, her hands gripping Jinsol’s shoulders a little tighter. "I’ll make this hurt more than it needs to."
Jinsol chuckled, but didn’t let go. "You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?"
Yoona’s entire face burned.
"Jinsol," she warned.
Jinsol leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "Yoona."
Yoona hated how her name sounded in her voice.
Or maybe she didn’t.
But she wasn’t about to admit that.
With a deep breath, she forced herself to focus, fingers shaking slightly as she resumed pressing the gauze against Jinsol’s wound.
Jinsol grinned, finally letting her do her work.
But even as Yoona finished treating her—
Jinsol didn’t let go.
Not until Yoona finally mustered the courage to push herself off, muttering, "You’re impossible."
Jinsol just smirked.
"Yeah?" She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "But you’re still here."
Yoona had nothing to say to that.
And Jinsol knew it.
"Jinsol," she said, voice quieter now. "What do you do?"
Jinsol’s gaze flickered—just for a second. And then the smirk was back, but weaker.
"You sure you wanna know?"
Yoona didn’t blink. "Yes."
Jinsol exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "You should really stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
Jinsol’s eyes locked onto hers. "Like I’m someone worth saving."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Yoona swallowed, throat tight. "You’re bleeding in my bakery. I think it’s too late for that."
Jinsol let out a low chuckle, but there was something tired in it. Something that made Yoona’s chest ache.
For a long moment, she didn’t speak.
Then, finally—quietly—she said, "I’m not a good person, Yoona."
Yoona’s breath hitched.
Because Jinsol never said her name.
It was always baker girl. Always teasing, always at a distance.
But now?
Now, she sounded… different.
Closer.
Yoona’s heart was pounding.
She should have pulled away.
Should have told Jinsol to leave, to never come back.
Instead, she pressed the towel more firmly to her side, voice steady despite the storm inside her.
"Yeah?" she murmured. "Well, I’m not asking you to be."
And for the first time, Jinsol looked like she didn’t know what to say.
—
Jinsol exhaled, watching the glow from Yoona’s upstairs window flicker slightly as she moved around inside.
She should leave.
She had already overstayed—bleeding out on Yoona’s chair, letting her patch her up, letting her in.
It was a mistake. A weakness.
And yet, she stood there for another minute before finally turning away.
The streets were mostly empty at this hour, the city humming softly in the distance. Jinsol walked slowly, one hand pressing against her side as the bandage did its job. She needed a smoke. A drink. Something to settle the storm in her chest.
But she didn’t even make it half a block before a sharp voice cut through the night.
"Are you out of your damn mind?"
Jinsol barely had time to react before Haewon—her second-in-command, the only person who had the nerve to talk to her like this—stepped out from the shadows.
She looked furious.
Jinsol sighed, already regretting this encounter.
"Not now, Haewon."
But Haewon wasn’t the type to back down.
"Not now?" she repeated, stalking closer. "You pick a fight with the Baek crew, get yourself stabbed, and then what? Instead of coming to us, instead of handling it like a professional, you run off to some bakery girl?"
Jinsol rolled her shoulders, jaw tightening. "She’s not just some random girl."
And that was a mistake.
Because the second she said it, Haewon’s expression shifted—the fury still there, but now mixed with something colder.
"Oh," Haewon said slowly, arms crossing over her chest. "I see. You’re serious about this one."
Jinsol didn’t answer.
Which, in itself, was an answer.
Haewon let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair like she was losing patience. "Do you even realize how reckless you’re being?"
Jinsol shoved her hands into her pockets, expression unreadable. "It wasn’t planned."
"That’s worse," Haewon snapped. "That’s so much worse, Jinsol."
Jinsol exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm. She had been here before, with Haewon scolding her like an overbearing sister. It was a conversation they’d had more than once—usually after Jinsol made a move Haewon didn’t approve of.
But this time?
This time, it felt different.
Because Haewon wasn’t just annoyed. She was genuinely worried.
And that pissed Jinsol off.
"I’m fine," she muttered, shifting her weight.
Haewon scoffed. "Are you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re bleeding out over a girl who has no idea who you are."
Jinsol bristled. "That’s none of your business."
Haewon stepped closer, voice lowering. "Like hell it isn’t. Do you even hear yourself? You’ve never let anyone get close before. Not once. And now you’re willing to risk everything for some woman who bakes bread?"
Jinsol’s jaw tightened. "It’s not like that."
"Oh, really?" Haewon tilted her head. "Then what is it like?"
Jinsol didn’t know how to answer that.
Because she didn’t have a name for it.
For the way Yoona’s touch lingered in her mind long after she left.
For the way Yoona looked at her, like she was someone worth knowing.
For the way she felt something—something sharp and terrifying—every time she thought about never seeing her again.
Haewon studied her, then exhaled sharply. "Look. I’m saying this because I give a damn about you. You think the Baek crew isn’t watching? You think they won’t dig up everything about you, including her?"
Jinsol’s stomach twisted.
Because Haewon was right.
She had enemies.
And if they found out about Yoona—
She shoved the thought away.
Haewon sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You’re making a mistake. And you know it."
Jinsol looked past her, staring down the empty street.
A mistake.
Yeah, she probably was.
But it was already too late.
She couldn’t walk away.
Not now.
Haewon must have seen something in her expression, because she swore under her breath. "God, you’re impossible."
Jinsol smirked. "That’s why you love me."
Haewon glared, but there was something softer underneath it. "I swear, if you drag that girl into this mess—"
"I won’t," Jinsol cut in. Too fast. Too defensive.
Haewon’s gaze narrowed. "You can’t promise that."
Jinsol didn’t answer.
Because she knew Haewon was right.
Again.
She didn’t say another word as she turned and walked away, Haewon’s warning ringing in her ears.
But when she passed by the bakery again—when she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at Yoona’s window—
She knew.
She was already in too deep.
And there was no turning back now.
—
Jinsol’s breath came in ragged gasps, her fists aching from the relentless impact.
The alley behind the old warehouse was a mess—bodies on the ground, blood splattered on the pavement, the faint flicker of a broken streetlight barely illuminating the chaos.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tasting blood. Her side throbbed from where a knife had almost caught her, and her knuckles were torn raw from the fight.
But she wasn’t down.
Not yet.
The last man standing—Baek’s right-hand man—grinned through a split lip, rolling his shoulders like he wasn’t already half-dead.
"Still standing, huh?" he muttered, cracking his neck. "They said you were tough, but damn."
Jinsol exhaled sharply, shaking out her fists. "And they said you were good," she taunted, tilting her head. "Guess we were both lied to."
The man just laughed, wiping his own blood from his cheek.
And that’s when Jinsol saw it.
That look.
The wrongness in his expression.
The way he was too comfortable.
Like he didn’t need to win.
Like he was just wasting time.
Her stomach dropped.
This fight—this whole thing—wasn’t about taking her down.
It was about keeping her here.
Jinsol froze for half a second, mind racing.
Her phone was gone, knocked out of her pocket during the scuffle. And if this was a distraction, if they were keeping her occupied—
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Yoona.
She didn’t hesitate.
Jinsol lunged forward, feinting left before slamming her elbow into the man’s jaw. He staggered, disoriented, but before he could recover, she grabbed his collar and drove his head into the brick wall behind him.
The sickening crack barely registered.
Jinsol let him crumple to the ground, already turning on her heel.
And then she ran.
Jinsol barely noticed the pain as she sprinted through the city, ignoring the burning in her lungs, the blood dripping down her temple.
Nothing mattered except getting to Yoona.
She can’t be gone.
She pushed herself faster, weaving through empty streets, ignoring the way her vision blurred at the edges.
By the time she reached the bakery, her worst fear was already waiting for her.
The front door was wide open, swinging slightly in the wind.
Jinsol skidded to a stop, her stomach twisting violently.
Glass crunched under her boots—shattered windows. Inside, chairs were overturned, the scent of sugar and cinnamon tainted by something darker.
Her fists clenched.
This was wrong.
So, so wrong.
"Yoona!" she shouted, stepping inside. "Yoona!"
Silence.
She moved forward, scanning the room. There was a single baking tray lying on the ground, cookies scattered around it.
Like someone had dropped it in a hurry.
Jinsol felt her chest tighten.
And then—
She saw it.
A single piece of paper, resting on the counter.
She forced herself to walk toward it, every step feeling like she was walking into hell itself.
Her hands shook as she picked it up, scanning the words—
"You took something from us. Now we take something from you. Come find us."
Jinsol’s mind went blank.
For a second, all she could hear was the faint ringing in her ears.
She read the note again. And again. And again.
As if the words might change.
As if this was just some horrible mistake.
But it wasn’t.
The note slipped from her fingers.
Yoona was gone.
And it was her fault.
She had let Yoona too close.
She had been so damn stupid, letting herself believe—even for a second—that she could keep this separate.
And now Yoona was paying the price.
Jinsol closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.
Then she opened them.
And when she did—
There was no hesitation.
No fear.
Just rage.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching for a weapon. Her vision narrowed, sharpened, the familiar cold calculation taking over.
They want me to come? Fine.
She would.
And she would burn them all to the ground.
She turned on her heel, already running back toward the streets.
But before she could make it far, a voice stopped her.
"Jinsol!"
She whirled around, half-expecting an enemy—
But instead, it was Haewon.
She was breathless, like she’d been running. Like she already knew.
Jinsol barely managed to speak. "They took her."
Haewon’s expression darkened instantly. "I know. We’ve been tracking them. They moved fast."
Jinsol’s jaw clenched. "Where?"
Haewon hesitated. "Jinsol—"
"Where."
A muscle in Haewon’s jaw twitched. But then, finally—
She gave her the answer.
Jinsol exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
And then she turned, walking toward the fight she knew was waiting.
She didn’t care how many people were in her way.
She didn’t care how bloody this would get.
She didn’t care what it cost.
Yoona was hers.
And she was going to get her back.
No matter what it took.
—
Yoona sighed as she leaned against the counter, rolling the stiffness out of her shoulders. The bakery was filled with the warm, comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla, the ovens still cooling after hours of preparation.
It was late—far too late for her to still be here—but she liked the quiet. The world outside slowed down, and in this space, she could focus on the simple, familiar rhythm of baking.
She wiped her hands on her apron, glancing at the neatly stacked trays of pastries for tomorrow’s opening. Everything was ready.
Except she wasn’t.
Her mind was somewhere else.
Or rather, on someone else.
Jinsol.
Yoona exhaled sharply, irritated with herself.
It had been a week since she found Jinsol injured in the bakery, since she carefully patched up her wounds, since she walked her home like she was something fragile.
But Jinsol wasn’t fragile.
She was tough, dangerous, carrying an edge that most people would have run from.
Yoona should have been scared.
Instead, she found herself waiting—glancing at the door more often than she cared to admit, expecting to see Jinsol leaning against the frame with that lazy smirk, those dark, unreadable eyes.
But she never came back.
Yoona bit her lip, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.
Maybe that was for the best.
Maybe she was reading too much into it.
Maybe Jinsol had already forgotten about her.
The thought made her chest feel strangely tight.
With a sigh, she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out her phone.
Her thumb hovered over Jinsol’s contact.
They weren’t exactly close, but Jinsol had insisted she take her number that night—"Just in case," she had said.
Just in case what?
Yoona hesitated, staring at the screen.
Would Jinsol even pick up?
Before she could second-guess herself, she tapped the call button.
Ringing…
Yoona pressed the phone to her ear, chewing on her lip as she listened to the dial tone.
Ringing…
Still no answer.
She sighed, shifting her weight. "Come on, Jinsol, pick up…" she muttered under her breath.
And then—
A sound.
A sharp, muffled noise from outside.
Yoona’s spine stiffened.
She turned toward the bakery’s front windows, brows furrowing.
The street was quiet, the streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement.
But something felt off.
She had lived in this neighborhood for years. She knew its sounds, its rhythm.
And this?
This wasn’t right.
Her heart picked up pace.
Slowly, she lowered the phone from her ear, stepping toward the door.
The bakery was dark except for the dim glow from the kitchen. Outside, the street was empty—or so it seemed.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe she was just being paranoid.
Maybe—
CRASH.
The sound of shattering glass.
Yoona jumped, her phone nearly slipping from her fingers.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Before she could react, before she could even process what was happening, the front door exploded inward—
The hinges nearly snapped from the force.
Everything happened too fast.
Shadows moving. Footsteps rushing toward her.
Panic seized her chest as multiple figures stormed inside, their movements quick and purposeful.
Not a robbery.
They weren’t here for the money.
They were here for her.
Yoona’s instincts kicked in—she stumbled back, nearly knocking over a tray of pastries as she grabbed her phone with shaking fingers, fumbling to call Jinsol again—
But before she could press the button—
A hand grabbed her wrist.
"Wh—Let go of me!" she screamed, thrashing wildly, but the grip was too strong.
"Don’t make this harder than it needs to be," a low voice muttered.
She tried to kick, tried to pull away, but another set of hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her backward.
"Jinsol—" Her voice cracked as she fought against them.
She barely had time to hit the call button before her phone was knocked out of her grasp, clattering onto the floor.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth.
The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her whole—
Was the screen of her phone, still lit, still ringing.
Still trying to reach Jinsol.
And then—
Nothing.
—
Yoona woke to darkness.
It was the kind of darkness that felt alive, pressing in from all sides, seeping into her skin like ink spilled on delicate parchment.
Her breath hitched as she stirred, every muscle aching, her body sluggish as if she had been floating in an endless void. The cold bit at her skin, harsh and unforgiving, making her shiver violently.
And then—
Pain.
A dull, throbbing ache at the base of her skull. A raw, stinging sensation at her wrists, bound tightly behind her. The sharp burn of fear coiling in her gut, twisting like a knife.
She tried to breathe—slow, steady—but the air was thick, heavy with something metallic and rancid. Blood? Rust?
Where am I?
Panic clawed up her throat. She sucked in a trembling breath, her chest heaving.
Then, she moved.
Or—tried to.
The rough bite of rope tightened against her wrists, holding her in place, pressing into her already raw skin. Her legs, tied at the ankles, barely budged. The chair beneath her creaked with her struggles, the sound echoing in the empty void.
Empty.
She was alone.
And yet, she wasn’t.
Something lingered in the air—a presence, unseen but felt, like the lingering gaze of a predator in the dark.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, so loud it nearly drowned out the silence.
Yoona’s breath shuddered as the memories came rushing back.
The bakery.
The sudden crash.
Hands grabbing her. A cloth pressed to her mouth. Her own desperate screams swallowed by the darkness.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, blurring her already limited vision.
This wasn’t a nightmare.
This was real.
And she was trapped.
She couldn’t stop the tears.
They fell, hot and silent, slipping down her cheeks, streaking across her skin like rivers carving paths into stone.
She sobbed, her body trembling, shoulders shaking violently.
She didn’t want to die here.
Not in a place like this, cold and empty, far from the warmth of her home.
Her bakery—would someone open it in the morning, expecting fresh pastries and soft greetings, only to find the doors locked?
Would anyone wonder where she had gone?
Or would she simply disappear, swallowed by the same darkness that now held her captive?
Her mind raced, spinning with terror, with desperation.
And then—
Her thoughts found their way to her.
Jinsol.
The name burned in her chest, igniting something even stronger than her fear.
Jinsol had to know.
She had to.
Because if there was one thing Yoona had come to learn in the short, strange time they had known each other—
It was that Jinsol was dangerous.
Not in the way others were. Not in the way these monsters were.
Jinsol was the kind of danger that came wrapped in quiet intensity, masked by an easy smirk and careful hands that never quite fit the image she tried to sell.
Jinsol wasn’t like them.
She wouldn’t let them have her.
Right?
Yoona gasped, forcing herself to swallow the sobs threatening to break her apart.
She had to get out.
She had to—
A sound.
Footsteps.
Yoona froze.
Each step was deliberate, slow, echoing across the hollow space like a death knell.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The air shifted, a presence settling in front of her.
And then—
A voice.
“You’re awake.”
Deep. Smooth. Too casual, too amused.
Yoona bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
The figure let out a soft chuckle, the kind that made her stomach turn.
“You must be confused. Scared, even. But don’t worry.”
A pause.
“We’re not going to hurt you.”
A lie.
A hand reached out—fingertips barely brushing against her cheek.
Yoona flinched violently, jerking away.
A laugh, sharp and unbothered.
“You have fire in you. I can see why she likes you.”
Jinsol.
They were talking about Jinsol.
Yoona’s heart stopped.
She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, her mind reeling.
“She’ll come,” the voice continued, almost lazily. “She always does.”
Yoona’s blood ran cold.
Bait.
That was all she was.
Not a victim. Not a target.
Just a trap.
For her.
Terror twisted inside her, something raw and desperate clawing at her chest.
Because this wasn’t about whether Jinsol would come.
It was about what would happen when she did.
And something told her—
It wouldn’t be good.
The person hummed, stepping back. "For your sake, you better hope she comes fast."
Then—the door creaked shut, leaving Yoona alone again.
But this time, the fear was different.
It wasn’t just about herself anymore.
It was about Jinsol.
And what she was walking into.
Yoona prayed—desperately, hopelessly—that Jinsol wouldn’t come.
But deep down—she already knew the answer.
Jinsol was coming.
And when she did—
Hell would follow.
—
The car tore through the night, weaving through the dark streets like a shadow with a purpose. The city blurred past in streaks of dim streetlights and neon reflections, but inside the vehicle, the air was suffocating—thick with rage, fear, and something far more dangerous.
Jinsol sat in the passenger seat, her fingers curled into tight fists against her thighs. Her heartbeat was steady, but everything else inside her was a raging storm.
Yoona.
They had taken Yoona.
Every time she thought about it, something violent coiled inside her, something she could barely control.
She had promised herself—no, vowed—that Yoona would never have to see this world, never have to know the bloodstained streets Jinsol walked.
And yet, here they were.
All because she had let herself get too close.
“Unbelievable.”
Haewon’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade.
Jinsol didn’t turn her head, didn’t acknowledge her, only clenched her jaw and stared at the road ahead, at the destination that would soon be a graveyard for the bastards who took her.
But Haewon wasn’t finished.
“This is your fault,” she spat, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity. “You know that, right?”
Jinsol exhaled slowly, her control slipping like sand through her fingers.
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
The words were quiet. Dangerous. A warning.
Haewon slammed her palm against the steering wheel. “Then why the hell did you let this happen? I told you to stay away from her. I told you she would be in danger if you got involved.”
Jinsol’s fingers twitched.
“I didn’t—” She cut herself off, inhaling sharply. “She wasn’t supposed to be involved.”
Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind it was lethal.
Haewon let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Well, guess what? She’s involved now. And it’s because of you.”
Jinsol’s grip on her thigh tightened.
“I know.”
The words tasted like poison in her mouth.
Because they were true.
Yoona had nothing to do with any of this, and yet she was the one tied up in some dark, disgusting place, scared and waiting for someone to save her.
Waiting for Jinsol.
A sharp breath escaped her lips.
They took the wrong girl.
And they were about to pay for it.
“Tell me something,” Haewon said, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “What is she to you?”
Jinsol didn’t respond.
Haewon clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Because right now, you’re acting like she’s more than just some bakery girl you felt bad for.”
Jinsol’s chest tightened.
“She’s innocent, Jinsol. She doesn’t know this world. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”
As if she didn’t already fucking know that.
Jinsol closed her eyes, pressing her knuckles against her temple, trying to stop the pounding in her skull.
It was too much.
The fear. The rage. The desperation.
The image of Yoona—**warm, kind Yoona, with her soft flour-covered hands and bright, teasing smile—**was now replaced with something else.
Tears running down her cheeks.
Her small hands tied behind her back.
Her voice shaking, calling Jinsol’s name in the dark.
Something inside her snapped.
Jinsol turned her head, her eyes dark, deadly, and full of something Haewon had only seen once before—the night Jinsol became a monster.
“I don’t care what you think this is,” Jinsol said, voice slow, controlled, but lethal. “But I’ll tell you what it’s not.”
Haewon’s grip on the wheel tightened.
“This is not a fucking negotiation.”
Jinsol’s fingers curled around the cold handle of her gun, resting in her lap like an old friend.
“We’re going in there. We’re taking her back. And we’re ending this.”
Haewon didn’t respond at first.
Then, a humorless chuckle left her lips.
“You’re insane,” she muttered.
Jinsol smirked, but there was no amusement in it.
She knew she was insane.
But for Yoona?
She would be so much worse.
The car screeched as Haewon took a sharp turn, their destination looming closer.
“We’re almost there,” Haewon muttered, adjusting her grip. “You ready?”
Jinsol rolled her shoulders, letting the tension bleed into something sharper, more focused.
A slow, dangerous smirk curled at the edge of her lips.
“I’ve been ready.”
Her fingers tightened around the gun.
A storm was coming.
And Jinsol was about to make sure they never forgot her name.
The warehouse was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of rust, sweat, and blood.
Jinsol and Haewon kicked the doors open, stepping into the lion’s den like they belonged there.
A dozen heads snapped up.
Men in dark clothes, armed with metal pipes, knives, and crude weapons, turned towards them—eyes glinting with malice, lips curling into sneers.
They had been expecting Jinsol.
But they weren’t ready for her.
Not like this.
Not when she was a woman possessed.
"Well, well," one of them sneered, stepping forward. "The infamous Bae Jinsol, walking in here like she owns the place."
Jinsol didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
She saw red.
These men—their faces, their voices, the way they laughed—were the only things standing between her and Yoona.
And they were about to die for it.
One of them swung first—a crowbar aimed at her skull.
Jinsol moved.
Fast.
She ducked, the metal whistling through the air where her head had been a second ago. Before he could recover, she drove her elbow into his ribs, hard and precise. A crack echoed, and he crumpled, wheezing.
But the others were already coming.
Haewon had drawn her gun, taking down two of them with swift, merciless shots to the knees.
But Jinsol—
Jinsol fought empty-handed.
A man lunged at her with a knife. She sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted—his own blade plunging into his thigh. He screamed, but Jinsol had already moved on.
Another came at her with a baseball bat.
Jinsol caught his arm mid-swing, wrenched it back until his shoulder popped, then drove her knee into his gut, sending him sprawling.
Two more rushed her from opposite sides.
She ducked low, pivoting on her heel, slamming her fist into the first man’s jaw so hard he hit the ground before he even realized what happened.
The second one swung a lead pipe at her ribs.
Jinsol caught it mid-air, ripped it from his grasp, and used it against him—one brutal strike to his knee, another to his temple.
He dropped.
The others hesitated.
They had weapons.
She had none.
And yet—they were the ones falling.
Jinsol rolled her shoulders, blood splattered on her white tank top, her knuckles bruised but steady.
Her breath was even. Controlled.
She looked up, eyes dark with something ruthless.
"Next?" she asked.
Silence.
Then—one of them turned and ran.
Cowards.
Jinsol almost laughed.
But she had no time for them.
Because somewhere in this godforsaken place, Yoona was waiting for her.
And she had wasted enough time.
"Haewon," she muttered. "Where?"
Haewon wiped the blood off her cheek with the back of her hand. "West wing. Down the hall."
Jinsol didn't wait.
She sprinted forward, stepping over the groaning bodies littering the floor, her heartbeat pounding like war drums.
Hold on, Yoona.
I'm coming.
Jinsol walked deeper into the warehouse, her breath steady, her knuckles stained red.
The dim, flickering lights overhead buzzed like dying insects, casting eerie shadows along the cracked concrete floors.
She was getting close.
She could feel it.
The air was heavier here, thick with the scent of rust, sweat, and blood—her blood.
But she didn’t stop.
Because pain didn’t matter.
Pain was just another thing to ignore—another reminder that she was still breathing when the bastards in her way wouldn’t be for much longer.
Another wave of men rushed at her.
She didn’t hesitate.
One of them swung a metal rod, slamming it against her ribs.
The crack echoed through the hall.
Jinsol stumbled, her breath catching for just a second.
But she didn’t go down.
Didn’t even flinch.
Pain was nothing.
Yoona was everything.
A second man tried to take advantage of her stagger.
Bad mistake.
Jinsol caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted it with bone-snapping force, and grabbed his knife as he screamed.
She drove it into his side, twisting, pulling it back out before he collapsed in a heap.
Another lunged at her.
She ducked low, using his own momentum against him—slamming the hilt of the knife into his throat.
He choked. Staggered.
She finished him with a swift, brutal kick to the jaw.
But there were too many.
One of them managed to land a punch, his fist connecting hard with her cheek.
Her vision flickered for a second—white-hot pain sparking behind her eye.
Another slammed something heavy against her shoulder—maybe a bat, maybe a pipe, she didn’t know, didn’t care—but she didn’t stop.
She refused.
They hit her.
They cut her.
They made her bleed.
But she didn’t fucking stop.
She tore through them like an animal, her movements raw, relentless, driven by one single thing:
Yoona.
They weren’t fighting a person anymore.
They were fighting something they couldn’t kill.
Jinsol shoved one against the wall, smashing his face into the bricks until he went limp.
Another tried to flee.
She grabbed him by the collar and slammed him to the floor, her boot pressing down on his throat.
She leaned in, voice low, dark.
"Where is she?"
He wheezed, struggling beneath her. "W-West hall—"
Jinsol snapped his neck.
She didn’t wait.
Didn’t breathe.
She ran.
Blood dripped from her wounds, but she didn’t feel it.
Because at the end of this hallway, past that last door—
Yoona was there.
And Jinsol was about to tear the world apart to get her back.
Jinsol moved forward, her breath shallow but steady, her body battered but unbreakable.
Blood dripped from her wounds, staining the floor in her wake, but she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t stop.
Not when she was this close.
Not when she could hear her.
The closer she got to the door, the louder the sound became—muffled screams, choked sobs, the sound of a struggle.
Jinsol’s world narrowed.
Her grip tightened around the knife she had taken from a dead man’s hands.
She knew that voice.
Knew it better than she knew her own.
"Yoona," she whispered, eyes dark and ruthless.
The door was locked.
She didn’t hesitate.
She took a step back, then slammed her foot against it with all her strength.
CRACK.
The wood splintered, the lock bending under the force.
She heard another muffled sob from inside.
Rage roared through her veins.
She kicked again—harder, angrier.
BANG.
The door burst open, crashing against the wall.
And then—
She saw her.
Yoona.
Tied to a chair, her wrists raw from struggling, her face streaked with tears, her mouth gagged with a dirty rag.
Her wide, terrified eyes snapped to Jinsol.
And something inside Jinsol broke.
A man stood beside her, a knife pressed against Yoona’s throat.
His hand twitched.
A warning.
A threat.
Wrong move.
Jinsol didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
She moved.
Fast.
Before he could react, she threw the knife in her hand, the blade slicing through the air—
And burying itself in his hand.
He screamed, the knife clattering to the floor.
Jinsol was on him in a second.
She grabbed him by the collar, ripping him away from Yoona, and slammed his head against the concrete wall.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Until he stopped moving.
Until there was nothing left but the sound of his body hitting the floor.
Silence.
Jinsol turned.
Yoona was staring at her, eyes wide, lips trembling.
Her body shaking.
Jinsol dropped to her knees in front of her, hands reaching for the gag, her fingers shaking for the first time that night.
As soon as she pulled it away, Yoona gasped, sucking in a ragged breath—
And collapsed into Jinsol’s arms.
She clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder, her whole body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
Jinsol’s arms wrapped around her tight, fierce, desperate.
She pressed her forehead against Yoona’s hair, squeezing her eyes shut, feeling her, breathing her in, grounding herself in the fact that she was here.
She was safe.
Jinsol’s voice was hoarse, raw with something she wasn’t ready to name.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured.
Yoona’s fingers curled into the fabric of her bloodstained tank top, clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in the world.
Jinsol held Yoona close, feeling every tremor that wracked her small frame.
Yoona’s sobs were muffled against Jinsol’s chest, her fists gripping the bloodied fabric of her tank top like she was afraid to let go.
Jinsol had taken hits before.
Had been cut, bruised, and beaten to the brink of death.
But none of it—not a single wound—hurt as much as this.
As feeling Yoona cry because of her.
Because of the world Jinsol had brought to her doorstep.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she pressed her lips against Yoona’s temple, squeezing her just a little tighter.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw, barely audible over Yoona’s ragged breaths.
Yoona didn’t respond, just sobbed harder, her entire body curling into Jinsol’s as if she could disappear into her.
Jinsol gritted her teeth, hating the helplessness clawing at her chest.
She never apologized.
Not for the people she hurt.
Not for the bodies she left behind.
But for Yoona?
For Yoona, she’d drop to her knees and beg if it meant taking this pain away.
Jinsol pulled back slightly, just enough to cup Yoona’s tear-streaked face in her bruised, bloodied hands.
Her thumbs brushed away the tears, her heart aching at how fragile she looked.
She shouldn’t be here.
She shouldn’t have had to see this.
To feel this fear.
Yoona hiccupped, her swollen eyes searching Jinsol’s face, as if trying to understand.
Trying to find the person she thought she knew.
Jinsol held her gaze, fingers trembling as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, princess.”
Yoona let out a broken sound, her lips quivering.
She shook her head, her hands clutching Jinsol’s wrists, holding her in place.
“You lied to me,” she choked out. “You—You—”
Jinsol felt something sharp twist inside her.
She had lied.
Had let Yoona believe she was just a woman who came to her bakery, who stole bites of her pastries and left behind lazy smiles and teasing words.
Had let her believe that she was safe.
That Jinsol was someone worth trusting.
But the blood on her hands, the bodies she had left in her wake, told a different story.
A story Yoona had never been meant to see.
Jinsol exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead against Yoona’s, her voice barely more than a breath.
“I know,” she murmured. “I know, princess. And I’m so damn sorry.”
Yoona hiccupped again, her breath uneven, but she didn’t pull away.
Didn’t push Jinsol out of her space.
Didn’t let go.
And for now, that was enough.
Jinsol closed her eyes, holding her like she was something sacred.
Like she was something worth saving.
But outside this moment, danger still lurked.
And they weren’t safe yet.
The moment shattered.
A sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Jinsol!"
Haewon.
Jinsol’s head snapped up just as Haewon stormed into the room, her gun raised, her expression grim.
“We need to move. Now.”
Her eyes flickered to Yoona for just a second before locking back onto Jinsol. "More of them are coming. A lot more."
Jinsol cursed under her breath. Of course, they were.
They had caused too much damage. Left too many bodies behind.
And now, the rest of the gang was closing in.
She turned back to Yoona, still trembling in her arms, her breath shaky, her fingers still curled into Jinsol’s torn, bloodstained tank top.
Jinsol softened—just for a second.
She cupped Yoona’s cheek again, brushing away the lingering tears with her thumb. "Princess," she murmured, voice low but firm. "I need you to hold onto me. Don’t let go."
Yoona sniffled, her swollen eyes searching Jinsol’s face, hesitant, afraid.
Jinsol tilted her chin up slightly, forcing her to meet her gaze.
"Do you trust me?" she whispered.
Yoona hesitated.
Then, slowly, shakily, she nodded.
Jinsol’s chest tightened, but there was no time for emotion.
She grabbed Yoona’s hand, lacing their fingers together tight, before she pulled her up.
Yoona stumbled, her legs weak from exhaustion, but Jinsol steadied her, her grip firm and unwavering.
“Stay close,” Jinsol ordered, voice sharp now. All softness was gone.
Yoona nodded again, pressing herself against Jinsol’s side, clutching onto her like she was the only solid thing in the world.
Jinsol turned to Haewon. "How bad?"
Haewon scoffed, reloading her gun. "Enough to piss you off."
Jinsol cracked her neck, rolling her bruised shoulders.
"Good," she muttered. "I’m in the mood to break someone’s face."
Haewon let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get out of here alive."
Then, without another word, they moved.
The hallways were crawling with men.
Armed, angry, and out for blood.
Jinsol barely had time to think before the first one came at her, swinging a metal rod aimed straight for her ribs.
She dodged just in time, twisting her body and landing a brutal punch to his gut.
He stumbled back, winded, but she didn’t let him recover.
She grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the wall.
He crumpled instantly.
Yoona gasped, clutching onto Jinsol’s arm.
Jinsol barely had a second to check on her before another man lunged—
This time, Haewon took care of it.
A single shot rang out, and the man dropped before he could get close.
Haewon exhaled, spinning the gun in her hand. “Are we gonna move, or do you wanna keep playing?”
Jinsol clicked her tongue but grabbed Yoona’s hand again, pulling her along as more footsteps thundered toward them.
Three men.
Knives.
Jinsol moved first.
She ducked low, sweeping her leg under one man and sending him crashing to the floor.
Before he could get back up, she stomped on his wrist, forcing the knife out of his grasp.
Another swung at her.
She grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and—
CRACK.
His scream barely left his throat before she drove her elbow into his face, shattering his nose.
The last one hesitated.
Jinsol grinned.
“You scared, sweetheart?” she taunted, blood dripping down her temple.
The man growled and charged.
Mistake.
Jinsol sidestepped at the last second, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his face into her knee.
He went limp.
Yoona flinched beside her, her breathing fast and uneven.
Jinsol didn’t blame her.
This wasn’t her world.
It was filthy, brutal, merciless.
And yet, here she was, holding onto Jinsol like she was the only thing keeping her upright.
Jinsol looked down at her, heart aching.
"Almost there, princess," she murmured, squeezing Yoona’s hand. "I’ve got you."
Yoona swallowed hard but nodded, her fingers tightening around Jinsol’s.
Then, without wasting another second, they ran.
Haewon led the way, shooting down anyone who dared step in front of them.
Jinsol fought with bare hands, her body running purely on adrenaline.
Yoona never let go.
By the time they burst through the last set of doors, Jinsol’s knuckles were raw, her body covered in bruises, and her breaths ragged.
But they had made it.
They were out.
For the first time in hours, Yoona breathed in fresh air—a strangled sob escaping her lips.
Jinsol turned, grabbing her by the shoulders, searching her face.
“Are you hurt?” she demanded, voice low, urgent.
Yoona shook her head fast, tears falling freely now. “N-No,” she stammered, “just—just tired.”
Jinsol exhaled, pressing a bloodied hand to her forehead.
She should have never let this happen.
She should have kept Yoona far away from this world.
Instead, she had pulled her into it.
And now, she could never take it back.
Haewon came up beside them, gun still in her grip. "We need to get the hell out of here before reinforcements come."
Jinsol nodded, then turned back to Yoona.
Her gaze softened, her thumb brushing a stray tear from Yoona’s cheek.
“You’re safe now, princess,” she murmured.
Yoona collapsed into her arms.
Jinsol held her close.
And for the first time that night—she let herself breathe.
The car ride back was silent.
No radio. No conversation. Just the soft hum of the engine and the occasional screech of tires against damp pavement.
Yoona sat pressed against the door, her gaze locked outside as the city lights blurred past in neon streaks. Her reflection in the window was pale, almost ghostly, her expression unreadable.
Jinsol sat beside her, body aching, blood crusted on her knuckles, bruises forming beneath torn fabric. But the pain was secondary.
All she could focus on was the way Yoona hadn’t spoken a word since they left.
Haewon, behind the wheel, occasionally glanced at them through the rearview mirror. Her hands were steady, but Jinsol could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Your place, right?" Haewon finally spoke, voice low.
Yoona didn’t answer at first.
Then—so quietly Jinsol almost missed it—she nodded.
Jinsol exhaled.
She should say something.
But what?
What could possibly fix this?
She turned her head slightly, watching Yoona’s hands—how they were curled into the sleeves of her sweater, gripping the fabric so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
Jinsol wanted to reach out. To hold her hand again.
But she didn’t.
She had already dragged Yoona into her world once. She couldn’t take that back.
And she didn’t deserve to touch her now.
So she just sat there, silent, watching as Haewon drove them deeper into the city, toward whatever was left of Yoona’s normal life.
When Haewon finally pulled up in front of Yoona’s apartment complex, Jinsol felt her stomach drop.
The bakery.
Or what was left of it.
Jinsol had expected it—she wasn’t stupid. She knew these men weren’t the type to let things go. They didn’t just take people. They destroyed the things that made those people whole.
And for Yoona, that had been this place.
The bakery that had smelled like vanilla and fresh dough. The place where warmth lingered in every corner, where Jinsol had sat across from Yoona countless times, stealing pastries and watching the way her nose scrunched in annoyance.
Now, it was a ruin.
The windows had been shattered, shards of glass glittering on the sidewalk. The door barely hung on its hinges, one side splintered and blackened. Inside, chairs were overturned, display cases smashed, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke.
Jinsol clenched her fists, feeling the sting of open wounds.
They had torched it.
Left it to burn.
A message.
A warning.
A punishment.
The sound of a car door opening made her flinch.
Yoona stepped out, slowly, hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure she could trust the ground beneath her feet.
Jinsol followed immediately, but she didn’t touch her.
She didn’t dare.
Yoona took a step forward. Then another. Until she was standing in front of the wreckage, staring at it like she couldn’t quite process what she was seeing.
Then, softly, she spoke.
"They destroyed it."
Jinsol’s jaw tightened.
She wanted to fix it. To tell Yoona she’d make those bastards pay. That she’d rebuild everything with her own two hands if she had to.
But that wouldn’t change the fact that this had happened.
And it was Jinsol’s fault.
"I’m sorry," she murmured.
The words felt pathetic.
Yoona let out a short, bitter laugh. A sound Jinsol had never heard from her before.
“Of course you are,” she whispered.
Jinsol flinched.
She had heard that tone before—from people who had lost everything. People who no longer believed in comfort.
Yoona stared at the wreckage for a long time, her eyes dark, unreadable.
Then, she turned away.
Jinsol didn’t know what she had expected. Anger? More tears? Some kind of breakdown?
But there was none of that.
Yoona just looked at her, eyes hollow, lips barely moving as she spoke.
"Come inside."
Jinsol swallowed hard.
She hadn’t expected that either.
She nodded once, then followed.
The apartment door shut behind them with a quiet click, sealing them inside the silence.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The weight of the night still clung to them—the blood, the smoke, the fear.
Then, Yoona exhaled, unsteady.
"I'm going to wash up," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jinsol nodded, watching as Yoona disappeared into the bathroom without another word.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Jinsol let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the wall.
Her body ached. Every cut, every bruise, every impact from the fight earlier was making itself known now. But none of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was that Yoona was here. Alive.
Even if she was barely speaking to her.
Jinsol tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling, before forcing herself to move.
She took slow, heavy steps toward the kitchen, pulling open the fridge with little thought. The sight of leftover cakes and neatly arranged ingredients made her chest tighten.
The bakery was gone.
The thought sent a sharp pang through her ribs.
She had been in so many fights. Had broken bones, taken bullets, nearly died more times than she could count. But this—this was the first time she had destroyed something that wasn’t hers to lose.
Jinsol clenched her jaw and shut the fridge.
She heard the faint sound of water running from the bathroom.
Yoona was still in there.
Jinsol exhaled and glanced down at her own hands. Dried blood caked her knuckles, streaks of grime and sweat sticking to her arms.
She needed to wash up too.
But she waited.
Waited until Yoona was done.
Because she knew that, even behind a closed door, Yoona needed space.
And after everything Jinsol had done, she owed her that much.
Yoona didn’t know how long she had been in the shower.
She had lost track of time the moment the hot water hit her skin.
The moment she saw red swirling down the drain.
Her body wasn’t hurt, but her hands—her hands were shaking.
No matter how hard she scrubbed, she still felt dirty.
She had never been covered in that much grime before. Had never felt the weight of someone else's blood on her clothes.
Yoona squeezed her eyes shut as the memory rushed back—the warehouse, the ropes biting into her skin, the screams, the way Jinsol had fought through hell to reach her.
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
She was safe now. She knew that.
But her heart hadn’t caught up yet.
The water was still running hot, but she was starting to feel cold.
Would she ever feel clean again?
A shuddering breath escaped her lips, and she forced herself to rinse the soap from her skin.
She had been in here long enough.
Slowly, Yoona turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it tightly around herself as she stepped out onto the cold tile.
She avoided the mirror.
She didn’t want to see the exhaustion in her own eyes.
After drying off, she changed into an oversized shirt and shorts, barely bothering to towel her damp hair.
As she opened the bathroom door, steam billowed out into the apartment, curling around the dim light like ghosts.
Jinsol was sitting on the couch, head resting against the back, eyes closed.
For a moment, Yoona thought she was asleep.
But then, without opening her eyes, Jinsol murmured, "You took forever."
Yoona sighed. "Shut up."
Jinsol cracked one eye open and smirked—a tired, worn-out smirk.
She pushed herself up with a groan and stretched, wincing as her muscles protested.
"I need to wash up too," she said, rolling her shoulders.
Yoona didn't say anything as Jinsol disappeared into the bathroom, but she lingered in the hallway for a moment.
She listened as the water started running again.
For the first time since this nightmare began, she was alone.
And for the first time, she let herself breathe.
But the breath that left her lips wasn’t steady.
It was shaky, broken.
Because no matter how much she wanted to pretend otherwise—
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Jinsol stood under the water, watching as red and black swirled down the drain.
The cuts on her arms stung, the bruises on her ribs ached, but she barely felt any of it.
She had been through worse.
What hurt more was the look in Yoona’s eyes.
Jinsol gritted her teeth and tilted her head back, letting the hot water hit her face.
She had done what she had to.
She had saved Yoona.
But at what cost?
Jinsol turned her hands over, staring at her palms. They were clean now, but she could still feel the weight of the fight. The weight of everything she had done to get here.
She exhaled sharply and shut off the water.
By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, the apartment was quiet.
Yoona was curled up on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, staring at nothing.
She looked small.
Jinsol hesitated before moving toward her.
“Come on,” she murmured, voice softer than usual. “You should sleep.”
Yoona didn’t move at first.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way to the bedroom.
Jinsol didn’t know if she was allowed to follow, but when Yoona slipped under the covers, she turned to look at her.
Silent permission.
Jinsol swallowed and climbed in beside her.
The room was dark, save for the faint glow of city lights seeping through the curtains.
Yoona lay on her side, body curled beneath the covers, her breaths slow but uneven.
She had tried to sleep.
She wanted to sleep.
But every time she closed her eyes, the memories came rushing back—the ropes biting into her wrists, the suffocating fear, the muffled screams.
The smell of sweat and blood.
The echo of heavy footsteps.
And then—Jinsol.
Fighting, bleeding, throwing herself into danger.
For her.
Yoona’s fingers dug into the sheets.
Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, and no matter how deep she tried to breathe, it still felt like she was back there.
Like the walls of her own bedroom were closing in.
Like she’d never escape the lingering grip of fear.
A sharp exhale from beside her made her flinch.
Jinsol was still awake.
Lying on her back, one arm resting behind her head, eyes open—watching.
Watching her.
“…Yoona,” Jinsol murmured.
Yoona’s body tensed.
Jinsol noticed.
Of course she did.
She always did.
“You’re not sleeping,” Jinsol said, voice softer than usual.
Yoona swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
Jinsol hummed quietly, but she didn’t look convinced.
Another stretch of silence.
Then—
"You keep holding your breath," Jinsol murmured.
Yoona flinched.
Jinsol sighed and shifted closer, careful, slow—like she was moving toward something fragile.
Like she was afraid to break her.
"Yoona," Jinsol whispered again, lower this time.
Gentler.
Yoona’s throat tightened.
"I…" She hesitated, gripping the sheets tighter. "I keep seeing it."
Jinsol stilled.
"Every time I close my eyes," Yoona admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It’s all I see."
Jinsol exhaled.
Then, she moved.
Carefully, slowly, she reached out, brushing her fingers against Yoona’s wrist.
Not forcing.
Not pushing.
Just there.
Yoona let out a shaky breath.
Jinsol waited.
And when Yoona didn’t pull away—she took her hand.
Her grip was warm. Steady. Real.
Jinsol squeezed gently, grounding her.
“You’re here,” she murmured.
Yoona let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Jinsol’s thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles.
"You’re not there anymore," she said, voice firm but soft. "You’re here. With me."
Yoona’s chest ached.
She wasn’t sure if it was from relief or something else entirely.
The fear was still there, but Jinsol’s warmth cut through it.
Slowly, Yoona shifted closer.
She hesitated for a moment, then rested her forehead lightly against Jinsol’s shoulder.
Jinsol stilled.
Then—so carefully it made Yoona’s heart clench—she pulled her in.
No words.
Just warmth.
A quiet, steady presence that told her she wasn’t alone.
Yoona exhaled against her skin, letting herself breathe.
And for the first time that night—
She finally closed her eyes without fear.
Morning came, but the warmth didn’t.
The city outside was awake—cars honking, voices rising, the scent of coffee and rain filling the air. But inside Yoona’s apartment, everything was still.
Yoona lay beneath the covers, eyes open, staring at nothing.
She knew the sun was up.
She knew she had to get up.
But she couldn’t.
Her body refused to move, her mind heavy with the weight of everything that had been taken from her.
She didn’t need to step outside to know what was waiting.
Her bakery—her home, her safe place, her dream—was ruined.
The warmth of fresh bread, the soft chime of the bell, the quiet joy of watching people take their first bite of something she had made—all of it was gone.
Reduced to ash and debris.
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
She felt like if she went downstairs, if she saw the wreckage with her own eyes, it would become real.
And she didn’t know if she could bear that.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the burning in her throat to go away.
But then—a shift beside her.
A quiet inhale.
The rustling of fabric.
Jinsol.
Yoona felt it before she saw it—the warmth of another body close by.
A presence that felt unshakable.
She didn’t turn to look, but she knew.
Jinsol was awake.
And watching.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, Jinsol murmured, “You’re not getting up.”
It wasn’t a question.
Yoona exhaled. “I can’t.”
Jinsol didn’t answer right away.
Yoona expected her to say something—push her, tease her, tell her to stop being dramatic.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she just sighed, long and deep, like she understood.
And then—
The bed dipped.
Yoona felt the covers shift, felt warmth pressing closer until a strong arm draped lightly over her waist.
Not forceful. Not demanding.
Just there.
A silent offer.
Yoona swallowed.
“…You don’t have to stay,” she murmured.
Jinsol let out a quiet huff of laughter. “I know.”
But she didn’t move.
Yoona’s throat tightened.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to see her.
Jinsol was lying on her side, head propped against her arm, watching her with eyes that held no judgment.
Only understanding.
Yoona’s fingers curled into the fabric of Jinsol’s shirt without thinking.
“…I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, voice small.
Jinsol’s gaze softened.
For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.
Then, she reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Yoona’s face.
“You don’t have to do anything right now,” Jinsol said quietly.
Yoona blinked.
Jinsol’s fingers trailed down, barely grazing her cheek before resting against the pillow.
“You can stay here,” she murmured. “For as long as you need.”
Yoona’s breath hitched.
She wanted to believe her.
Wanted to let herself sink into this warmth, this comfort, just for a little while longer.
But the world was still waiting outside.
And eventually, she would have to face it.
Just…
Not yet.
Yoona exhaled shakily and nodded, pressing her forehead against Jinsol’s shoulder.
And for now—that was enough.
—
The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden light across the apartment, but Yoona barely noticed.
She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers loosely curled around the fabric of her sweater, staring down at nothing.
It had been hours since she woke up, but she still hadn’t stepped outside.
She hadn’t even looked outside.
She wasn’t ready.
Jinsol sat across from her, arms crossed, gaze steady. Unlike Yoona, she had showered, dressed, and looked like she was already planning her next move.
Typical.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, Jinsol broke the silence.
“I’ll rebuild it.”
Yoona blinked, finally looking up. “What?”
“The bakery,” Jinsol said, like it was obvious. Like it was simple.
Like it wasn’t her fault that it had been destroyed in the first place.
Yoona stared at her, searching for some hint of hesitation, but there was none.
Jinsol was serious.
“I’ll handle everything,” Jinsol continued, leaning back against the chair. “Construction, permits, whatever it takes. I’ll even make it bigger than before.”
Her voice was calm, steady. Like she was making a business deal.
But Yoona knew better.
She saw it in the way Jinsol’s fingers tapped once against her knee—a restless habit.
She saw it in the way Jinsol didn’t quite meet her eyes when she said, “I owe you.”
Yoona inhaled slowly.
Her heart clenched.
Because she knew what this was.
Guilt.
This was Jinsol trying to fix something that couldn’t be undone.
This was her way of atoning for the fact that Yoona had nearly died because of her.
Jinsol thought she could make things right with money, with power, with promises—but none of those things could erase what happened.
The bakery she had built with her own hands, the years of work, the memories—it was all gone.
And no matter how much money Jinsol threw at it, she couldn’t give Yoona that back.
Yoona clenched her jaw, looking down at her lap.
She wanted to say something.
But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Because the truth was—
She didn’t know how she felt.
Angry? Relieved? Exhausted?
Maybe all of it.
Maybe none of it.
Jinsol waited, but Yoona never responded.
And after a long moment, Jinsol let out a quiet sigh and stood up.
She didn’t push.
Didn’t demand an answer.
She just reached out, resting a hand briefly on Yoona’s head—gentle, lingering.
Then, she turned and walked toward the door.
“I’ll be back,” Jinsol said, voice quieter now.
And then she was gone.
Leaving Yoona alone.
With nothing but silence… and a promise she wasn’t sure she could accept.
The air outside was crisp, the late afternoon sky fading into a deep orange. The streets were quieter than usual, the remnants of the bakery’s destruction still lingering—scattered debris, blackened edges where fire had kissed the walls.
Jinsol stood near her motorcycle, one foot propped against the curb, a cigarette dangling loosely from her fingers. She hadn’t lit it.
She wasn’t even sure why she had pulled it out in the first place.
Old habits, maybe.
Or maybe she just needed something—anything—to occupy her hands, to keep from thinking too much.
The silence had never bothered her before.
But now?
Now it felt heavy.
Then, the sound of heels clicking against pavement made her glance up.
And there she was.
Lily.
Jinsol exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back.
She hadn’t seen her in a long time, but she recognized that sharp gaze, the way Lily carried herself with effortless grace—elegant, poised, but dangerously aware.
She was just like Jinsol remembered.
And that was a problem.
Because Lily remembered her, too.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment as she passed.
No words.
Just a glance.
Cool. Assessing.
Jinsol didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
But she saw the flicker of something in Lily’s expression—recognition.
And something else.
Something sharper.
Lily didn’t stop.
Didn’t break her stride.
But as she walked past Jinsol, she tilted her head slightly and said—so soft that only Jinsol could hear—
“Still playing hero, Bae Jinsol?”
Jinsol’s jaw clenched.
Lily didn’t wait for a response.
She just kept walking.
Straight to Yoona’s apartment.
Jinsol didn’t turn to watch her go.
She didn’t have to.
She already knew—
This wasn’t just a casual visit.
Lily was here for something.
And Jinsol wasn’t sure if she liked that.
—
Yoona sat at the small dining table, staring at her untouched cup of tea. The warmth seeped into her hands, but it did nothing to ease the cold, sinking feeling in her chest.
Lily sat across from her, legs crossed, back perfectly straight, watching her with that same unreadable expression she always had.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Yoona knew why she was here.
And from the way Lily’s gaze sharpened, she knew there was no escaping it.
Finally, Lily broke the silence.
“What are you doing, Yoona?”
Yoona blinked, taken aback. “What?”
Lily tilted her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “With Jinsol.”
At the name, something in Yoona’s stomach twisted.
“I don’t—”
“You don’t what?” Lily cut in smoothly, raising a brow. “You don’t know? You don’t care? You don’t want to admit it?”
Yoona’s grip on the cup tightened. “That’s not—”
“Then what is it?” Lily leaned forward, voice quieter now. Sharper. “What do you think she is to you?”
Yoona’s breath hitched.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Because she didn’t know how to answer that.
Jinsol had barged into her life like a storm—unpredictable, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. She had been a stranger, then a customer, then… something more.
Something dangerous.
Something Yoona wasn’t sure she could handle.
Lily must have seen the hesitation because she sighed and leaned back. “You don’t know,” she muttered. “Of course you don’t.”
Yoona frowned, irritation flaring. “And what if I did?”
Lily gave a humorless chuckle. “Then I’d tell you to wake up.”
Yoona stiffened.
Lily’s gaze was piercing now, cutting through every wall Yoona had built.
“Do you even know who she is?” Lily asked, voice deceptively calm. “What she’s done?”
Yoona’s breath caught.
The question lingered in the air between them, heavy with meaning.
Did she know?
She knew Jinsol was dangerous.
She knew Jinsol was hiding things from her.
But she had never asked.
Never pushed.
Because some part of her had been afraid of the answer.
Lily watched her, waiting.
And for the first time, Yoona had to face the truth.
She didn’t just not know what Jinsol was to her.
She didn’t know who Jinsol really was at all.
—
The apartment felt too quiet.
Or maybe it wasn’t quiet at all.
Maybe it was the sound of everything changing that made it feel that way.
Yoona sat curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, fingers clutching the edge of her sweater.
Outside her window, the world moved on without her.
Below, the bakery—the place she had built with her own hands, the place that had carried her dreams—was being shut down.
She didn’t have to look to know what was happening.
She could hear it.
The sound of hammers, of boards being pulled away, of voices discussing logistics like it was just another job.
Like it was just another building.
But it wasn’t.
It was hers.
Or at least, it had been.
Yoona inhaled shakily, pressing a hand against her chest as if that would ease the ache.
She should go down there.
She should watch.
She should do something.
But she couldn’t move.
Because facing it meant accepting that it was really gone.
And she wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
The sounds of destruction continued outside—steady, relentless, merciless.
Yoona clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe.
She had spent years building that bakery.
And in a single night, it had been taken from her.
Just like that.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Because crying wouldn’t bring it back.
And neither would Jinsol’s promises.
Yoona’s stomach twisted at the thought of her.
Jinsol had said she would rebuild it.
Like it was that simple.
Like money could replace years of work, of memories, of quiet mornings spent kneading dough and dreaming about the future.
But Yoona knew better.
You couldn’t just rebuild something like that.
Not when the foundation had been shattered.
Her grip on her sweater tightened.
Outside, the sounds of her past life being erased continued.
And inside, all she could do was listen.
—
The knock came late at night.
Soft, but firm.
Yoona knew who it was before she even opened the door.
She almost didn’t.
She almost pretended she wasn’t home, that she was asleep, that she hadn’t spent the last few nights drowning in thoughts she didn’t want to have.
But the knocking came again.
And when she finally pulled the door open—
There she was.
Bae Jinsol.
Standing there like a ghost.
Like a nightmare that refused to leave her alone.
Her white tank top was stained red, blood splattered across her hands, her arms, even her jaw. A fresh cut ran along her cheekbone, deep enough that it should hurt, but her expression was the same as always—calm. Unbothered.
Yoona’s stomach twisted.
She hated this.
She hated the way Jinsol always appeared like this—bruised, bleeding, too familiar with violence.
She hated how normal it was for her.
How effortless.
How she could look like this and still act like nothing was wrong.
Jinsol met her gaze, unreadable.
“Hey, princess.”
Her voice was low, rough, tired.
Yoona hated that too.
Because despite everything, despite the way her presence set off every alarm in Yoona’s head—she still worried.
She shouldn’t.
She didn’t want to.
But she did.
Because Jinsol kept showing up.
And no matter how much Yoona wanted to pretend she didn’t care—she did.
Yoona swallowed hard, gripping the doorframe until her knuckles turned white.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, voice tight.
Jinsol huffed a quiet laugh, glancing down at herself like she had just noticed.
“Happens,” she muttered.
Like it was nothing.
Like her body wasn’t covered in evidence of whatever hell she had just walked out of.
Yoona clenched her jaw.
It was always like this.
Always.
Jinsol would disappear for days, come back looking like this, and expect Yoona to just accept it.
Like she wasn’t supposed to ask questions.
Like she was supposed to pretend she didn’t notice.
Yoona exhaled sharply and turned away. “Go clean up.”
She didn’t wait for Jinsol to answer.
She just walked back inside, knowing Jinsol would follow.
Because she always did.
And that was the worst part.
No matter how much Yoona hated this, no matter how much she hated the blood and the danger and the secrets—
She still let Jinsol in.
Every time.
The room was silent except for the quiet rustling of fabric and the occasional sharp inhale when Yoona pressed a little too hard.
Jinsol sat on the edge of the couch, her shirt discarded on the floor, leaving only the bandages and bruises that painted her skin like a violent masterpiece.
Yoona didn’t say a word as she worked.
She just dabbed antiseptic onto a fresh wound on Jinsol’s arm, her touch firm but careful.
Jinsol watched her.
She always watched her.
The way Yoona’s brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was focused.
The way she cared.
Even when she didn’t want to.
Even when she was angry.
Jinsol swallowed hard.
The words had been sitting on her tongue for too long.
She should have said them earlier.
She should have said them before everything fell apart.
But she hadn’t.
Because she had been afraid.
And Jinsol was never afraid.
Not of fights. Not of death.
But of this?
Of her?
Of what she might lose if she said it out loud?
Yeah.
That terrified her.
Yoona reached for another bandage, and Jinsol inhaled slowly.
Then—
“I love you.”
Her voice was quieter than she expected.
But it still shattered the silence.
Yoona’s hand froze.
She didn’t look at her.
She just exhaled softly, taping down the bandage before finally speaking.
“I know.”
Jinsol blinked.
She shouldn’t be surprised.
Of course Yoona knew.
Yoona always knew.
She was too observant, too perceptive.
And yet—
Hearing it felt like a punch to the ribs.
Because it wasn’t an answer.
It wasn’t rejection, but it wasn’t acceptance either.
It was just acknowledgment.
A quiet confirmation of what had been obvious for a long, long time.
Jinsol let out a breathless chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah?”
Yoona finally met her gaze.
There was something unreadable in her eyes.
Something sad.
Something tired.
“Yeah,” she murmured.
She didn’t say anything else.
She didn’t have to.
Because they both knew—
Knowing didn’t change anything.
And Jinsol wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
Jinsol sat still, her heart pounding harder than it ever had in any fight.
She had been shot before. Stabbed. Beaten half to death.
But nothing—nothing—felt more dangerous than the silence stretching between them now.
Yoona had finished treating her wounds, her hands no longer touching her, no longer close. She was still sitting there, but she felt far away.
Too far.
Jinsol licked her lips, forcing herself to ask—
“Do you love me too?”
Yoona stilled.
Her fingers clenched slightly against her lap.
She didn’t answer right away.
And that was already an answer in itself.
Jinsol’s chest tightened.
But she waited.
Because she had to hear it.
Finally, Yoona exhaled.
She turned her gaze to Jinsol—soft, sad, unreadable.
And then she said, “I don’t know.”
Jinsol blinked.
Her breath hitched, her stomach twisting at the honesty of it.
Not a yes.
Not a no.
Just—
I don’t know.
Jinsol should be relieved.
It wasn’t rejection.
It wasn’t what she had feared the most.
But somehow, it hurt even more.
She let out a quiet laugh, running a hand through her blood-matted hair. “That’s… that’s not what I was expecting.”
Yoona lowered her gaze. “I know.”
Jinsol studied her.
The way her shoulders were tense, the way she wasn’t looking at her, the way she seemed as lost as Jinsol felt.
“I—” Yoona hesitated, then sighed. “I care about you. I really do.”
Jinsol swallowed. “But?”
Yoona met her eyes then, and something in her gaze made Jinsol feel like she was about to break.
“But I don’t know if it’s the kind of love you want it to be.”
Jinsol felt that.
Deep.
Like a wound she hadn’t been prepared for.
She had always known Yoona wasn’t like her.
That Yoona was soft in a way Jinsol had never been.
That Yoona loved differently.
But hearing it still made her feel like she had lost a fight she didn’t even know she was in.
Yoona’s fingers curled into the fabric of her sweater.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she murmured.
Jinsol forced a smirk, even though it felt wrong. “Too late for that, princess.”
Yoona flinched.
And Jinsol hated herself for saying it.
Silence filled the space between them, thick with everything they didn’t know how to say.
Jinsol exhaled and leaned back against the couch.
She let her eyes close for a moment, feeling the weight of exhaustion press down on her.
Then, quieter this time—
“But you don’t want to let me go either, do you?”
Yoona didn’t answer.
And this time, that was all the answer Jinsol needed.
—
Another night.
Another knock at the door.
Another trail of blood on her doorstep.
Yoona wasn’t even surprised anymore.
She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
She opened the door and there Jinsol stood—leaning against the frame like her body had finally forgotten how to hold itself up.
Her white tank top was stained red again. A gash ran along her forehead, dark and ugly, her knuckles raw from another fight.
Another night of Jinsol walking into war and coming out alive.
Yoona didn’t know how she kept surviving this.
She didn’t ask any questions.
She just stepped aside, letting her in.
Jinsol gave her that tired smirk, stepping in like she belonged there. Like she hadn’t been gone for days.
Yoona locked the door behind her and grabbed the first aid kit.
It had become routine at this point.
She sat Jinsol down on the couch, pressing a cloth against her forehead. Jinsol hissed slightly, but didn’t pull away.
She never did.
Instead, she just watched Yoona.
Always watching.
Yoona hated that look.
Like Jinsol knew something she didn’t.
Like she was waiting.
Like she always knew.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
And then—
"How are you not dead yet?"
The words slipped out before Yoona could stop them.
Jinsol blinked.
Then, she let out a breathy chuckle. “Damn, princess. That’s the first thing you ask?”
Yoona scowled, pressing the cloth a little harder against her wound. “I’m serious, Jinsol.”
Jinsol winced, but her smirk didn’t fade. “Guess I’m just lucky.”
Yoona stared at her.
Lucky?
That wasn’t luck.
That was recklessness.
That was playing with death every night and somehow coming out the other side.
She shook her head, wrapping a fresh bandage around Jinsol’s arm. “One day, you won’t come back.”
The words were sharp. Sharper than she intended.
Jinsol hummed. “Maybe.”
She said it so easily.
Like the thought of dying didn’t scare her at all.
And maybe it didn’t.
Maybe the only thing keeping her alive was something else entirely.
Yoona exhaled, looking at her properly for the first time that night.
Really looking at her.
Jinsol had too many scars.
Too many stories carved into her skin.
How many times had she come back like this?
How many more times would she?
Yoona swallowed hard, forcing herself to ask, "Why? Why do you keep doing this?"
Jinsol tilted her head slightly, studying her.
And then, she said it.
So easily.
So casually.
"I can’t die before I hear you say the words to me."
Yoona’s breath caught.
Her fingers froze against the bandage.
She felt her stomach drop.
Her heart pound against her ribs.
She tried to speak, but no words came out.
Jinsol leaned back against the couch, her smirk faint but her eyes serious.
Dead serious.
"See? That’s why I’m still here."
The air in the room suddenly felt too thick.
Yoona couldn’t look away.
Jinsol was still watching her, like she was waiting for something.
Like she had been waiting for a long time.
Yoona’s grip on the bandage tightened.
She hated this.
Hated that she couldn’t deny it.
Because she knew exactly what Jinsol meant.
She knew what words she was talking about.
She knew Jinsol was waiting for her to say them.
And she knew—
She wasn’t ready to.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Jinsol let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.
She looked exhausted.
Like she had been holding on for too long.
Holding on to her.
But Yoona wasn’t sure if she could be caught.
Jinsol tilted her head slightly, voice quieter this time.
"But you don’t want to let me go either, do you?"
Yoona’s throat felt tight.
She couldn’t answer.
And that was all the answer Jinsol needed.
The silence between them stretched again.
But this time, it was different.
This time, it was heavier.
Jinsol exhaled, leaning her head back against the couch, as if she already knew how this would end.
Yoona swallowed hard and went back to wrapping her wounds.
But her hands were shaking.
Because she knew—
She was keeping Jinsol alive.
And she didn’t know if she was strong enough to let her go.
—
The knock came at the same time it always did.
But this time—something felt different.
Yoona hesitated before opening the door.
She had gotten used to what she would find on the other side.
The scent of blood.
The sight of torn skin, bruised knuckles, and exhaustion barely hidden beneath a cocky smirk.
She had gotten used to Jinsol, the fighter.
But tonight—
When Yoona pulled open the door, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
Jinsol stood there, but there was no blood.
No bruises.
No torn clothes.
Just her.
Her real self.
Clean, fresh, and standing there in a plain black hoodie and jeans, hands tucked into her pockets like she had nowhere else to be but here.
And in her left hand—
A single white lily.
Yoona’s breath caught.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say.
Jinsol, who always came to her doorstep half-broken, now looked whole.
Like she wasn’t running from a fight.
Like she wasn’t walking out of a war.
Like she had come here for something else entirely.
“Hey, princess.” Jinsol’s voice was softer than usual, like the night itself had quieted for her.
Yoona swallowed, gripping the edge of the door. “You’re… clean.”
Jinsol smirked. “Didn’t recognize me without the blood?”
Yoona frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
Jinsol just chuckled, shaking her head. “Relax. No fights tonight. No trouble. Just me.”
Her gaze softened as she lifted the flower between them.
“And this.”
Yoona blinked, looking at the delicate petals.
A bouquet of daisy.
Pure white.
Soft and untouched by violence.
Jinsol twirled it between her fingers. “It reminded me of you.”
Something twisted in Yoona’s chest.
She stared at her, at the flower, at the way Jinsol wasn’t hiding behind a smirk or a joke this time.
She was just standing there.
Open.
Real.
And Yoona had no idea how to handle that.
She exhaled, crossing her arms. “What are you doing, Jinsol?”
Jinsol tilted her head. “What does it look like?”
“I don’t know,” Yoona admitted. “That’s what’s scaring me.”
Jinsol let out a soft laugh.
Then she stepped closer.
Close enough that Yoona could feel the warmth of her body, even through the cool night air.
She held out the flower.
“Take it.”
Yoona hesitated.
Her fingers twitched.
Something about this moment felt too fragile.
Like if she reached out, if she accepted this, something between them would change forever.
And maybe—
Maybe that’s what Jinsol wanted.
A choice.
An answer.
Something more than silence.
Yoona swallowed hard and, finally, she reached out.
Her fingers brushed against Jinsol’s as she took the flower.
Jinsol held her hand there for just a second longer than necessary.
Then, she stepped back, her hands sliding into her pockets again, watching Yoona like she was waiting for something.
Yoona stared down at the flower in her hands.
White petals.
Soft.
Untouched.
Not stained by blood.
She exhaled.
Then—
Quietly, almost too softly to hear—
“Why?”
Jinsol smiled, but it was different this time.
Softer.
Real.
“Because I wanted to see if you’d take it.”
Yoona looked up at her.
Something unspoken passed between them.
And in that moment—
For the first time in a long time—
Jinsol wasn’t waiting for a fight.
She was just waiting for her.
Yoona thought Jinsol was getting ready to leave.
She had already done enough damage tonight—showing up clean, handing her a flower, looking at her like that.
Like she wasn’t just some reckless gangster.
Like she actually meant something.
Yoona wasn’t sure she could handle that.
She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now with the weight of Jinsol’s quiet confession lingering in the air.
So when Jinsol shifted her stance, hands sliding out of her pockets, Yoona assumed this was it.
That she’d finally go home.
That she’d finally leave Yoona alone to figure out what the hell this all meant.
But instead—
Jinsol grabbed her wrist.
And before Yoona could react—
She pulled her in.
A soft gasp left Yoona’s lips as she stumbled forward, only for Jinsol to guide her down—firm but careful—until she was suddenly seated on top of her, straddling her lap.
The room tilted.
Or maybe it was just Yoona’s head, spinning from the sudden shift.
Her hands instinctively braced against Jinsol’s shoulders, trying to keep some space between them, but Jinsol wasn’t letting her go.
Yoona froze.
Heat rushed to her face.
She couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Because Jinsol was beneath her, looking up at her like she belonged there.
Her hands rested loosely on Yoona’s waist, not pushing, not pulling—just holding.
Like she was waiting.
Like she was always waiting.
Yoona swallowed hard. “Jinsol—”
“Shhh.”
Jinsol’s voice was low.
Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with fists or knives or blood.
And everything to do with her.
With this.
With the fact that Yoona was sitting on her lap, and Jinsol wasn’t laughing.
She wasn’t teasing.
She wasn’t smirking.
She was serious.
Dead serious.
“Stay,” Jinsol murmured, fingers tightening just slightly against her waist. “Just for a second.”
Yoona’s heart pounded.
She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Because the way Jinsol was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth holding onto—was too much.
And yet, Yoona didn’t move.
She didn’t pull away.
She didn’t even try.
Because for some reason—she didn’t want to.
She just stared at her.
At the soft intensity in Jinsol’s eyes.
At the way she was letting Yoona see her, all of her—without hiding behind blood and bruises and smirks.
No running.
No distractions.
Just them.
And the weight of whatever this was, pressing down on them both.
Yoona exhaled, her grip loosening against Jinsol’s shoulders.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she admitted quietly.
Jinsol tilted her head, studying her.
Then, voice softer than ever—
“I don’t want anything.”
A pause.
And then—
“I just want you.”
Yoona’s breath caught.
She felt the words sink in, slow and deep, curling into the space she had been trying so hard to ignore.
And suddenly, she was terrified.
Because Jinsol wasn’t asking.
She wasn’t demanding.
She was just telling her.
And for the first time, Yoona had nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
She was already in Jinsol’s arms.
Already too close.
Already caught.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
She didn’t want to be let go.
Yoona had barely wrapped her mind around the fact that she was sitting on Jinsol’s lap when—
Jinsol suddenly pulled off her hoodie.
The fabric peeled away, revealing her toned arms, her collarbone, the white tank top clinging to her skin beneath.
Yoona tensed.
Her fingers twitched against Jinsol’s shoulders, and instinct kicked in—she needed to get up.
This was too much.
Too close.
Too real.
She started to shift, ready to push away, ready to create any distance between them before she completely lost herself in the heat of Jinsol’s gaze—
Until she saw it.
The wound.
A deep, ugly gash across Jinsol’s lower abs, barely closed, stained dark red against the pale stretch of her skin.
Yoona’s breath caught.
Her stomach dropped.
“Jinsol,” she whispered, voice sharp with something dangerously close to panic.
Jinsol didn’t even flinch.
Didn’t even seem to care.
Like she had forgotten she was hurt at all.
Yoona hadn’t.
Her hands, which had been gripping Jinsol’s shoulders just a second ago, moved to her stomach instead.
Fingers ghosting over the wound, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
This was fresh.
This was bad.
This was why she came clean that night, wasn’t it?
Not because she had stopped fighting.
Not because she had chosen peace.
But because she had almost died.
And Yoona hadn’t even known.
Her hands trembled.
“You’re hurt,” she said, voice shaking.
Jinsol tilted her head, a small, tired smirk tugging at her lips.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Guess I am.”
Yoona’s fingers pressed down on the uninjured skin beside the wound, her heart pounding.
“This isn’t a joke, Jinsol.”
Jinsol exhaled, her hands still resting lightly against Yoona’s waist, keeping her there.
“It’s not a big deal, princess.”
Yoona’s eyes snapped up.
Fury.
Raw, unfiltered anger burned through her, tangled with something else.
Something deeper.
Something that made her chest ache.
Not a big deal?
Jinsol was bleeding.
She had almost died.
And she had still come here.
Still pulled Yoona onto her lap like nothing was wrong.
Like this was normal.
Like this was okay.
Yoona’s pulse roared in her ears.
Her grip tightened against Jinsol’s skin, and when she finally spoke, her voice was low, shaking.
"How many times?"
Jinsol blinked. "What?"
"How many times have you come to me like this," Yoona whispered. "How long are you gonna keep doing this?"
Jinsol’s smirk faded.
For the first time, she looked away.
That was Yoona’s answer.
Her chest cracked open.
Pain.
Fury.
Fear.
She could feel it all, crushing her, drowning her.
She didn’t even realize her eyes were burning until Jinsol touched her.
A soft brush of fingers against her wrist.
A silent plea.
“Yoona,” Jinsol murmured, but Yoona shook her head.
“You—” Her voice caught. She swallowed. “You can’t keep doing this.”
Jinsol let out a slow breath, gaze flickering back to hers.
And then—
Soft.
So, so soft.
"Then stop me."
Yoona’s heart stopped.
The room was too small.
The air was too heavy.
She could feel everything.
The heat of Jinsol’s skin under her fingers.
The slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing.
The quiet, aching weight of her words.
Stop her.
Jinsol had never said it out loud before.
But now, she had.
And Yoona knew what she meant.
If you don’t want me to come back broken, if you don’t want me bleeding on your doorstep every night—
Then give me a reason to stay.
Yoona’s throat felt tight.
Her grip on Jinsol’s skin softened.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure who was holding who together.
—
The knock at the door was softer than usual.
Yoona had been dozing on the couch, an open book resting on her chest, her mind tangled somewhere between sleep and reality. It had been a quiet night, the kind she used to cherish before her life became entangled with Bae Jinsol.
But the knock pulled her back.
Another.
And another.
Persistent.
Familiar.
She didn’t need to check to know who it was.
With a tired sigh, Yoona swung her legs off the couch, padding toward the door. How many nights had it been now? How many times had she found Jinsol standing there, beaten, bruised, bleeding?
How many times had she patched her up in silence, heart screaming at the reckless woman who refused to stop walking into the fire?
But tonight felt different.
There was something in the air, something Yoona couldn’t quite name.
And when she opened the door—
Jinsol stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket, clean.
No blood.
No bruises.
No wounds hidden beneath a lazy smirk.
Just Jinsol, standing there like she had something to say.
Yoona blinked. “You’re early tonight.”
Jinsol chuckled. “Miss me?”
Yoona rolled her eyes but stepped aside, letting her in.
She smelled like the night air, faint traces of cigarette smoke and rain lingering on her clothes. The scent was familiar now, one Yoona had grown used to over the months. Jinsol moved like she always did—like she owned the space.
She tossed her jacket over the couch, muscles flexing beneath the plain black tee she wore underneath.
Yoona noticed the faint scars, the healed reminders of a life Jinsol never spoke about, before she shook the thought away.
Instead, she folded her arms and stared at her. “Alright. Spill it.”
Jinsol tilted her head. “Spill what?”
Yoona narrowed her eyes. “You don’t show up here looking like this unless something’s up.”
Jinsol smirked, rubbing the back of her neck. “Damn. Can’t a girl just visit?”
Yoona wasn’t amused.
She tapped her foot.
Jinsol sighed, shaking her head with a quiet laugh.
Then, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather, she said—
“I built you a bakery.”
Yoona froze.
The words didn’t make sense at first.
Like she had misheard her.
Like her brain refused to put them together into something logical.
Jinsol just watched her, waiting.
Yoona’s lips parted. “You… what?”
Jinsol leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Technically, I am still building it. But it’s almost done.”
Yoona’s heart stopped.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.
She felt like the ground beneath her had been pulled away, leaving her weightless.
“You… built me a bakery?” Her voice cracked, and she hated how small it sounded.
Jinsol shrugged, like this was nothing. Like she hadn’t just changed everything. “Had some guys I trust start the construction a while ago. Figured if I told you, you’d just fight me on it.”
Yoona stared at her.
A sharp, aching pain curled in her chest.
Because she was right.
If Jinsol had told her, she would have refused.
Would have yelled.
Would have fought tooth and nail to stop her from wasting money, from getting involved, from making something so personal about her.
And yet…
She had done it anyway.
Yoona’s throat felt tight.
Her bakery—
The one she had lost.
The one that had burned while she had stood there, helpless, sobbing, breaking.
The one she had convinced herself was gone forever.
Jinsol had—
She couldn’t breathe.
Her voice shook. “Why?”
Jinsol exhaled slowly, pushing off the counter.
And then, softer than ever—
“Because I never want to see you cry like that again.”
Yoona felt herself unravel.
The memory crashed into her all at once—
That night.
The smoke.
The flames.
The helpless, gut-wrenching feeling of watching everything she had worked for turn into nothing but ash.
She had screamed.
She had sobbed.
And Jinsol—
Jinsol had been there.
Not saying a word.
Just holding her.
Strong. Unshaken. Keeping her from collapsing onto the cold pavement, even as her entire world crumbled at her feet.
And now—
She had built it back up.
Yoona felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
Her breath shuddered as she stepped forward.
And before she could think—
Before she could stop herself—
She grabbed Jinsol.
Arms wrapped around her, fingers gripping the back of her shirt, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping her standing.
Jinsol froze.
For the first time, she was caught off guard.
Her body stiffened against Yoona’s, hands hovering slightly, unsure—
Then, slowly, she melted.
Her arms came around Yoona’s waist, pressing her close, fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater.
She was warm.
Solid.
Real.
Yoona squeezed her eyes shut.
Because for the first time, she wasn’t crying from loss.
She was crying because—
She had been given something back.
She buried her face into Jinsol’s shoulder, whispering something she wasn’t even sure made sense.
Jinsol just held her.
Tighter.
Closer.
Like she wasn’t planning on letting go.
Like she had no intention of ever letting her fall.
Yoona had lost so much.
But maybe—
Just maybe—
She had found something, too.
—
The morning light streamed through the thin curtains, painting golden streaks across the small apartment.
Yoona stirred at the feeling of warm fingers brushing against her cheek.
She blinked awake, Jinsol’s face coming into view.
A slow, lazy smirk tugged at Jinsol’s lips. “Morning, princess.”
Yoona groaned, squeezing her eyes shut again. “Go away.”
Jinsol laughed softly. “No can do. We have somewhere to be.”
Yoona peeked one eye open. “What?”
Jinsol stood up, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans. “Get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere.”
Yoona sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Where?”
Jinsol only smirked. “You’ll see.”
---
Yoona grumbled the entire time she got ready.
She tried asking Jinsol over and over again where they were going, but the woman refused to answer.
“Just trust me,” was all she said.
And despite how frustrating that was, Yoona did trust her.
So, she followed.
Jinsol led her outside, onto her bike. The sleek, black motorcycle was as familiar as the woman who owned it.
Jinsol handed her a helmet. “Hop on.”
Yoona sighed but took it, fastening it securely before climbing onto the back.
The moment Jinsol started the engine, Yoona’s hands instinctively wrapped around her waist.
She felt Jinsol chuckle. “Holding on tight?”
“Shut up and drive.”
Jinsol only smirked before speeding off.
The ride was long. Longer than Yoona expected.
She watched as the scenery changed—the familiar streets of her neighborhood fading away into places she didn’t recognize. The towering city buildings melted into quieter roads, lined with small businesses and old brick buildings.
Then, after what felt like forever, Jinsol finally slowed down.
Yoona sat up straighter, heart pounding.
Jinsol pulled into a narrow street and parked in front of a small, beautiful café.
Yoona blinked.
It wasn’t just any café.
It was a bakery.
A brand new one.
Her breath caught in her throat as she took it in.
The warm beige exterior. The large glass windows framed with soft golden trim. The elegant wooden sign above the door, carved with a name that made her heart stop.
Yoona’s Bakery.
Her legs felt weak.
She barely noticed when Jinsol turned off the engine, stepping off the bike like this was just another day.
Yoona, on the other hand, couldn’t move.
Jinsol turned to her, a small smirk on her lips. “Well? Aren’t you gonna go inside?”
Yoona finally found her voice. "This… this isn't—" She swallowed. "Jinsol, what is this?"
Jinsol rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly looking a little awkward. "It’s yours."
Yoona’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
Jinsol shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "I told you I was gonna build you a new bakery. Didn’t say it was gonna be in the same place."
Yoona’s heart pounded. Too much.
Her hands shook as she stepped toward the building, fingers ghosting over the smooth wood of the front door.
It wasn’t just a random bakery.
It wasn’t just a place.
It was hers.
Built from the ground up.
For her.
Jinsol leaned against the bike, watching her reaction carefully.
Yoona’s throat felt tight. “You… you did all this?”
Jinsol exhaled, her gaze softening. "Yeah."
Silence.
Yoona felt something inside her crack.
She turned back to the bakery, hands pressed to her mouth.
The old bakery—her first home—had been destroyed. Gone.
She had convinced herself she would never have that again.
But now, standing here—
It felt like she could finally breathe.
She turned back to Jinsol, eyes wet with unshed tears.
“Why?” she whispered.
Jinsol met her gaze, her voice steady. "Because I don’t want you to be afraid anymore."
The words hit Yoona like a punch to the chest.
Jinsol shifted, running a hand through her hair. “You… you love baking. It’s what makes you happy. I couldn’t let them take that from you.”
Yoona’s heart ached.
Because no one had ever fought for her like this.
No one had ever looked at the wreckage of her life and decided she deserved more.
And Jinsol—reckless, dangerous, stubborn Jinsol—had built her a future with her own hands.
Yoona didn’t think.
She just moved.
Crossed the space between them and threw herself into Jinsol’s arms.
Jinsol stiffened, surprised—then melted.
Her arms wrapped around Yoona’s waist, holding her tightly.
Yoona buried her face in Jinsol’s shoulder, shaking.
Because this was real.
Because for the first time in a long, long time—
She wasn’t mourning what she had lost.
She was grateful for what she had been given.
The moment Yoona stepped inside, she felt it.
The warmth.
The love poured into every detail.
The wooden counter—sturdy and polished.
The glass display case—waiting to be filled with pastries.
The cozy tables by the window—exactly how she had always arranged them.
Yoona’s fingers brushed over the countertop, disbelief settling deep in her bones.
She turned to Jinsol, voice thick with emotion.
“You even remembered the seating arrangement.”
Jinsol smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “You never shut up about it.”
Yoona laughed, wiping at her eyes. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
Jinsol tilted her head. “You like it?”
Yoona looked around.
Everything she had lost.
Everything she had thought was gone forever.
Standing here, whole.
Waiting for her.
She turned back to Jinsol—this woman who had fought for her, who had never let her fall.
And for the first time, Yoona didn’t hesitate.
She walked straight up to Jinsol, cupped her face in both hands—
And kissed her.
Jinsol froze.
But only for a second.
Then her hands came up to grip Yoona’s waist, pulling her in, deepening the kiss.
It was slow. Certain.
Like the final piece of something falling into place.
Like a promise sealed between them.
When they finally pulled apart, Jinsol was smirking. “Damn. Should’ve built you a bakery sooner.”
Yoona laughed, pressing her forehead against hers.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You were already building me a home.”
Jinsol’s breath caught.
Because they both knew—
This wasn’t just about the bakery.
It never had been.
The outside was still.
No car horns. No distant sirens. No muffled voices in the alleyways.
For the first time in a long time, Jinsol wasn’t listening for danger.
She wasn’t glancing over her shoulder, waiting for someone to appear from the shadows.
She was just… here.
Sitting on the counter of the bakery she built, with Yoona between her legs, holding her face like she was something precious.
Like she wasn’t someone who had spent most of her life fighting and bleeding.
Like she wasn’t someone who had destroyed things.
Instead, Yoona looked at her like she had built something.
Like she had given her something worth keeping.
Jinsol’s heart pounded in her chest.
Yoona’s fingers were in her hair, gentle and slow, caressing like she was memorizing the feeling of her.
Jinsol let her.
She let herself be held.
Yoona’s touch was soft in a way Jinsol wasn’t used to.
In a way she had never let herself have before.
But now—she wanted it.
She wanted to let Yoona touch her like this. To be seen. To be wanted.
And then—Yoona spoke.
Quiet. Certain. Unwavering.
"I love you."
Jinsol’s whole body went still.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She had fought through hell just to hear those words.
She had taken hits, had bled in the streets, had nearly died more times than she could count—and yet, nothing had ever felt as terrifying as this moment.
As letting herself believe it.
Believe that someone like Yoona could love someone like her.
Her hands clenched instinctively around Yoona’s waist, as if she needed to ground herself.
Her heart was racing too fast, too loud.
She had always been strong in a fight. Unshaken in the face of an enemy.
But right now—Yoona had completely undone her.
Jinsol exhaled sharply, tilting her head back slightly.
“You…” Her voice faltered. “Say it again.”
Yoona smiled, thumb brushing over her cheek.
"I love you."
Jinsol let out a slow, shaky breath.
"Again," she whispered.
Yoona laughed softly, leaning in.
"I love you."
Jinsol shut her eyes.
The words pressed against her skin, sinking in.
For so long, she had fought like she had nothing to lose.
Now, sitting here, with Yoona looking at her like she was the only thing in the world—
She had everything to lose.
Jinsol opened her eyes, staring at Yoona like she was seeing her for the first time.
Yoona was watching her closely, waiting.
Jinsol felt like she should say something.
Something poetic. Something deep. Something that could capture just how much Yoona meant to her.
But all that came out was a breathless, raw, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
Yoona’s expression softened.
"Then hear it again."
And she whispered it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until Jinsol could feel it in every single broken piece of herself.
Until it filled every wound, every scar, every place she had kept hidden.
Until she couldn’t take it anymore—
And she pulled Yoona in.
The kiss was slow, steady—not desperate, not rushed.
Jinsol wanted to feel it.
To let herself have this moment.
To let herself be loved.
Yoona’s lips were warm, soft against hers.
She wasn’t pulling Jinsol in like she was afraid of losing her—she was kissing her like she already had her.
Like Jinsol had already chosen to stay.
Jinsol felt something break open inside her.
Her fingers gripped Yoona’s waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.
She could feel everything in the way Yoona held her.
The relief. The longing. The love.
And when they finally pulled apart, Yoona was smiling.
Not the small, hesitant smiles from before.
But a real, radiant smile.
A smile that made Jinsol’s chest ache.
The moment Jinsol stepped into the kitchen, it was as if chaos itself had arrived.
Flour covered her hoodie, her hair, even her cheek—and they hadn’t even started mixing the dough yet.
Yoona watched in mild horror as Jinsol aggressively cracked an egg—shell and all—**straight into the bowl.
Jinsol frowned, staring at the mess. “That’s… not how it’s supposed to go, is it?”
Yoona sighed, shaking her head as she reached over, fishing out the broken shells.
Jinsol leaned her weight on the counter, smirking. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You already know the answer,” Yoona muttered, rolling her eyes.
But she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
Jinsol, despite being one of the most feared people in the city, looked completely helpless in front of a mixing bowl.
It was adorable.
Yoona had never seen her like this.
Jinsol was usually covered in bruises, blood, or exhaustion. But today, she was standing in Yoona’s kitchen, covered in flour, pouting like a scolded child.
It was ridiculous.
And it made Yoona’s heart ache in the best way possible.
“Okay, okay, let’s do this properly,” Yoona said, stepping behind Jinsol.
She guided Jinsol’s hands, pressing close against her back.
Jinsol froze.
Not because she was uncomfortable—but because Yoona was so damn close, and she smelled like vanilla and sugar, and it was messing with her head.
“Relax,” Yoona teased, her fingers lightly pressing against Jinsol’s wrist. “It’s just baking.”
Just baking.
Sure.
Jinsol swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus.
Yoona guided her hands, helping her gently pour the flour into the bowl.
"See?" Yoona said softly. "Not so hard, right?"
Jinsol exhaled, forcing a smirk. "You say that now, but give me five minutes. I bet I’ll find a way to ruin this."
Yoona let out a laugh, shaking her head.
As they continued, Jinsol actually tried—she really did.
But somehow, she still managed to get flour everywhere.
On the counter.
On the floor.
On herself.
Yoona turned around for one second—**just one second—**and when she looked back, Jinsol had an entire handprint of flour on her hoodie.
“…How?” Yoona asked, staring.
Jinsol blinked innocently. “It attacked me.”
Yoona snorted, covering her mouth to hide her laughter.
Jinsol grinned at the sound.
She would get flour all over herself a thousand times over if it meant hearing Yoona laugh like that.
“I think you’re doing it on purpose now,” Yoona accused.
Jinsol smirked. “Maybe.”
She reached for more flour—but Yoona caught her wrist before she could cause any more damage.
They both froze.
The kitchen was quiet.
The only sound was their breathing, the soft hum of the oven, and the rapid beating of Jinsol’s heart.
Yoona’s fingers were still curled around Jinsol’s wrist, her grip gentle but firm.
Jinsol tilted her head, smirking. “You gonna stop me, princess?”
Yoona rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink.
“Just—focus, Jinsol. We actually need to bake something.”
Jinsol chuckled, finally relenting.
But as they continued, she couldn’t stop staring at Yoona.
The way she bit her lip in concentration.
The way she hummed softly under her breath while kneading the dough.
The way she wiped flour off her hands—without realizing she had left a small streak of it across her cheek.
Jinsol’s chest ached.
She had seen Yoona in fear. She had seen Yoona crying. She had seen Yoona broken.
But now—she was seeing Yoona happy.
And Jinsol swore to herself—she would do anything to keep it that way.
Even if it meant learning how to bake without destroying an entire kitchen.
The warm scent of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen, wrapping around them like a comforting embrace.
The timer on the oven beeped, signaling that their first pastry was finally done.
Jinsol’s eyes lit up.
She immediately moved forward, excitement evident in her every step.
“I got it!” she declared, reaching for the oven handle with her bare hands.
But before she could even touch it—
Yoona grabbed her wrist.
"Careful, baby—!"
Silence.
Yoona’s own words seemed to hit her a second too late.
Her eyes widened.
Jinsol froze.
The kitchen, once filled with the soft sounds of baking and quiet laughter, was suddenly too still.
Jinsol’s mind completely short-circuited.
Did Yoona just—?
Her lips parted, grinning.
"Baby?" Jinsol drawled, smirking.
Yoona’s entire face turned red.
“I—I didn’t mean to—” she stammered, quickly looking away.
But Jinsol wasn’t going to let this go.
No, no.
Not when it was the cutest thing she had ever heard in her life.
She leaned in slightly, eyes full of mischief.
“You called me baby,” she teased, voice lower, smooth.
Yoona refused to meet her gaze.
“You were about to burn yourself," Yoona muttered, clearly trying to change the subject.
Jinsol tilted her head, grinning wider.
"Mm-hm. And you stopped me. So sweetly."
Yoona sighed, rubbing her temple. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
Jinsol pretended to think. “Nope.”
Yoona let out a soft groan, finally looking back at Jinsol—only to realize she was still holding onto her wrist.
Still close.
Still smiling like she had just won the lottery.
Yoona sighed.
“Just… let me get the pastries out before you actually burn yourself, okay?”
Jinsol laughed, raising both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave the oven to the pro.”
She watched as Yoona carefully put on the oven mitts, pulling the tray out with ease.
The golden pastries sat perfectly on the baking sheet, their warm scent filling the air.
Jinsol stared at them, impressed.
“We made those?” she asked, almost disbelieving.
Yoona shook her head, setting the tray down.
“I made them. You made a mess.”
Jinsol chuckled, crossing her arms. “Still a team effort.”
Yoona rolled her eyes—but she was smiling.
The pastries sat cooling on the counter, their golden crusts tempting and warm.
Jinsol had been eyeing them impatiently for the past five minutes, arms crossed, tapping her fingers against the counter.
"Can I eat them now?" she asked for the third time.
Yoona sighed, checking the temperature with the back of her hand.
"Just wait a little—"
"I’ve been waiting my whole life, Yoona."
Yoona shot her a look.
Jinsol grinned. "What? It’s true. Never had homemade pastries before."
That made Yoona pause.
Something softened in her gaze.
"You've really never had any?"
Jinsol shrugged, looking away.
"Not like this," she admitted. "Not fresh. Not… made for me."
Yoona stared at her for a moment, something unreadable passing through her eyes.
She turned back to the pastries, gently picking one up.
It was warm—but not too hot anymore.
"Alright," she said, breaking off a piece. "Try it."
She held it out to Jinsol.
Jinsol reached for it—
But Yoona pulled her hand back.
"Uh-uh," Yoona murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Open your mouth."
Jinsol froze.
Her mind blanked for a full second.
Yoona was really about to feed her?
Jinsol was a fighter, a gangster, someone who had spent her life surviving.
But right now?
Right now, she was completely weak.
Weak to the way Yoona was looking at her.
Weak to the warmth in her voice.
Weak to the way Yoona’s delicate fingers held the pastry—waiting for her.
Jinsol cleared her throat, forcing herself to act normal.
She leaned in, opening her mouth.
Yoona carefully placed the piece of pastry between her lips.
The taste hit her instantly—sweet, buttery, soft.
Jinsol chewed slowly, letting the flavor settle on her tongue.
It was perfect.
Like everything Yoona made.
She swallowed, blinking.
“…Damn,” she muttered.
Yoona tilted her head, waiting for her reaction. “Good?”
Jinsol licked her lips, grinning.
“Sweet,” she murmured, meeting Yoona’s gaze.
Yoona raised an eyebrow. “The pastry?”
Jinsol smirked.
"You."
Yoona rolled her eyes, but the pink in her cheeks gave her away.
Jinsol chuckled, licking a stray crumb off her thumb.
“Guess I have to keep you now,” she teased.
Yoona crossed her arms. “You didn’t before?”
Jinsol paused.
And then—her smirk softened.
"Always did," she murmured. "Just wasn’t sure if you'd want to be kept."
Yoona's gaze flickered, something tender passing through her expression.
She broke off another piece of pastry, this time taking a bite herself.
And then, after a moment, she looked at Jinsol again—
And fed her another bite.
Jinsol didn’t hesitate this time.
She let Yoona take care of her.
Because for the first time in a long time—
She didn’t feel like she had to fight for something sweet.
She could just have it.
And Yoona?
She was the sweetest thing of all.
—
The sun had started to set by the time they finished baking, leaving streaks of soft orange and pink across the sky.
Inside the bakery, the scent of butter and sugar still lingered in the air, mixing with the faint warmth from the oven.
Jinsol stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, washing the mixing bowls with surprising efficiency.
Yoona leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her.
Jinsol worked with ease, rinsing the dishes, stacking them neatly.
Yoona had never seen her this… normal.
No blood on her knuckles. No bruises. No weapons hidden in her jacket.
Just Jinsol.
In her kitchen.
Cleaning up after baking.
And looking so at home while doing it.
Yoona bit her lip, debating for a moment before finally speaking.
“You know…” she started.
Jinsol hummed in response, not looking up as she scrubbed a stubborn stain on the mixing bowl.
“…You’re pretty good at this,” Yoona said, watching the way Jinsol wiped down the counter.
Jinsol snorted.
“Yeah?” she said, setting the last bowl aside to dry. “Didn’t feel that way when I almost set the oven on fire earlier.”
Yoona rolled her eyes. “You didn’t set it on fire.”
Jinsol smirked, drying her hands with a towel. “Felt like I almost did.”
Yoona shook her head, smiling softly.
And then—
She hesitated.
But only for a second.
“…You should quit,” she said, voice quieter.
Jinsol froze.
The playful smirk faded from her lips as she slowly turned to look at Yoona.
“What?”
Yoona met her gaze, serious this time.
“Quit,” she repeated. “Whatever you’re doing. The fighting, the gangs, the blood.”
Jinsol’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Yoona—”
“Stay here instead,” Yoona interrupted, stepping closer. “Help me run the bakery.”
Jinsol exhaled, looking away.
“You think it’s that simple?” she muttered.
Yoona didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
Jinsol let out a short, humorless laugh.
“It’s not.”
Yoona tilted her head. “Why not?”
Jinsol ran a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated.
“Because,” she said, voice low, “this life—your life—it’s not made for people like me, Yoona.”
Yoona frowned. “That’s not true.”
Jinsol scoffed, shaking her head.
But Yoona wasn’t finished.
“I’ve seen the way you look at this place,” she continued. “The way you cleaned the kitchen without me even asking. The way you stood by the oven, waiting like a kid for the pastries to finish.”
Jinsol’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard.
Yoona took another step forward, eyes locked onto hers.
“You can have a normal life, Jinsol,” she said softly. “You just have to want it.”
Jinsol swallowed.
Yoona wasn’t just saying this to be nice.
She meant it.
She really, truly thought Jinsol could do this.
Could be this.
Jinsol let out a slow breath, hands gripping the towel in her hands.
“…And if I say no?” she murmured.
Yoona’s expression didn’t waver.
“Then I’ll keep asking,” she said simply.
Jinsol stared at her.
And for the first time in a long time—
She actually considered it.
A life without running.
Without blood.
Without looking over her shoulder.
Just her and Yoona.
And the quiet hum of an oven.
“…I’ll think about it,” Jinsol muttered, turning away.
Yoona smiled.
“Good.”
Because one day, Jinsol would say yes.
And Yoona would be waiting.