Chapter 8
Yoona spent most of her time in silence after returning home. The hospital had always been a constant in her life—a place that kept her grounded, kept her mind occupied. But now, with new doctors filling in, she had no reason to rush back. No urgent calls. No patients waiting for her.
And without that distraction, all she could do was think.
Days blurred together. She wandered through the town, visited the ocean, and sat in her usual spots at the cafés. But everything felt different. The air was the same, the waves still crashed against the shore, but something was missing.
Or rather, someone.
She kept her phone close but never reached for it. If Jinsol wanted to talk, she would have called by now. Right?
But the silence stretched on, longer than Yoona expected.
Yoona lay motionless in her bed, curled up under the heavy weight of her blanket as if it could shield her from reality. The room was quiet, save for the occasional muffled sounds of life outside—Jiwoo’s voice, the distant hum of a car passing by, the wind rustling the trees. But none of it reached her. She stayed in the same spot, barely moving, her body sinking deeper into the mattress with every passing hour.
She slept because it was the only way to escape. When she woke up, even for just a few minutes, the ache in her chest was unbearable. The moment her mind became aware, thoughts of Jinsol rushed in like an unstoppable tide. The way she looked at her in the soft glow of the city lights. The warmth of her hands when she held Yoona’s. The quiet confession at the beach. And then, the silence that followed. The empty house. The decision that had already been made.
Tears welled up before she could stop them, slipping down her cheeks onto the pillow. She clenched her fists, trying to swallow the sobs, but they forced their way out in the darkness of her room.
Jiwoo had tried, knocking gently on her door earlier. “Yoona, let’s go out for a bit, huh? Just for some fresh air.”
No response.
A few hours later, another attempt. “I got you something to eat. You can just open the door, I’ll leave it right here.”
Still nothing.
Eventually, Jiwoo stopped knocking. But Yoona knew she was still there sometimes, sitting outside her door in silence, waiting.
She wanted to move, to get up, to open the door and tell Jiwoo she was okay. But she wasn’t. She was stuck in this endless loop of waking up, breaking down, and forcing herself to sleep again just so she didn’t have to feel.
Because feeling meant facing the truth.
And the truth was—Jinsol wasn’t here anymore.
Jinsol had never been the type to lose control in the kitchen. No matter how chaotic the rush got, no matter how many last-minute reservations were made by VIP guests, she had always been steady—composed, confident, unshaken. The kitchen was her kingdom, her safe space, the one place where she felt she had complete control.
But now, everything was different.
She slammed a pan onto the stove, harder than necessary, the sharp clang making the junior chefs flinch. She ignored their wary glances as she grabbed a knife, ready to fillet a fish. The moment the blade touched the flesh, she realized her grip was wrong—too tight, too tense—but before she could correct it, the knife slipped, slicing into her palm.
“Shit,” Jinsol hissed, dropping the blade.
Blood welled up instantly, bright red against the cold steel countertop. One of the sous chefs took a step forward, looking like he wanted to say something, but the glare Jinsol shot him kept him frozen in place.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her hand.
She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine since that night Yoona left.
“Chef, maybe you should take a break—”
“I said I’m fine,” Jinsol cut in sharply, turning her back on the concerned staff.
She pressed the towel harder against her wound, ignoring the sting as she moved to plate a dish. The sauce was supposed to be drizzled elegantly, but her hands were shaking. The streaks were uneven, the presentation off.
She cursed under her breath and wiped the plate clean, starting over.
Then, as she reached for a hot pan without thinking, she burned herself. The sizzle of skin meeting scorching metal filled the air, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
“Chef—”
“Focus on your own damn stations,” Jinsol snapped, shaking off the pain as she forced herself to keep moving.
She hated this. Hated how she had turned into someone who couldn’t even function in her own kitchen.
She had built La Mer with her own hands, had turned it into one of the most talked-about restaurants in Seoul. And yet, right now, she couldn’t even handle the simple act of cooking without making mistake after mistake.
It was because of her.
Yoona.
Jinsol squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to push away the ache in her chest.
Yoona had left. She had chosen to leave, just like before.
So why did it still hurt this much?
She took a deep breath and forced herself to move, to work, to pretend that everything was fine.
But the wounds on her hands, the burn on her skin, and the unbearable weight in her heart said otherwise.
Days turned into weeks, but nothing changed.
Jinsol remained the same—angry, restless, and lost.
The kitchen, once her sanctuary, now felt suffocating. Every morning, she walked in hoping today would be different, that she would feel like herself again. But the moment she picked up the knife, she could tell—her hands weren’t steady anymore. Her movements weren’t precise.
The frustration built up inside her like a storm, and she had no control over it. She would snap at the staff for the smallest mistakes, send dishes back even when they were perfectly fine, and lash out when someone dared to question her.
"Chef, this order was—"
"Redo it."
"But it’s exactly how—"
"I said redo it."
The tension in the kitchen was unbearable. No one laughed anymore, no one dared to joke around like before. The younger chefs walked on eggshells around her, avoiding eye contact. Even the senior staff, the ones who had been with her since La Mer first opened, hesitated before speaking to her.
The restaurant’s manager, a man who had never been afraid to challenge her, pulled her aside one night.
“Jinsol, you need to take a break.”
“I don’t need a break.”
“You do,” he insisted. “Look at yourself. You’re exhausted. You’re making mistakes.”
She scoffed. “I don’t make mistakes.”
But that was a lie.
She was making mistakes. She cut herself more times than she could count, her fingers bandaged underneath her gloves. She burned herself because she wasn’t paying attention. She plated dishes wrong and had to start over.
And yet, she kept going.
Because if she stopped, even for a second, she would have to face the truth—Yoona was gone.
Again.
And this time, it felt permanent.
The days blurred together. She worked from opening to closing, barely eating, barely sleeping. When the staff left for the night, she remained behind, sitting alone in the dimly lit dining area, a glass of untouched wine in front of her.
She stared at it, the deep red reflecting the restaurant’s soft lighting. She thought about drinking it, thought about letting herself drown in something other than work. But she never did.
She just sat there.
Motionless.
Trapped in a silence she didn’t know how to break.
Her apartment, the one that once felt like a dream, now felt too big, too empty. When she walked inside, she didn’t turn on the lights right away. She let the darkness settle around her, let herself pretend—for just a second—that she wasn’t alone.
But the moment she flipped the switch, reality crashed down on her.
She had been foolish to believe she could ever have something more.
Yoona had made her choice.
She left.
Again.
Jinsol clenched her jaw, gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.
She told herself to let go.
Yoona didn’t want this. She didn’t want her.
But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the anger never faded.
It only grew stronger, fueled by the unbearable feeling that something was missing. That no matter how much she worked, how much she distracted herself, she couldn’t fill the void Yoona left behind.
The kitchen was buzzing with quiet murmurs. The sound of chopping, sizzling, and plating was drowned out by the hushed conversations between the staff.
"What the hell is wrong with Chef these days?" one of the younger cooks whispered, carefully keeping his voice low as he arranged a dish.
"She’s been like this for weeks," another added, glancing toward Jinsol, who was furiously stirring a sauce, her movements harsher than usual. "She used to be strict, yeah, but not like this. She looks like she’s ready to murder someone every second of the day."
"I heard she hasn’t been sleeping," a sous chef chimed in. "She stays late even after we leave. Barely eats either."
"Maybe she's stressed? You know, with the restaurant and all."
"Stressed? No, man. This ain't stress. This is something else," one of the older chefs muttered. He had been with Jinsol since La Mer first opened, and he had never seen her like this.
There was a pause before someone finally said what they were all thinking.
"She got dumped."
A collective silence followed, a few glances exchanged.
"Shut up," one of the waiters said, but his expression showed curiosity. "You serious?"
"Think about it. Chef disappears for a few days. Comes back, and suddenly, she's this?" The cook motioned toward Jinsol, who was now plating aggressively, her hands moving fast and rough. "She’s pissed off all the time, she barely talks, and when she does, it’s either an order or her biting someone’s head off."
"And you saw how she’s been messing up in the kitchen? She’s never like that," another added. "Cuts herself, burns herself, forgets things… I mean, she literally yelled at a VIP customer the other day."
"Right? She used to care about impressing them. Now she just does the bare minimum and leaves."
"So, who do you think it was?"
Everyone went quiet again. They all knew Jinsol wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate, but they had seen the shift in her before she left for those few days.
Her smiles had been softer. Her mood lighter. There were moments she seemed… distracted, but not in a bad way.
Now, it was the opposite.
"If I had to guess…" the older chef started, lowering his voice. "It’s that doctor. The one who came to La Mer before. The one she—”
"Chef’s coming!" someone hissed.
The conversation ended immediately, everyone scrambling back to their workstations.
Jinsol walked through the kitchen, her sharp gaze scanning everything, as if she could feel the weight of their stares. She knew they were talking about her. She could hear the shift in the atmosphere the moment she entered the room.
She didn’t care.
Or at least, that’s what she told herself.
She picked up a knife, ready to start on the next order, but her hands trembled slightly.
She tightened her grip.
She needed to focus.
She needed to forget.
As the night wound down and the last dish had been sent out, the tension in the kitchen didn't ease the way it usually did. Instead, it lingered—thick, heavy, pressing down on everyone like an unspoken weight.
Jinsol had been the first to leave, barely saying a word as she grabbed her coat and stormed out. The moment the door swung shut behind her, the hushed murmurs began.
One of the junior chefs let out a breath. "Holy shit. I thought she was gonna throw that knife at someone today."
"Did you see how she cut herself and acted like it was nothing?" a line cook whispered, shaking his head. "That’s not normal. She’s not normal these days."
"She’s pissed off all the time," another chimed in. "Like, yeah, she’s strict, but this is different. She’s… unhinged."
"Maybe she got dumped," one of the waitresses suggested, stirring her drink as they gathered near the back door. "You know, like one of those heartbreaks that mess people up for good."
A dishwasher leaned in. "I heard she had someone back in her hometown. Some girl."
"Wait, for real?"
"Yeah, but she left. And I’m guessing that’s what’s screwing her up now."
A collective hum of realization rippled through the group.
"That does make sense…"
"She’s acting like someone who got her heart ripped out, chewed up, and spat back at her."
"I almost feel bad for her."
"Almost?"
"Well, yeah. But she’s scary as hell right now, so…"
They all nodded in agreement.
The head pastry chef, an older woman who had been working with Jinsol the longest, sighed. "She’s not mad at us," she said knowingly. "She’s mad at herself. Or maybe at that person she lost."
The group fell quiet.
Outside, the cold Seoul air bit at Jinsol’s skin as she walked to her car. She gripped the steering wheel tight, her knuckles white, as she stared at the empty passenger seat beside her.
She didn’t need to hear their whispers to know what they were saying.
Because she knew it was true.
Jinsol sat in her car long after her shift had ended, staring blankly at the dashboard. The city lights flickered outside, the usual lively hum of Seoul feeling oddly distant tonight. Her restaurant was thriving, her name recognized everywhere, but none of it mattered. Not when she had lost the one thing that truly made her happy.
Her fingers drummed restlessly against the steering wheel. She had spent days thinking—thinking about how she could fix this, thinking about what she could say, thinking about what Yoona might want to hear. But no matter how many times she played out the scenarios in her head, none of them felt right.
She had tried to let Yoona go before. Two years ago, she had accepted the offer and left the small town behind, convincing herself that it was the right decision. That they were just friends. That life would go on. But when she saw Yoona again, all of that fell apart.
Jinsol exhaled, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel.
The only way to fix this was to go back.
She had been running from it, from her feelings, from the possibility that she and Yoona could work, despite everything. But running had only led her here—angry, frustrated, lost.
Her staff whispered behind her back. Customers noticed her change in demeanor. She had cut herself in the kitchen too many times to count. She was a mess.
She couldn’t keep pretending she was fine.
Grabbing her phone, she hesitated for a moment before dialing a familiar number. Jiwoo.
It rang twice before the other line picked up.
"You better have something important to say," Jiwoo’s voice came through, a mix of exhaustion and irritation.
Jinsol swallowed, gripping the phone tighter. "I need to see her."
There was silence on the other end. Then, a long sigh. "You should’ve figured that out earlier, idiot."
"I know," Jinsol muttered, rubbing her face. "I know."
Another pause. Then Jiwoo spoke, softer this time. "Come back, Jinsol. But I can’t promise she’ll want to see you."
Jinsol closed her eyes. That was what she was afraid of.
But she had to try.
Because losing Yoona for good—truly, completely—was something she couldn’t accept.
Jinsol didn’t check the time. She didn’t care if it was too late or if she had responsibilities waiting for her back in Seoul. Nothing else mattered right now except getting to Yoona.
She sped down the highway, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The hum of the engine was the only sound keeping her company, but her mind was loud—too loud.
Every possible scenario played out in her head.
Would Yoona even open the door for her? Would she turn away, refusing to listen?
Or worse—what if she wasn’t even there? What if she had already left, moving on without Jinsol just as easily as she had walked away that night?
Jinsol clenched her jaw.
No.
She couldn’t think like that.
She had to believe that there was still something left between them. That Yoona hadn’t truly let go yet.
She rolled down the window slightly, letting the salty breeze rush in. The scent of the ocean filled her lungs, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe.
The small town was finally in sight. The dim streetlights cast a golden glow over the familiar roads, and everything looked exactly as she had left it. It was almost eerie—like she had stepped into a frozen moment from two years ago.
She slowed down as she passed by Sol’s Table. The restaurant was still there, standing strong even without her. The lights were off, the windows dark, but the sight of it still made her chest ache.
She had built something here. She had loved something here.
She had loved someone here.
And now she was back.
The streets were quiet, everyone long since settled into their homes for the night. Jinsol barely registered where she was driving—her hands moved on their own, instinct guiding her straight to the place she knew Yoona would be.
Finally, she pulled up to Yoona’s place.
She sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel, her heart hammering in her chest.
This was it.
She reached for the car door handle, but then she hesitated.
What if she had come all this way, only to realize she was too late?
Jinsol exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
No. She couldn’t turn back now.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting her skin. Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last, but she forced herself to keep moving.
Then, finally, she raised her fist and knocked.
She waited.
Silence.
She knocked again, this time more urgently.
Still nothing.
Her heart sank. Was Yoona even home?
Jinsol swallowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should—
The door creaked open.
And there, standing before her, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something unreadable, was Yoona.
Yoona had barely managed to pull herself out of bed when she heard the knock at her door.
She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. It had to be Jiwoo—who else would come this late? Probably checking in on her again, trying to get her to eat or step outside.
Dragging her feet, she reached for the door handle and pulled it open.
But instead of Jiwoo’s usual teasing grin, she was met with something entirely unexpected.
Jinsol.
Yoona froze.
For a second, she thought she was imagining things. Maybe the lack of sleep had finally caught up to her, or maybe she was dreaming, stuck in one of those cruel illusions her mind had been feeding her every night.
But no. Jinsol was real.
Standing there, chest rising and falling as if she had just run all the way here. Windblown hair, dark eyes that searched Yoona’s face like she was afraid she would disappear.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
The sound of waves crashing in the distance filled the silence, the night air slipping through the open door.
Yoona gripped the doorknob tighter. Her heart pounded in her chest, her fingers trembling slightly.
“…What are you doing here?” she finally managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.
Jinsol exhaled sharply, like she had been holding her breath this entire time.
"I had to see you," she said, her voice raw, desperate. "I couldn’t— I couldn’t just stay in Seoul, knowing that you were here. Knowing that I left things like that."
Yoona looked away.
Her emotions were tangled, a mess she didn’t know how to sort through. She had spent days convincing herself that this was over, that she had to move on.
And now Jinsol was standing in front of her, breaking every wall she had tried so hard to build.
Yoona swallowed the lump in her throat.
"You shouldn’t have come," she said, but the way her voice wavered made it sound more like a lie.
Jinsol’s brows furrowed the moment she took in Yoona’s appearance. Her face was pale, her lips dry, and her usually bright eyes were dull, unfocused. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t been taking care of herself at all.
Without thinking, Jinsol stepped closer, pressing the back of her hand gently against Yoona’s forehead.
Yoona flinched at the sudden touch, but she was too weak to pull away.
“You’re burning up,” Jinsol muttered, her voice tight with concern. “Yoona, you’re sick.”
Yoona let out a small laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “It’s just a fever. I’ll be fine.”
Jinsol’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t fine.”
Her mind raced. How long had Yoona been like this? Had she even been eating? Sleeping properly? The dark circles under her eyes, the way she barely had the strength to stand—it told Jinsol everything she needed to know.
Without another word, Jinsol stepped past Yoona and into the house, closing the door behind her.
Yoona sighed but didn’t protest. She was too tired to fight.
Jinsol turned to her, eyes filled with something Yoona couldn’t quite name. “Come on,” she said softly, reaching for her hand. “You need to lie down.”
For the first time in days, Yoona didn’t resist.
Jinsol stirred the soup slowly, watching the steam rise as she blew on the spoonful to cool it. The warmth filled the small kitchen, wrapping around them like a blanket, but Yoona sat there unmoving, her hands limp on her lap. The only sign that she was even listening was the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Jinsol sighed softly. She had seen Yoona tired before, exhausted from long hospital shifts, but never like this. Never this drained, this empty. It made her chest ache in a way she didn’t know how to describe.
She scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Yoona’s lips. “Come on,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just a little.”
Yoona blinked, her eyes dull, but she obediently opened her mouth. She didn’t react to the taste, just swallowed quietly. Jinsol fed her another, then another, watching for any sign of life in her expression, any sign that she was still here with her.
When she reached for another spoonful, she hesitated, then reached out instead, gently tucking a strand of Yoona’s hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered, tracing lightly over her cheek.
“You have to take care of yourself,” Jinsol murmured. “You can’t keep doing this.”
Yoona didn’t answer, only blinking slowly.
Jinsol let out a quiet, shaky breath. “I was so scared when I saw you like this,” she admitted. “You don’t know how much I—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. “Just finish this, okay?”
She kept feeding her, kept stroking her hair, whispering to her in that soft, gentle voice.
“You used to nag me about eating properly, remember?” Jinsol tried, her lips tugging into a sad smile. “Look at you now.”
Yoona’s lips twitched, just barely. But it wasn’t a smile.
Jinsol’s heart clenched.
She had spent so long pretending she could let Yoona go, convincing herself they were better off apart. But seeing her like this, pale and weak, barely holding herself together—Jinsol knew.
She was never letting her go again.
Yoona barely ate half of the soup before she suddenly pushed the bowl away and stood up. Her movements were sluggish, unsteady, but there was a determination in her that made Jinsol's heart sink.
She was trying to run away again.
Jinsol quickly stood up, reaching for her hand before she could take another step. "Yoona," she whispered, her grip firm but gentle.
Yoona didn't look at her. Her body tensed at the contact, her fingers twitching in Jinsol's grasp.
"I'm sorry," Jinsol said, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry."
Yoona's shoulders trembled.
"I should've never let you go," Jinsol continued. "I should’ve fought for you, should’ve—" Her words broke off as she took a shaky breath. "I was scared. I thought you were happy without me. And when I saw you with Jihoon, I—"
"Stop," Yoona muttered, her voice hoarse.
Jinsol shook her head, holding her hand tighter. "No, I need to say this. You need to hear it."
Yoona finally turned to face her. Her eyes, tired and red-rimmed, glistened with unshed tears.
Jinsol exhaled sharply. "I love you," she admitted, her voice almost breaking. "I love you, and I never stopped."
Yoona sucked in a shaky breath.
"I know I hurt you," Jinsol continued, stepping closer. "I know I messed up. But please, just—don't shut me out. Not like this."
Yoona stared at her, lips slightly parted, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
Jinsol let go of her hand just to cup her face, her thumbs gently brushing against Yoona’s cold, tired skin. "Let me fix this," she pleaded. "Let me fix us."
Yoona stood there, frozen, her hand limp in Jinsol’s grasp. Even as Jinsol poured her heart out, she never lifted her eyes to meet hers.
Not once.
Her gaze was cast downward, fixed on the floor, her own feet—anywhere but at Jinsol.
Jinsol felt a sharp ache in her chest at that. The Yoona she knew always looked at her directly, with confidence, with warmth. Even when they fought, even when she was upset—Yoona always met her eyes.
But now?
Now, it felt like she couldn’t even bear to look at her.
Jinsol swallowed, tightening her grip on Yoona’s hand. “Yoona,” she whispered, trying again.
Nothing.
Her lips parted, trembling slightly, but she didn’t speak.
Jinsol's heart pounded as she cupped Yoona’s face, her touch unbearably gentle. She felt how cold her skin was, how weak she seemed. With her thumbs, she brushed softly against her cheeks, trying—desperately—to get her to look at her.
“Please,” Jinsol whispered, her forehead nearly touching Yoona’s. “Just look at me.”
Yoona sucked in a shaky breath, but her eyes still refused to meet Jinsol’s.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Jinsol let out a soft, shaky laugh—one filled with quiet pain. “You won’t even look at me.”
Yoona's fingers twitched at her sides.
“You used to look at me all the time,” Jinsol continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even when you were mad. Even when you were teasing me. Even when I was being impossible.” She swallowed hard. “But now… now you won’t even glance at me.”
Yoona exhaled, a slow, uneven breath, and Jinsol felt the way her body trembled.
Jinsol’s hands slipped from Yoona’s cheeks, falling to her shoulders instead, holding onto her like she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go.
“Yoona,” she said again, softer this time. “If you want me to leave, just say it. If you really want me gone, I’ll go.”
Yoona’s breath hitched.
“But at least look at me when you say it,” Jinsol whispered.
Another long pause.
And then—finally, finally—Yoona’s chin lifted just slightly. Her eyes flickered upward, hesitating, resisting.
Jinsol held her breath.
But the moment their gazes nearly met, Yoona squeezed her eyes shut instead, turning her head away. A single tear escaped, rolling silently down her cheek.
Jinsol felt something inside her break.
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Yoona without thinking, pulling her into the warmth of her embrace.
Yoona didn’t resist.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t say anything.
She just stood there, letting Jinsol hold her, as silent tears slipped down her face.
Jinsol held onto Yoona like she was something fragile, something that could slip away at any moment if she wasn’t careful. Yoona felt small in her arms, like a ghost of the woman she used to know, and it made something in her chest ache.
The words echoed between them.
"I hate you."
Yoona's voice was weak, almost lost in the space between them, but Jinsol heard it. Felt it.
She had braced herself for many things. For silence. For indifference. For another apology that would never be enough. But not for this.
Not for Yoona’s quiet confession—one that wasn’t anger, wasn’t rejection, but something so much worse.
Jinsol shut her eyes, her arms tightening around her.
“I know,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against Yoona’s hair. Her voice trembled slightly. “I know.”
Yoona’s hands curled into the fabric of Jinsol’s shirt. It wasn’t a push, but it wasn’t an embrace either. It was somewhere in between. Caught in hesitation. Caught in everything unsaid.
Then, even softer, so fragile it nearly broke Jinsol’s heart—
“I hate you for making me love you this much.”
Jinsol let out a shaky breath, her hold on Yoona tightening.
She had spent so long wondering if Yoona still felt the same way. If she had ever meant as much to her as Yoona had meant to her. If she was just a foolish girl holding onto something long gone.
But she wasn’t.
It had always been there, between them.
“I’m sorry,” Jinsol murmured, her voice thick. “I’m so sorry, Yoona.”
Yoona didn’t respond.
She just stood there, head bowed against Jinsol’s shoulder, letting herself be held. Letting herself fall apart in Jinsol’s arms.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing—unsteady, heavy with emotions neither of them could name.
Jinsol ran a hand gently through Yoona’s hair, tucking it behind her ear, her fingers lingering against her skin. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
Yoona’s shoulders trembled slightly.
“But you did,” she whispered, her voice so small.
Jinsol closed her eyes.
She had.
And she didn’t know if she could ever take it back.
But she would try.
She would try, no matter what it took.
Jinsol held Yoona tightly, her arms firm yet gentle around her. She could feel how fragile Yoona was in her grasp—the way her body barely held any strength, the way her breaths were shallow, uneven. It made something deep inside Jinsol ache.
She pulled back just enough to see Yoona’s face again. Her skin was warm to the touch, her lips dry, her eyes still avoiding Jinsol’s completely.
Jinsol let out a slow breath, searching for the right words. Words that wouldn’t break the moment. That wouldn’t scare Yoona away even more.
“I’m not leaving,” she said again, softer this time.
Yoona’s fingers curled slightly against Jinsol’s sleeve, barely gripping onto her. It was the smallest movement, but Jinsol caught it.
She reached up, brushing stray strands of hair from Yoona’s face. “I’ll take care of you until you get better. Until you have enough energy to yell at me properly again.” She tried to lighten the mood, but Yoona didn’t react. No smile, no annoyed scoff—nothing.
Jinsol’s throat tightened.
“Yoona…” she murmured, tilting her head slightly, trying to meet Yoona’s downcast gaze. “I mean it. I won’t leave.”
Yoona was still silent, still unmoving, and Jinsol hated how distant she felt even when she was right in front of her.
So she stepped closer, closing whatever space was left between them. “And then,” Jinsol continued, answering the question Yoona had whispered before. “Once you’re better, once we figure things out—I don’t know, Yoona. I don’t have all the answers right now. But I want to find them. With you.”
Yoona exhaled shakily, her shoulders trembling slightly.
Jinsol reached for her hand, wrapping her fingers gently around it. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I was stupid, and selfish, and I probably don’t deserve another chance after everything. But I can’t—” Jinsol’s voice broke slightly, but she quickly steadied it. “I can’t just let you go. Not like this.”
Yoona finally reacted, her hand twitching in Jinsol’s hold. But she still wouldn’t look at her.
Jinsol bit her lip.
She wasn’t expecting Yoona to forgive her right away.
But she needed her to know.
That she was here. That she wasn’t running anymore.
That she wouldn’t lose her again.
She lifted Yoona’s hand gently, pressing it against her own chest, right over her heart. “Do you feel that?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Yoona remained silent.
“My heart’s never stopped beating for you, Yoona,” Jinsol confessed, her grip tightening just slightly. “Even when I was far away, even when I was being the biggest idiot in the world—it was always you.”
Yoona inhaled sharply, her shoulders stiffening.
Jinsol felt the tiniest pressure against her chest. Yoona’s fingers, pressing back—just for a second.
It was small. Barely anything.
But it was something.
And for now, Jinsol would hold onto that.
Jinsol lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of the clock ticking on the wall. The dim glow of the streetlights seeped through the curtains, casting a soft, golden hue over the quiet house. She shifted slightly, her back already aching from the firm cushions, but she barely noticed the discomfort.
Her mind was too occupied with the weight of everything that had happened.
She turned her head toward the bedroom door, where Yoona lay inside. For the past two years, she had imagined a moment like this—being close to Yoona again, having her within reach. But not like this. Not with Yoona sick, fragile, and refusing to meet her eyes. Not with the bitterness of their past mistakes still lingering between them like an open wound.
Jinsol exhaled heavily, rubbing her hands over her face.
She had thought she was doing the right thing back then—chasing her dream, building a life in Seoul, proving to the world (and to herself) that she could be successful. But none of it mattered now. Not the awards, not the fame, not the people who admired her work. Because in the end, she had lost the one thing that truly made her happy.
And now, seeing Yoona like this, pale and weak, barely eating, barely speaking—Jinsol hated herself for it.
She turned onto her side, curling slightly as she pulled the blanket over herself. The couch was too short, the cushions too stiff, but she would sleep here for a year if it meant being close to Yoona. She would endure anything if it meant she had a chance to fix what she had broken.
Her fingers absentmindedly traced the hem of the blanket as she thought about all the times she had taken Yoona’s presence for granted. The way she used to come into Sol’s Table without hesitation, ordering food she barely finished just to have an excuse to sit there longer. The way she used to roll her eyes when Jinsol teased her, only to laugh moments later. The way she used to look at Jinsol—like she was someone special.
That look was gone now.
Jinsol swallowed the lump in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut.
Tomorrow, she would try again.
She would do whatever it took.
Because no matter how long it took, she wasn’t leaving Yoona this time.
The soft morning light painted golden streaks across the room, but inside, it was still cold. Jinsol moved carefully, her breath slow and measured as she knelt beside Yoona’s bed. The room was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint sound of Yoona’s uneven breathing.
Jinsol hesitated before reaching out, pressing the back of her hand against Yoona’s forehead. Still warm, but not as hot as the night before. A small relief. She let her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary, brushing gently against Yoona’s temple before pulling away.
"Yoona," Jinsol called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
There was no response.
Jinsol swallowed, shifting closer. The blanket was pulled up high, Yoona curled in on herself like she was trying to disappear. Even in sleep, her face was tense. Jinsol sighed, reaching out again, this time pushing back the strands of hair clinging to Yoona’s forehead.
"Wake up, princess," she tried again, her voice even softer.
A quiet groan. The first sign of movement.
Jinsol stilled, watching as Yoona’s eyebrows scrunched together slightly. A few seconds passed before her eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused.
"Jinsol…?" The name left her lips in a breath, fragile, uncertain.
Jinsol’s heart clenched at the sound.
"Yeah, it’s me," she said, offering a small smile. "How are you feeling?"
Yoona blinked a few times, her lashes heavy with sleep. Her gaze barely met Jinsol’s before she turned her face away. "Tired…"
Jinsol exhaled softly. She had expected that.
She brushed her thumb against Yoona’s wrist absentmindedly. "I figured. Stay here. I’ll get you some water."
Yoona didn’t respond. She only curled in further, tucking her chin against her shoulder.
Jinsol sat there for a second longer, watching.
She wanted to say something—anything—to make Yoona look at her. To make her stay in this moment instead of retreating back into that darkness she seemed trapped in. But Jinsol knew words weren’t enough right now.
She stood up slowly, grabbing the empty glass from the bedside table before heading to the kitchen. Her hands clenched around the glass as she filled it.
This wasn’t the Yoona she knew.
The Yoona she remembered would have argued with her. Would have thrown a teasing remark about Jinsol fussing over her. Would have at least looked her in the eyes.
But this Yoona…
She was slipping away.
Jinsol gritted her teeth, gripping the glass tighter.
No. She wasn’t going to let that happen.
She took a deep breath before walking back to the room, setting the glass down on the bedside table. Yoona still hadn’t moved.
Jinsol sat down beside her again, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I’m not going anywhere," she whispered. "Not until you’re better. Not until we talk."
Yoona didn’t say anything.
But she didn’t pull away either.
Jinsol barely left Yoona’s side the entire day. She moved around the small house like she belonged there, but she never forced her presence on Yoona. She simply existed within reach—quietly, steadily, like she had all the time in the world to wait for Yoona to come back to her senses.
She spent most of the morning in the kitchen, cooking meals that Yoona barely touched. The familiar scent of home-cooked food filled the space, warm and inviting, but Yoona remained curled up in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Still, Jinsol didn’t stop.
She made porridge first, placing it carefully on the bedside table. “You should eat,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Just a few bites, at least.”
Yoona didn’t move.
Jinsol sighed but didn’t push. Instead, she busied herself in the kitchen again, preparing something different—something Yoona used to like. A simple seafood stew, rich with flavor, the kind Jinsol remembered her finishing down to the last spoonful back at Sol’s Table.
She set the bowl down next to the untouched porridge. “If you don’t want the porridge, maybe try this?”
Again, no response.
Jinsol exhaled through her nose, rubbing a hand over her face.
By midday, she had already cooked three meals, none of which Yoona had eaten more than a bite of. But Jinsol wasn’t discouraged. She knew it wasn’t just about the food—it was about being there, about showing Yoona that she wasn’t alone.
Between cooking, Jinsol stayed by her side, talking even when Yoona didn’t respond.
She spoke about the restaurant, about how things had been running lately. She talked about her staff, about their latest mistakes and the new dishes they were experimenting with. She told Yoona about a ridiculous VIP customer who had insisted on ordering something that wasn’t on the menu, and how she had nearly lost her patience with them.
Sometimes, she tried bringing up the town. The gossip that still went around. The way Jinsol's mother had asked about her the last time Jinsol called.
Still, Yoona said nothing.
Jinsol tried to make her laugh.
“I don’t know if you care, but Jiwoo sent me a text earlier. She said, and I quote, ‘If you don’t fix this, I’m replacing you with Haneul.’”
Yoona didn’t even blink.
Jinsol sighed, leaning back in her chair beside the bed.
The silence was unbearable.
But she stayed.
She stayed, and she waited.
Jinsol adjusted herself in the chair beside Yoona’s bed, stretching her legs out with a small sigh. The quiet between them was heavy, but she had grown used to it over the past day. Still, she wasn’t going to give up.
“I got a new staff member recently,” Jinsol started, her voice soft but steady. “Fresh out of culinary school. He’s good, but… god, he’s slow. He tries so hard, though. He reminds me of myself when I first started cooking—always wanting to prove something.”
She glanced at Yoona, hoping for even the smallest reaction. Nothing.
Jinsol continued anyway.
“Yesterday, he almost set the whole kitchen on fire because he wasn’t paying attention to the oil. I had to throw a towel over the flames before it got worse. The entire staff just stood there, frozen. Can you believe that?” She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “I told him, ‘If you do that again, I’m making you wash dishes for a month.’”
Still, Yoona didn’t move.
Jinsol sighed, shifting in her seat. “You used to laugh at my kitchen stories. You used to ask so many questions about the food, about the people who came in. I miss that.”
Yoona’s expression remained blank, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the ceiling.
Jinsol ran a hand through her hair, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “You know, I never really liked Seoul that much.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Everyone thinks I love it because La Mer is successful, because I got everything I wanted. But I always feel like I’m running. Like I’m chasing something that never really makes me happy.”
Her fingers tapped against her knee. “When I was back in town, things felt different. Slower. Calmer.” She turned her head slightly to look at Yoona. “You were part of that, you know? You made me feel like I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. Jinsol let out a small, humorless laugh.
“Funny, right? I’m supposed to be the one who has it all figured out. But here I am, sitting next to you, just talking to myself.” She glanced at Yoona again, taking in the way her lips were slightly chapped, the way her eyes looked distant and tired. “I’d do anything just to hear you tell me to shut up right now.”
She waited.
But Yoona said nothing.
Jinsol sighed, leaning back in her chair, rubbing at her temples. “Fine. Ignore me all you want.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not leaving, anyway.”
She settled deeper into the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of Yoona’s chest.
Even if Yoona didn’t want to listen, Jinsol was going to stay. Even if Yoona never spoke to her again, she wasn’t going anywhere.
Eventually, Jinsol found herself back in the kitchen downstairs, staring at the untouched food she had made for Yoona. She sighed, rubbing her face before picking up the spoon and eating it herself. The warmth of the meal did little to ease the cold feeling in her chest. The silence in the house was suffocating, but she had promised to stay.
She finished the food slowly, her mind wandering. Yoona used to hum when she ate, a barely noticeable habit, but Jinsol had always noticed. Now, all she could hear was the soft clinking of her spoon against the bowl.
Once she washed the dishes and tidied up, she made her way upstairs. The house felt heavy with unspoken words. She paused at Yoona’s door, hesitating for a moment before quietly stepping inside.
Yoona was curled up under the blankets, her back turned toward the door. Her breathing was slow, but Jinsol wasn’t sure if she was asleep.
Jinsol walked over and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. She didn’t reach out to touch her, afraid Yoona would flinch away. Instead, she just sat there for a while, watching the way her shoulders rose and fell.
“…I don’t know if you’re awake,” Jinsol murmured softly. “But I’ll talk anyway.”
She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs, hands clasped together.
“You know, you always used to scold me for not taking care of myself. You’d remind me to eat, to sleep, to take a break… but look at you now.” Jinsol exhaled a quiet laugh. “You don’t even listen to your own advice.”
She glanced at the strands of dark hair that peeked out from beneath the blanket.
“I wish I knew what to do. I wish I could fix everything just by being here.” Her voice grew quieter. “But I don’t think that’s enough.”
A long pause.
Still, no response from Yoona.
Jinsol swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll stay anyway.”
She reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Yoona’s face before pulling back.
“…Goodnight, princess.”
Jinsol had planned to leave the room after saying goodnight, but her body refused to move. She watched Yoona’s still figure, debating whether to stay a little longer, just in case she needed something.
She pulled out the chair by the bedside table and sat down, resting her elbows on the wooden surface. Her fingers traced the grain of the table absentmindedly as she let out a deep sigh.
The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows over Yoona’s tired face. Jinsol’s gaze lingered on her—her slightly furrowed brows, the way her lips were slightly parted as she breathed. Even in sleep, she looked burdened, lost in whatever thoughts plagued her dreams.
Jinsol had so much she wanted to say, but words felt useless now. She had already hurt Yoona once—no, multiple times—and she wasn’t sure if she could ever fix it.
Still, she wouldn’t leave.
She leaned forward, resting her head on her folded arms atop the table. The exhaustion of the past few days weighed on her, and for the first time since coming back, she allowed herself to close her eyes.
She’d only rest for a moment, she told herself.
But the warmth of the room, the soft sound of Yoona’s breathing, and the quiet lull of the night made it impossible to fight off the sleep that slowly pulled her under.
And so, for the first time in a long time, Jinsol let herself drift off, right there beside Yoona.
Yoona blinked slowly, her fevered mind taking a moment to register what she was seeing. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft light over Jinsol’s sleeping figure, her head resting on her folded arms atop the table. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her usually sharp features softened in sleep.
Yoona lay there, unmoving, her eyes fixed on Jinsol’s sleeping form. The soft hum of the night surrounded them—the faint ticking of the clock, the occasional rustling of leaves outside, the distant sound of waves if she listened closely enough. But inside this room, it was quiet. A kind of quiet that felt too heavy, too suffocating.
Jinsol’s hand twitched slightly in her sleep, fingers curling, as if reaching for something. Yoona watched, her own hands clenching into the blanket covering her.
She shouldn’t be looking at her like this.
She shouldn’t care.
She had spent days in the dark, forcing herself to forget, forcing herself to push Jinsol out of her heart. But now, seeing her here, so close, so real, made it impossible.
Yoona swallowed, her throat thick.
Jinsol looked different. The confident, polished chef she had seen in Seoul, the woman who wore expensive suits and spoke on television with a charming ease—she wasn’t here. Instead, this Jinsol looked exhausted. Her normally sharp, confident features were softened, her brows furrowed even in sleep, like she was fighting something even in her dreams.
Yoona shifted slightly, careful not to make a sound. Her body was still weak, her fever making her limbs feel heavy, but she forced herself to turn just enough to face Jinsol properly.
Her eyes traced the gentle rise and fall of Jinsol’s shoulders, the way her lips were slightly parted, her breathing slow and even. Strands of dark hair had fallen over her face, and Yoona had the sudden urge to reach out, to brush them away.
But she didn’t.
She clenched her fists tighter under the blanket, forcing herself to look away.
Why was she still here?
Didn’t Jinsol have an entire life waiting for her in Seoul? A high-end restaurant, VIP guests, a world where Yoona no longer belonged?
She could have left.
She should have left.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she had cooked for her, sat beside her, talked to her even when she got no response. She had stayed through the cold silence, through the walls Yoona had built between them.
And now, she had fallen asleep right here.
Like she wasn’t going anywhere.
Yoona turned onto her back again, staring at the ceiling.
A lump formed in her throat.
She should push her away.
She should get up in the morning and tell Jinsol to leave, to go back to her perfect life in the city where she belonged.
But for now, just for tonight…
She let Jinsol stay.