Married to the Madness

The living room was steeped in the quiet hum of concentration. The air smelled faintly of vanilla, the candle on the edge of the coffee table flickering weakly, as if struggling to hold its ground against the sheer weight of Wonyoung’s focus. The tiny flame cast delicate shadows across the mess of legal documents that stretched across the table’s surface, papers stacked in uneven towers, their spines creased from constant flipping. Colour-coded sticky tabs jutted out in sharp angles, bright markers of urgency, each one a breadcrumb leading her toward victory.

She sat at the centre of it all, upright and poised, one leg crossed neatly over the other. Everything about her—her posture, the way she held her pen between her fingers, the unyielding stillness of her expression—exuded precision. Discipline. Even the smallest movements were intentional, from the flick of her wrist as she highlighted a passage to the measured breath she took before turning a page.

Her laptop screen glowed expectantly, spreadsheets and reports illuminating her face, the blinking cursor waiting—no, demanding —for her to keep working. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, exhaled slowly through her nose, and rubbed her temple with the back of her pen. Her fingers ached from annotating, but there was no time for distractions. This case was important—urgent, even. Every second counted.

Then she heard it.

A soft shuffle of socked feet against the wooden floor.

She ignored it.

The faintest creak of the couch shifting.

She clenched her jaw.

The rustle of movement creeping closer and closer.

Before she could react, a warm weight crashed onto her side.

Her pen slipped from her fingers. A startled breath caught in her throat, her body instinctively stiffening as a familiar presence draped itself over her with all the grace of a sleepy housecat—if that housecat were almost six feet tall, obnoxiously clingy, and determined to steal every ounce of her attention.

A low, exaggerated sigh tickled her ear.

"Honey," Wonyoung muttered, already resigned, flipping to another page as if sheer willpower could push through the disturbance. "I'm working."

The only response was a pleased hum, followed by a lazy nuzzle against her shoulder.

"And I’m loving my wife."

Yujin.

Of course.

Wonyoung didn’t need to look to know that her wife’s expression was one of pure, unrepentant amusement. Her arms had already locked securely around Wonyoung’s waist, as if she had no intention of letting go anytime soon. She pressed herself closer, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric of Wonyoung’s blouse, her scent wrapping around her like an embrace. Fresh laundry, clean citrus shampoo, and something inherently Yujin, a mixture of comfort and mischief that threatened to unravel Wonyoung’s concentration thread by thread.

Wonyoung exhaled sharply, tilting her head just slightly to avoid the temptation of sinking into her wife’s hold. "You can do that from a reasonable distance."

"But I don’t want to."

Yujin’s grip tightened, her body practically moulding against Wonyoung’s side as she draped herself over her like a weighted blanket that had a mind of its own. Damp strands of hair brushed against Wonyoung’s cheek, still cool from her shower, mingling with the soft traces of vanilla from the candle. It should have been comforting. It should have been grounding. But Wonyoung could already feel her concentration slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Yujin.”

Her name left Wonyoung’s lips in a warning, clipped and firm. But it barely lasted a second before it was swallowed by the warmth of a kiss pressing against the curve of her neck. Soft. Lingering. Unrushed. Wonyoung’s breath hitched before she could stop it, her body tensing at the sensation.

The heat of Yujin’s lips barely had time to fade before another kiss followed, this time trailing upward, tracing a slow, deliberate path along her jawline. Wonyoung could feel Yujin’s smirk against her skin, the teasing curve of it betraying just how much she was enjoying herself. The next kiss landed dangerously close to the corner of her mouth. Close enough that if Wonyoung turned even slightly, they’d meet properly.

Her fingers twitched around her pen. Then, before she could react, it slipped from her grasp, clattering against the wooden table. Yujin chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her throat. Wonyoung didn’t need to look to know there was a grin stretching across her wife’s face, full of mischief and unchecked delight.

“Are you kissing me every time I say your name?” she asked, voice laced with exasperation, though it lacked any real bite.

Yujin hummed in confirmation, the sound nothing short of pleased. “Mmhmm.”

Wonyoung inhaled sharply, tilting her head back as if she could somehow shake off the warmth crawling up her spine, the way her body betrayed her so easily. Yujin had always been like this—unapologetically affectionate, a force of nature when it came to pulling Wonyoung into her orbit. And normally, Wonyoung could hold her ground, could resist the pull just enough to keep some semblance of control.

But right now, when she was already exhausted from hours of working, her mind clouded with stress and deadlines, Yujin’s presence was disarmingly effective. She was warm, solid, grounding. Everything Wonyoung didn’t want to admit she needed at that moment.

“I have an emergency case,” she muttered, though even as she said it, she knew it was a weak attempt at keeping her resolve intact.

“And I have an emergency craving for my wife’s attention,” Yujin countered smoothly, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of Wonyoung’s nose before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes gleamed, full of amusement and something far softer beneath it. “Now, which one do you think is more important?”

Wonyoung opened her mouth, ready to argue, but the words tangled somewhere between her brain and her tongue.

Yujin looked so smug. So unbearably, undeniably fond, like she wasn’t just flirting for the sake of it but because she genuinely adored her, because she’d rather be here—wrapped around her, pressing kisses to her skin—than anywhere else in the world. And Wonyoung hated how much that made her want to melt.

Instead, she exhaled heavily, rubbing her temple. “I need to finish this.”

“But I need to kiss you,” Yujin replied without missing a beat.

“Yujin.”

Another kiss.

“Yujin.”

Yet another.

Wonyoung pressed her lips together, forcing herself to ignore the warmth blooming in her chest. “I’m this close to kicking you off the couch,” she warned, holding up two fingers with barely any space between them.

Yujin gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just been stabbed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

For a second, Wonyoung thought she might actually listen. But instead of retreating, Yujin only nuzzled further into her shoulder, letting out an exaggerated sniff. “Wow. My own wife doesn’t want my love. This is so tragic.”

Wonyoung sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I want five minutes without you climbing me like a tree.”

Yujin hummed. A deep, amused vibration against Wonyoung’s skin. “What if I was a koala in my past life?”

“Then I regret marrying a koala.”

Another dramatic gasp, this one even louder. “Take that back!”

Wonyoung remained unmoved, eyes scanning her notes. “No.”

“You monster!”

With an overly theatrical display of devastation, Yujin threw herself back onto the couch, limbs sprawling across the cushions as if Wonyoung’s cruelty had physically struck her down. One arm flung over her face, covering her eyes, as she let out a long, suffering sigh.

Wonyoung, still unimpressed, flipped to the next page in her notes, pointedly ignoring the woman sprawled across the couch beside her. “You’re so dramatic.”

Yujin let out another exaggerated sigh, peeking at her through her fingers with the air of someone gravely wounded. “I learned from the best.”

Wonyoung hummed in acknowledgement, but she refused to take the bait this time. Yujin, however, was nothing if not persistent.

As if suddenly remembering something of dire importance, she shot upright, eyes wide. “Wait. What’s for dinner?” That earned a reaction. Wonyoung inhaled deeply, barely restraining the smile threatening to tug at her lips. If there was one thing Yujin took seriously, it was food.

“Samgyetang with tteokgalbi and kimchi,” she answered smoothly, eyes flicking toward her laptop as if she wasn’t entirely aware of the way Yujin’s entire face lit up beside her.

For a moment, Yujin simply blinked, processing the information. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, she was practically bouncing in place, turning to her wife with wide, adoring eyes. “Wait, my favourites?”

Wonyoung fought the urge to roll her eyes, though there was no real exasperation behind it. “Yes.” Yujin gasped as if this was the greatest display of love she had ever received. Wonyoung, despite herself, found it ridiculously endearing.

But before Yujin could start celebrating, Wonyoung picked up her pen again and continued, “I was going to pick up the ingredients after lunch, but since I’m stuck with this case, you have to do the groceries.”

The energy in the room shifted instantly. The joy on Yujin’s face froze in place, morphing into something caught between shock and apprehension.

“Me?”

Wonyoung didn’t bother looking up. “Yes, you.”

A heavy pause. 

“But—”

Wonyoung, already prepared, plucked a neatly folded shopping list from the table, holding it up between two fingers and waving it in front of Yujin’s face. “Just follow this and—”

“You never let me do the groceries,” Yujin interrupted, crossing her arms like a child being denied their favourite toy.

“That’s because last time,” Wonyoung reminded her, finally glancing over with an unimpressed arch of her brow, “you came back with three bags of snacks and no actual food.”

Yujin scoffed, placing a hand over her heart in mock offence. “First of all, those snacks were important. Second, in my defence, the grocery store had a buy-two-get-one-free deal on honey butter chips.”

Wonyoung did roll her eyes at that, shaking her head. “You still forgot the rice.”

“Details, details,” Yujin mumbled under her breath, waving a dismissive hand.

Wonyoung let out a slow, measured breath, as if summoning the patience of a saint. “Just go to the store, buy exactly what’s on the list, and come straight home.”

To emphasise her point, she reached out, fingers brushing over the collar of Yujin’s hoodie, adjusting it with practised ease. It was slightly crooked, likely from how she’d thrown it on haphazardly before climbing onto the couch to bother her. The fabric was soft beneath her fingertips, worn and familiar. One of Yujin’s favourites, judging by how often she reached for it. 

Wonyoung’s hands lingered for a second longer than necessary, gently smoothing it down before finally looking up. Her gaze was steady and sharp, but there was an undeniable softness in the way her fingers curled at Yujin’s collar before letting go. “Can you do that?”

Yujin puffed out her chest, grinning with all the confidence in the world. “Of course! I’m a responsible adult.”

Wonyoung gave her a long, sceptical stare, her lips parting slightly as if she were about to refute that statement entirely. Then, she sighed, shaking her head with the air of someone already regretting their life choices. “I swear, if you get into trouble again—”

Yujin grinned wider, leaning in close, her voice warm and teasing. “You always bail me out.”

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly. “One day, I won’t.”

“Lies.”

The absolute certainty in Yujin’s tone was enough to make Wonyoung groan, pressing her fingers to her temple as if the mere act of loving Yujin was somehow exhausting. (It wasn’t. Not really.)

Yujin, taking full advantage of her wife's moment of weakness, scooted even closer, resting her chin on Wonyoung’s shoulder and blinking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “If I do a good job, do I get a reward?”

Wonyoung didn’t even look at her. “Your reward is dinner.”

Yujin gasped again, gripping her sleeve. “What if I get everything right? No snacks, no distractions, no unnecessary detours?”

Wonyoung’s lips twitched. “That’s the bare minimum, love.”

“But still!” Yujin huffed, pulling back just enough to poke her in the arm. “C’mon, what do I get?”

Wonyoung finally turned her head, meeting her wife’s gaze fully. She held it for a long moment, studying her with the same unwavering intensity she used when analysing a crucial legal document. Then, with deliberate slowness, she reached out, cupped Yujin’s cheek in her palm, and pressed the softest, most lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Yujin’s breath stilled.

It was barely a kiss, more of a ghost of one, just enough to make her chase it, just enough to leave her utterly dazed.

When Wonyoung pulled back, her expression was perfectly neutral, as if she hadn’t just knocked the air from Yujin’s lungs. “There,” she murmured, voice deceptively sweet. “Now go before I change my mind.”

Yujin blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, with a dramatic groan, she flopped onto the couch again, covering her face with both hands. “Unfair.”

“Extremely fair,” Wonyoung corrected, pushing her toward the edge of the cushions. “Now, go.”

Still grumbling, Yujin sat up, swiping the shopping list from Wonyoung’s grasp. But before she left, she leaned down, capturing her wife’s lips in a fleeting, gentle kiss. One that lingered just a second longer than necessary, one that made Wonyoung’s fingers curl against her lap before she could stop them. By the time Yujin pulled away, she was smirking. “That was just in case I don’t get one later.”

Wonyoung exhaled slowly, fixing her with a long, unreadable stare.

“…Get out.”

Yujin laughed, retreating toward the door. “Love you!”

Wonyoung shook her head, exasperation and affection tangled together in a hopeless, inevitable mess.

God, she really did love her idiot wife.

—

The automatic doors whooshed open as Yujin stepped into the grocery store, a blast of chilled air greeting her the moment she crossed the threshold. The sterile scent of freshly mopped floors mixed with the faint aroma of baked goods wafting from the far corner, where an employee was unloading trays of golden, flaky pastries. The bright overhead lights reflected off the spotless tile, making everything look impossibly organised and inviting.

She pushed the cart forward, the wheels giving a soft, rhythmic squeak against the floor. Her shoulders were squared, her chin lifted. This was it. A test of her discipline. A challenge of self-restraint.

With a deep breath, she reached into her hoodie’s front pocket and pulled out a small, neatly folded piece of paper. Unfolding it carefully, she ran her fingers over the crisp edges, her thumb grazing the smooth surface of Wonyoung’s meticulous handwriting. The letters were small, precise, and perfectly aligned—just like her wife. Yujin swore she could practically hear Wonyoung’s voice as she read the list, the familiar tone of gentle authority echoing in her mind.

Whole chicken (organic)

Glutinous rice

Ginseng

Jujubes

Garlic

Green onions

The list continued, methodical and practical, every item essential for the meal Wonyoung was planning. No extra flourishes. No room for impulse buys. Just efficient, responsible shopping.

Yujin exhaled, mentally preparing herself. “All right,” she murmured under her breath, gripping the handle of the cart with renewed determination. “Let’s do this.”

The cart rolled forward, gliding smoothly over the pristine floor. The grocery store wasn’t too crowded. Just a few shoppers lazily browsing the aisles, some engaged in quiet conversation, others focused intently on their lists. A child was giggling near the produce section, tugging on his mother’s hand as she picked out apples.

For a brief moment, Yujin felt like she had everything under control.

Then she saw it.

Her grip on the cart instinctively tightened.

The snack aisle.

It was right there in her peripheral vision, an entire stretch of shelves lined with brightly coloured bags and glossy packaging. The familiar golden hue of honey butter chips gleamed like a beacon, practically calling her name. A small promotional display boasted a "Buy Two, Get One Free" deal, a siren’s song of temptation whispering sweetly in her ears.

Her steps faltered.

Her fingers twitched.

Her mouth went dry.

What harm would it do to just… take a peek? A tiny peek. No one would ever know. She could slip a bag or two into the cart, bury them under the green onions, and—

No.

She shut her eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans from the nearby café filled her nose, helping ground her.

Not today, temptation. Not today.

With a dramatic shake of her head, she forced her gaze away, gripping the cart handle so tightly her knuckles turned white. She turned sharply on her heel, heading in the opposite direction before her willpower could betray her.

The cart’s wheels rattled against the smooth, sterile tile as Yujin manoeuvred toward the meat section, her grip firm on the handlebar. A subtle chill wrapped around her the closer she got, a stark contrast to the warmth of the main aisles. It was the kind of cold that prickled at the edges of her exposed skin, seeping in through the fibres of her hoodie and making her unconsciously hunch her shoulders.

The glass doors of the refrigerated display cases were slightly fogged, the condensation forming lazy streaks down their surface. Beyond them, a pristine row of neatly packaged poultry awaited her, each tray lined up with military precision. The sterile white labels gleamed under the fluorescent lights, boasting a variety of buzzwords.

"Farm Fresh!" 

"Hormone-Free!" 

"Organic Free-Range!"

Yujin squinted.

She had no idea what half of these meant.

Farm fresh? Weren’t all chickens technically from a farm?

Hormone-free? She sure hoped so. The idea of a chicken hitting puberty was… unsettling.

Organic free-range? That just sounded expensive.

She crouched slightly, arms resting on her knees as she studied the selection with the intensity of someone preparing for a high-stakes decision. Some of the chickens were noticeably bigger than others. Was bigger better? More meat for their meal? Or was smaller the way to go? Maybe the smaller ones were more tender. Or was that steak?

She had no idea.

What if she picked the wrong one?

Yujin could already picture Wonyoung’s exasperated sigh, the way her wife would pinch the bridge of her nose and mutter, “You had one job.”

Right. Wonyoung had given her clear instructions.

“Don’t get the cheap one, honey. Get the organic, free-range one.”

Organic. Free-range. That was the mission.

With a determined nod, she started scanning for those exact words.

Her confidence faltered the second she saw the price tags. Her fingers twitched as she flipped over a package, eyes nearly bulging out of her skull at the number printed in bold. Why was this chicken so expensive?

Did it have a college degree?

Had it been raised in luxury?

Was it serenaded with Mozart while it roamed freely under the sun?

Did this chicken live a better life than she did?

She glanced at a cheaper option, but doubt gnawed at her immediately. Wonyoung would notice. She always noticed. Biting her lip, Yujin grabbed her phone and quickly dialled her wife’s number, tapping her foot against the cold tile as she waited.

Voicemail.

She groaned, dramatically tilting her head back. “Come on, babe, where are you when I need you?”

Glancing back at the poultry selection, she made an executive decision. When in doubt, pick the most expensive one. If Wonyoung was going to yell at her, at least it would be for spending too much rather than buying the wrong thing.

With a victorious nod, Yujin grabbed the luxurious, undoubtedly pampered organic free-range chicken and placed it carefully into her cart, giving it a little pat for good measure.

One item down. Many more to go.

She flicked open Wonyoung’s shopping list again, scanning the next item with laser focus.

Glutinous rice.

Alright. Easy enough. Rice was rice, right?

With newfound confidence, she steered her cart down the next aisle, weaving past towering shelves stacked with bottled sauces, dried noodles, and an overwhelming variety of condiments. The distinct scent of fermented soybean paste mixed with the sharp tang of pickled radish as she passed by a display of neatly arranged jars. Somewhere in the distance, the faint beeping of a barcode scanner hummed steadily over the gentle murmur of shoppers chatting in hushed voices.

As she rounded a corner, she arrived at the rice section and immediately came to a dead stop. Her confidence wavered. The shelves stretched endlessly before her, each one stocked with an almost comical variety of rice. It wasn’t just a single wall, it was an entire shrine to rice, arranged like a grand display of endless choices.

Jasmine rice. Basmati rice. Brown rice. Black rice. Wild rice. Sushi rice.

Even the packaging was designed to confuse her. Some had serene images of rice paddies bathed in golden sunlight. Others boasted scientific-looking labels about their nutritional benefits. Some were in compact, sturdy bags, while others came in massive sacks meant to last an entire generation.

Yujin exhaled slowly,  placing her hands on her hips. “Okay, glutinous rice… glutinous rice…”

She dragged her cart forward, squinting at each label, as if sheer willpower alone would make the right bag magically reveal itself.

Nothing.

Her fingers twitched as she hovered over a bag of sushi rice, the words "sticky" in small print catching her eye. Close enough, right? Wonyoung would never know. Sticky was sticky. It was rice. It would cook the same way.

Probably.

She reached for it—

A small cough behind her made her freeze.

The kind of cough that held authority. The kind of cough that said, ‘ You are about to make a terrible mistake, young lady.’

Slowly, hesitantly, she turned.

Standing behind her was an elderly woman, barely reaching Yujin’s shoulder, her tiny frame wrapped in a floral cardigan. She had a face lined with wisdom and, more importantly, deep judgment. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, flickered between Yujin’s outstretched hand and the incorrect bag of rice.

Yujin swallowed.

The grandma sighed. A soft, tired sound, like she had just witnessed a child about to put a fork into an electrical socket. Without a word, she stepped forward, plucked a bag of actual glutinous rice from the shelf, and placed it into Yujin’s cart with a quiet finality.

“Not that one,” she muttered.

Yujin blinked down at the bag in her cart. Then at the sushi rice still in her hand. Then back at the grandma, who was now staring at her like she had deeply disappointed the ancestors.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks,” Yujin said, rubbing the back of her neck.

The grandma gave her one last assessing look—the kind that seemed to see into her soul, measuring every questionable decision she had ever made in life. Then, with a small nod of approval (or maybe reluctant tolerance), she shuffled away, her tiny frame disappearing around the corner.

Yujin exhaled, gripping the cart handle again.

That had been… oddly humbling.

She stared down at the rice in her cart, then back toward the aisle where the grandma had vanished, half-expecting her to reappear if she dared make another mistake. “Guess I needed that,” she mumbled before carefully placing the sushi rice back on the shelf. No need to take any risks. With a renewed sense of caution—and a lingering fear of being silently judged by elderly grocery store veterans—Yujin tightened her grip on the cart and pushed forward, determined to finish this errand without further embarrassment.

She squared her shoulders. Focus. Precision. No distractions.

She was on a mission.

Except…

She turned a corner, and all her willpower disintegrated.

Oh no.

The snack aisle.

Yujin’s body went stiff, muscles locking into place as if she’d just stepped into a trap. Her survival instincts screamed at her to back away, but it was too late. She was already inside enemy territory. The shelves stretched endlessly on both sides, lined with vibrant, crinkling bags of temptation. Golden packs of honey butter chips winked at her under the fluorescent lights, their glossy surfaces practically whispering her name.

She could almost hear the seductive rustling of the plastic, as if the snacks themselves were calling out.

"Come on, Yujin… just one bag…"

"Wonyoung doesn’t have to know…"

"Live a little. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Everything. Everything could happen.

Yujin swallowed hard.

The moment felt eerily similar to when she was a kid and her mom told her not to touch anything in the store. That same forbidden thrill of knowing she could, but shouldn’t.

She clenched the cart handle tighter, her knuckles turning white.

No.

Not today, temptation. Not today.

With surgical precision, she whipped the cart around like she was executing a high-speed getaway. The wheels screeched slightly against the tiles as she practically sprinted past the shelves, refusing to let her gaze linger.

She exhaled in relief once she made it through the danger zone.

And then.

She walked straight into the ice cream section.

Yujin’s momentum halted immediately.

A wave of artificial cold from the freezers brushed against her skin, a cruel reminder of what lay before her. And there, gleaming under the harsh supermarket lights, was her greatest weakness. ‘Limited Edition Choco-Mint Cookie Ice Cream!’ The words stared her down from a massive poster, mocking her.

Her breath hitched. Her grip on the cart trembled. She could already imagine it—the perfect balance of rich chocolate, the crisp crunch of cookie pieces, the refreshing hit of mint melting on her tongue. The image was so vivid she could practically taste it. Her hand involuntarily twitched toward the freezer door.

And then the battle began.

"Would Wonyoung really notice?"

"She notices everything."

"What if I eat it all before I get home?"

"She’d check the receipt."

Damn it. Wonyoung and her eagle-eyed attention to detail.

Yujin’s jaw clenched.

Her resolve wavered.

She could just… grab it really quickly. It wouldn’t even take a second. She could pay in cash to avoid a paper trail—no, wait, the grocery store had digital receipts. She groaned internally. This was a setup.

With one last longing glance, Yujin let out a deep, soul-weary sigh, her shoulders slumping as though she were accepting an unbearable tragedy.

Slowly, painfully, she turned the cart away. Her sneakers dragged against the smooth tiles, an audible whisper of sorrow with each step, like a fallen warrior retreating from the battlefield. The air felt heavier. The freezer lights seemed dimmer. The supermarket speakers played an overly cheerful pop song, a mockery of her suffering.

Still, she endured.

Because she was strong. Responsible. A changed woman.

This… this was the greatest sacrifice she had ever made. She pushed her cart forward with a newfound sense of accomplishment. The weight of her perfectly executed grocery run settled in her chest, filling her with immense pride.

The list in her pocket? Followed to the letter.

The temptations of the snack aisle? Resisted with the strength of a thousand responsible decisions.

The siren call of the limited edition ice cream? Denied with sheer willpower and a deep understanding that Wonyoung could, and would, find out.

Wonyoung was going to be so impressed. Maybe she’d even get a kiss as a reward. Maybe—maybe Wonyoung would say "Good job." Yujin grinned, already picturing it. She turned the corner toward the vegetable section, fully prepared to continue her streak of excellence.

And then.

All thoughts of responsibility evaporated.

A small, golden-brown blur waddled into view.

A corgi puppy.

Yujin froze mid-step.

Her entire world shifted.

She barely registered the presence of the puppy’s owner—just that the tiny loaf with legs was staring at her with large, round eyes, its ears slightly too big for its head, its fluffy little tail wagging so hard its entire rear swayed with it. The leash jingled as the puppy bounced forward, its paws tapping against the tile with the softest, tiniest pitter-patter known to mankind.

Yujin’s heart imploded.

She gasped, voice practically breaking.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute—WAIT CAN I PET HIM?”

The owner, a woman who looked entirely too amused by Yujin’s immediate meltdown, nodded. That was all the invitation Yujin needed. She abandoned her cart without hesitation, dropping to her knees as if gravity itself had given up on her. “You’re just a little loaf with legs, huh?” she cooed, hands already reaching out, gently scratching behind its ears.

The puppy immediately approved, licking her fingers with enthusiastic little snorts, its tiny pink tongue flicking against her skin. Yujin swore she saw actual sparkles around the dog. She was never washing her hands again.

“You’re so soft,” she murmured, half in a trance.

The corgi, sensing its complete domination over her heart and soul, took things a step further—biting the string of her hoodie and gnawing on it with tiny, determined teeth.

Yujin let it happen.

Who was she to deny a baby angel its fun?

She giggled as the puppy tugged, its tail still wagging, its round belly bouncing slightly with each pull. “Wonyoung’s gonna be so jealous when she hears about this,” she whispered, grinning like a fool. She could already imagine it—Wonyoung crossing her arms, narrowing her eyes, deeply offended that Yujin had pet another cute thing without her.

Would it be cheating if she went home smelling like another adorable creature?

She’d take the risk.

She had no idea how much time had passed until the puppy’s owner chuckled. “Did you need help finding something?”

Reality slammed back into her.

The grocery cart. The mission. The wife waiting at home.

Yujin’s eyes widened in horror.

OH GOD, SHE GOT DISTRACTED.

“Oh! Right. Groceries.” She scrambled to her feet, quickly fixing her hoodie, her face burning as she awkwardly cleared her throat. “Yeah, um, thanks! Uh… bye, perfect little angel.” She gave the puppy one last longing look, her heart aching with the weight of lost time. Then she speed-walked back to her cart, pretending she hadn’t just lost five minutes in a canine-induced blackout.

Never speak of this, Yujin. Never.

With newfound focus (and only a little lingering regret about not stealing the dog), Yujin steered her cart toward the registers, her grip firm, her mission nearly complete. She had done it. She had conquered the grocery store.

The list? Flawlessly followed.

The snack aisle? Survived.

The ice cream section? Devastating, but endured.

Even the puppy detour had been overcome with minimal casualties (unless you counted her heart, which still ached for that tiny loaf of perfection).

She stacked her groceries on the conveyor belt with precision, aligning each item neatly, nodding to herself in deep satisfaction.

Wonyoung was going to be so impressed.

And then—

She saw it.

The impulse-buy section.

Yujin’s breath caught in her throat.

It was right there.

An entire shelf of tiny, innocent-looking temptations positioned perfectly so that unsuspecting shoppers would be lured in at the last second.

Chocolate-covered almonds.

Strawberry gummies.

A pack of sour candy that whispered her name like a forbidden lover.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Her gaze flicked between the brightly coloured packages, heart pounding in her chest. The soft hum of the conveyor belt, the distant chatter of the supermarket, the beeping of scanned groceries, all of it faded into a deafening silence.

A single thought surfaced.

One little box wouldn’t hurt… right?

She gulped.

Wonyoung didn’t have to know.

She could eat it all before getting home. Dispose of the evidence. No one would ever—

Her phone vibrated.

A sharp buzz against her thigh.

Yujin flinched so hard that she almost dropped her wallet. Heart hammering, she fished her phone out of her pocket, already feeling a deep, primal sense of dread.

She glanced at the screen.

My Love❤️: How’s it going? No junk food, right?

Yujin felt her soul leave her body.

Her blood turned to ice.

How?

Her head snapped up, eyes darting around wildly. Was she being watched? Was there a hidden camera? A Wonyoung drone?? She whipped her head toward the candy display like it had personally betrayed her.

The cashier blinked at her, confused by her sudden physical recoil.

Yujin took a slow, shuddering breath. She could still feel Wonyoung’s virtual judgment seeping through the phone screen, looming over her like a divine entity. With shaky hands, she typed back, “Of course not! I am the picture of responsibility.” Then, just to be safe, she added a smiley face. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple as she hit send. Yujin carefully— painfully —stepped away from the impulse-buy section, dragging her cart forward with the heavy weight of temptation left behind.

She had survived.

But at what cost?

She swiped her card and grabbed the bags, still feeling Wonyoung’s omniscient presence looming over her. The moment she stepped out of the store, a victorious grin spread across her face.

She had done it.

No junk food. No unnecessary purchases. A perfect grocery run.