Chapter 9 #3
"Then what's the point?" He shrugged, his casual demeanor at odds with the intensity still simmering in his dark eyes. "You know the stakes. You're not stupid — you're scared. Those are different things. And trying to logic someone out of fear doesn't work. Trust me, I've tried."
"With who?"
"Myself, mostly," Tae-min admitted with a self-deprecating laugh.
"Before our debut, I was terrified. Convinced I wasn't good enough, that I'd let the hyungs down, that everyone would see through me and realize I didn't deserve to be there.
And every time someone tried to tell me I was being irrational, it just made me feel worse.
Like there was something wrong with me for being afraid. "
I stared at him, this idol that millions of people adored, and tried to reconcile the image of the confident performer with the scared teenager he was describing.
"What helped?" I asked. "If logic didn't work?"
Tae-min was quiet for a moment, considering the question.
"Time," he said finally. "And... experiencing things that contradicted my fear.
I was afraid I'd mess up on stage, so I performed on stage and didn't mess up.
I was afraid the hyungs would reject me, so I let them get close and they.
.. didn't." He met my eyes, his gaze steady.
"My fear was based on things I imagined might happen.
The only cure was finding out what actually would. "
Stop running long enough to find out who they actually are, Jeni's voice echoed again. Not who you're afraid they might be.
"That's what my friend said," I whispered. "That I'm killing myself to avoid a future I invented based on my mother's experience."
"Smart friend," Tae-min repeated, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe you should listen to her."
"I'm trying," I said, and this time the words felt less like an excuse and more like a genuine effort. "I really am trying. It's just... twelve years is a long time. I've built my whole life around this fear. I don't know how to be any other way."
"You don't have to figure it out all at once," Tae-min said gently.
"No one's asking you to tear down twelve years of walls in a single day.
We just..." He paused, swallowing hard, his mask of calm cracking slightly to show the desperate hope underneath.
"We just want a chance. That's all. A chance to show you that we're not what you're afraid of. "
My legs chose that moment to buckle. One second I was standing, gripping the shelving unit with white-knuckled desperation. The next, my knees gave out and I was falling, the world tilting sickeningly around me, the fluorescent lights streaking across my vision like shooting stars.
Tae-min moved.
He was fast — faster than I'd expected, alpha reflexes carrying him across the distance between us in a heartbeat.
But he didn't touch me. At the last second, he dropped to his knees beside me, his hands hovering inches from my body, close enough to catch me if I fell further but not quite making contact.
"Easy," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his scent wrapping around me like a blanket despite the distance he maintained.
Ocean spray and mint and that dark undertone of alpha need, but tempered now with concern, with care, with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
"Easy, I've got you. I mean — I'm here. I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But I'm here."
My palms were flat against the dirty linoleum floor, my arms trembling with the effort of holding myself up. The world was spinning, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, dampening my hair against my fevered skin.
"Hey!" The cashier's voice, sharp with alarm, cutting through the fog in my head. "Is she okay? Should I call an ambulance?"
"She's okay," Tae-min said quickly, not taking his eyes off me, his hovering hands still trembling with the effort of not touching. "She's with me. Just give us a minute."
"That doesn't look okay," the cashier said skeptically, taking a step out from behind the counter.
"Please," Tae-min said, and there was something in his voice — not quite an alpha command, but close enough that the cashier hesitated. "Just... give us a minute. I promise she's going to be fine."
I tried to push myself up and failed, my arms giving out beneath me, my forehead nearly hitting the floor before I caught myself at the last second.
A sound escaped me — something between a gasp and a sob — and I heard Tae-min's breath catch in response, felt his hovering hands tremble with the effort of not reaching for me.
"Please," he whispered, and his voice was raw now, stripped of all pretense, just naked desperation bleeding through every syllable. "Please, Keira. Please let me help you. Just that. Just help you stand. Nothing else. I promise."
I looked at him — really looked, past the idol face and the alpha pheromones, at the young man underneath who was kneeling on a dirty convenience store floor with tears gathering in his eyes because his soulmate was hurting and he couldn't help.
Stop running, Jeni's voice whispered in my memory. Start preparing. Find out who they actually are.
Maybe this was what preparing looked like. Not hiding in my nest, pushing down every feeling, pretending I was making progress while actually standing still. Maybe preparing meant taking tiny steps. Letting someone help me stand. Accepting a kindness without assuming it came with chains attached.
"Okay," I heard myself say, the word barely audible.
"Just — just help me stand. That's all." Relief flooded his features like sunrise breaking over the horizon, and he moved slowly, carefully, like I was something precious and breakable.
His hands found my elbows, his touch feather-light through my hoodie, and he lifted me to my feet with a gentleness that made my chest ache with something that wasn't fear.
The moment I was upright, he let go, stepping back to give me space even though I could see how much it cost him. His hands clenched at his sides, and I watched him take a deliberate breath, visibly forcing himself to maintain the distance.
"Thank you," I whispered, swaying slightly, gripping the shelving unit again for support.
"Thank you for letting me," he replied quietly, and the sincerity in his voice made something twist in my chest. We stood there for a moment, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the cashier watching us with barely concealed curiosity, the smell of instant noodles and processed food surrounding us like the world's least romantic backdrop.
"Can I walk you home?" Tae-min asked hopefully, his hands clasped behind his back like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for me again. "I won't touch you again. I just — I want to make sure you get there safe. Please."
I should have said no. Should have maintained the distance, the boundaries, the careful walls I'd been hiding behind for so long.
He'd been kind. He'd listened. He'd asked what I needed instead of telling me what I should do.
He'd shared something real about himself, something vulnerable, because I'd asked.
I was so tired of doing everything alone.
"Okay," I said softly. "But just to my building." His smile was like the sun breaking through clouds — bright and warm and genuinely happy in a way that made something flutter in my chest despite my best efforts to remain unmoved.
"I should tell you," he said carefully as we started walking toward the door, "they already know where you live. Jin-ho-hyung found your address days ago."
I stopped, turning to stare at him. "What?"
"We've been staying away," he added quickly, holding up his hands in surrender.
"Jae-won-hyung's orders. He said we had to give you space, let you come to us when you were ready.
But we wanted to know you were safe. That you weren't..." He trailed off, swallowing hard.
"That the soul sickness wasn't getting too bad. "
I should have been angry. Should have felt violated, hunted, cornered.
The old Keira — the one from a week ago — would have run.
Would have seen this as proof that alphas couldn't be trusted, that bonds meant surveillance and control.
I remembered what Tae-min had said about his hyungs.
How they checked that he'd eaten, worried when he stayed up late, tried to shield him from hard things.
They did it because they loved him, he'd said.
Because they couldn't help their instincts.
Maybe knowing where I lived wasn't about control. Maybe it was just... care. Misguided, perhaps. Overstepping, definitely. But not malicious.
"Oh," I said softly. Then, after a moment: "I suppose I should be grateful you didn't show up at my door."
"Jae-won-hyung threatened to ban us from ramyeon for a month if anyone even thought about it," Tae-min admitted with a small laugh, falling into step beside me as we exited the store.
He maintained a careful distance — close enough to catch me if I stumbled, far enough to respect my space.
"Min-jun-hyung almost broke on day two. He kept talking about how you probably weren't eating properly, how someone should check on you, how the soul sickness requires proper nutrition to fight—"
"I haven't been eating properly," I admitted before I could stop myself.
Tae-min's expression flickered with concern. "Would you let us bring you food?" he asked carefully. "Not — not come inside or anything. Just leave it at your door. So we know you're eating."
The offer was so earnest, so simple, so clearly an attempt to help within the boundaries I'd set, that I felt something crack in my chest. Not break — crack. A small fissure in the walls I'd built, letting in a sliver of light.
"I'll think about it," I said, which was more than I would have offered three days ago.
The walk to my apartment building was quiet but not uncomfortable.
Tae-min matched his pace to my slow shuffle, never showing any impatience, his ocean-and-mint scent a constant presence that somehow made the three bonds in my chest ache a little less.
He pointed out a cat lounging in a window, told me about how Min-jun fed the strays behind their building, and didn't seem to expect me to do anything but listen.
It was... nice.
Different than I'd expected.
When we reached my building, I stopped at the entrance and turned to face him.
"Thank you," I said quietly, repeating my words from earlier, "For listening. For not pushing. For... telling me something real."
"Thank you for letting me," he replied, that same sincerity shining in his dark eyes. "For telling me about your conversation with your friend. It helps to know you're... that you're trying. Even if you're not ready yet."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned to go inside.
"Keira," Tae-min called softly, and I paused with my hand on the door. "However much time you need — we'll wait. All of us. Just... don't wait too long? The soul sickness..."
"I know," I said, cutting him off gently. "I know I'm running out of time. I just need a few more days. To actually prepare this time, instead of just telling myself I am."
"What does that look like?" he asked curiously. "Actually preparing?" I considered the question, thinking about Jeni's words, about everything Tae-min had said, about the small crack in my walls that was letting in light I wasn't sure I was ready for.
"Feeling things instead of pushing them down," I said slowly.
"Acknowledging that the bonds don't feel like chains when they trigger.
That part of me wants this." I swallowed hard.
"And maybe... maybe learning a little more about who you all are.
Not from interviews and articles. Real things. Like what you told me today."
Tae-min's face lit up with hope so bright it almost hurt to look at. "We could do that," he said eagerly. "We could write you letters. Or send voice messages. Nothing that would pressure you — just... us. Real us. So you can get to know us without having to be in the same room."
The offer was so earnest, so clearly an attempt to meet me where I was, that I felt another crack form in my walls.
"I'll think about it," I said again, and this time it wasn't just a deflection. I actually meant it.
"That's all I ask," Tae-min said, his smile softening into something gentler, something patient. "I'll tell the others. They'll be so happy to hear you're... that you're trying."
"Tell Hwan..." I started, then stopped, not sure what I wanted to say. "Tell him I'm sorry I ran. I know it hurt him."
"I'll tell him," Tae-min promised. "He'll understand. We all understand now." I nodded once more, then pushed through the door and left him standing on the sidewalk, his ocean-and-mint scent lingering on my clothes and his hope lingering in my chest.
The climb to my apartment was still agony.
Three bonds still burned inside me, three flowers still bloomed on my mark, and my body still trembled with fever and exhaustion.
But something had changed. I'd talked to one of them.
Really talked, not just panicked and run.
I'd admitted things I'd been afraid to say out loud.
I'd let someone help me stand. I'd accepted an offer of kindness without assuming it came with chains.
See? my omega whispered as I collapsed into my nest, pulling the blankets over my head. That wasn't so bad. He was gentle. He listened. They're not what we feared.
"I know," I murmured into the softness. "I'm starting to see that."
Does this mean we can stop pushing everything down? she asked hopefully. Actually prepare, like we promised Jeni?
I thought about Tae-min's question — what the difference was between actually preparing and just telling myself I was. Feeling things instead of shoving them away. Acknowledging the pull of the bonds instead of pretending it didn't exist.
"I'm going to try," I said quietly. "Really try this time."
Good, my omega sighed, settling into something that felt almost like contentment. We can do this. Together.
A few more days to gather my courage.
A few more days to actually prepare — to feel instead of hide, to learn instead of assume.
Two more bonds waiting to trigger.
Two more alphas waiting to meet me.
For the first time since this all began, I wasn't entirely dreading it.