Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
KEIRA
The morning started with me watching Jae-won work.
He'd invited me to his office early, but instead of the one-on-one time I'd expected, I found myself curled up on his leather couch while he handled what seemed like a crisis.
His phone hadn't stopped buzzing since I arrived, and he was currently on his third call in twenty minutes.
"No, we're not moving the comeback date." His voice was calm but firm, brooking no argument as he paced behind his desk, one hand pressed to his temple in barely concealed frustration. "The members need the full rehearsal period. Find another solution."
I watched him navigate the conversation with quiet fascination. This was a different Jae-won than I'd seen before — not the careful, measured man who'd carried me when I collapsed, but something sharper. More commanding. The pack alpha in his element.
"I understand the venue conflict." He pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare sign of frustration breaking through his composure, his jaw tight with impatience.
"But that's not my problem to solve. That's why we have a management team.
" A pause, his eyes closing briefly, then his voice dropped to something colder, more dangerous.
"Are you suggesting my members should sacrifice their preparation because someone else double-booked? No. Fix it."
He ended the call without waiting for a response, immediately pulling up something on his laptop, his fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. His shoulders were tense, carrying a weight I was only beginning to understand.
"Sorry." He glanced up at me, something apologetic flickering across his features even as another notification pinged on his phone, demanding attention. "This wasn't how I planned our day to start."
"Don't apologize." I tucked my legs beneath me, settling deeper into the couch cushions, watching him with open curiosity. "I'm learning things."
"What kind of things?" He raised an eyebrow, his attention still half on his screen as he typed a rapid response, multitasking with the ease of long practice.
"That you're terrifying when you want to be." I said it lightly, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watched him work. "That poor manager sounded like he was about to cry."
"He should cry." Jae-won's voice was dry, but I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, a crack in his serious demeanor. "He's been doing this job for three years. He knows better than to suggest we compromise our preparation."
His phone rang again, and I watched him take another call — this one about scheduling conflicts for a variety show appearance. Then another about merchandise production delays. Then another about a reporter requesting an exclusive interview.
Through it all, I observed.
I saw the way his shoulders carried tension that never fully released, muscles knotted beneath his shirt.
The way his jaw tightened when someone suggested something that would negatively impact his members.
The way he automatically put himself between his pack and any problem, absorbing the pressure so they didn't have to.
Every decision he made affected four other people. Every choice carried weight. And he bore it all without complaint, without showing strain, without letting anyone see the cost.
"You do this every day." I said it when he finally set his phone down, something like awe creeping into my voice as I studied him. "All of this. The calls, the negotiations, the protecting."
"It's my job." He rose from his desk and crossed to the couch, settling onto the opposite end with a tired exhale, his body sinking into the worn leather. "Someone has to do it."
"But it doesn't have to be you." I pointed out, shifting to face him fully, my knees brushing against his thigh. "You could delegate. Share the load."
"I could." He agreed, his dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch, something fierce flickering in their depths. "But I won't. They're my pack. My responsibility. I won't let anyone else carry that weight."
"Even if it's crushing you?" I asked it quietly, seeing more than he probably wanted me to see, the exhaustion hiding beneath his composure.
Something flickered in his expression — surprise, maybe, or recognition that I'd seen through his walls. "I didn't realize it was that obvious."
"It's not." I admitted, pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "I just... I know what it looks like. Carrying things alone. Pretending you're fine when you're drowning."
He studied me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful, assessing. "We're more alike than I expected, Keira Park."
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening with annoyance, then deliberately turned it face-down on the couch cushion between us.
"No more calls." His voice was firm, final, like he was issuing a command to himself as much as declaring it to the room. "I promised you today. You're getting it."
Before we left, Jae-won handed me a black face mask and a baseball cap.
"Put these on." He was already pulling on his own mask, a bucket hat covering his distinctive hair, dark sunglasses completing the transformation. "We can take them off inside, but on the street..."
"You become a walking target." I finished for him, adjusting the cap over my hair, tucking stray strands behind my ears. "Got it."
He looked at me for a moment, something soft flickering in his eyes above the mask. "Thank you for understanding. Some people find it annoying."
"Some people aren't bonded to five idols." I pointed out, my voice slightly muffled by the fabric. "I'm learning to adapt."
We ended up at a small café tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, far from the main streets where fans might recognize him.
Even disguised, Jae-won moved with purpose, his hand hovering at the small of my back as he guided me through back alleys and side streets, clearly following a route he'd mapped out in advance.
He'd called ahead, and we were seated in a private corner booth, hidden from view by strategically placed plants and a decorative screen.
Only once we were safely tucked away did we remove our masks, the anonymity of the space letting us breathe.
"You planned this." I observed, sliding into the booth across from him, my fingers trailing over the smooth wood of the table as I noted the careful positioning.
"I plan everything." He signaled a server with a subtle gesture, his movements economical and precise, wasting no motion. "It's a character flaw."
"Or a survival mechanism." I countered, accepting the menu the server offered with a polite smile, my eyes scanning the options without really seeing them.
"Both." He agreed, something warm flickering in his dark eyes, softening the hard lines of his face. "Probably both."
We ordered — coffee for him, tea for me, pastries to share — and settled into a comfortable silence while we waited.
I found myself studying his face, noticing details I'd missed before.
The fine lines around his eyes that spoke to years of stress.
The way his jaw stayed slightly clenched even when he was relaxed.
"You're staring." He observed it without judgment, his lips quirking into something that wasn't quite a smile, one eyebrow raised in question.
"You're interesting." I shot back, not bothering to deny it, holding his gaze with a boldness that surprised even me. "Sue me."
Something shifted in his expression — a flicker of surprise, followed by something warmer, almost pleased. "There it is again."
"There what is?" I accepted my tea from the returning server, wrapping my hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers.
"That." He gestured vaguely at me, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched for the right words to explain. "You're different than you were when you first arrived. Not bad different. Just... different."
"People keep saying that." I took a sip of my tea, using the moment to gather my thoughts, the familiar warmth grounding me. "Min-jun mentioned it too."
"What did you tell him?" He leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxing slightly as he gave me space, but his attention remained fixed on me, dark eyes intent and searching.
"The truth." I set down my cup carefully, meeting his gaze directly, refusing to flinch from the intensity there. "That this is who I actually am. The snarky, weird, slightly annoying version — that's the real me. That's who I was before everything went wrong."
"And the quiet, careful version we met first?" He asked it without accusation, just genuine curiosity, his head tilting slightly as he waited for my answer.
"That was the mask." I admitted, the words coming easier now that I'd said them before, each repetition making them feel more true.
"After my mom died, I just... shut down.
Built walls. Convinced myself that if I was invisible enough, nothing could hurt me.
I spent so long in my own head, overthinking everything, trying to keep myself together, that I forgot how to actually be myself. "
"What changed?" He asked it the same way Min-jun had — patient and unhurried, like he'd wait all day for my answer if that's what I needed.
"I got tired." I traced the rim of my teacup with my finger, watching the steam curl upward like my thoughts taking shape.
"Tired of surviving instead of living. Tired of showing everyone the walls instead of me.
And then I met all of you, and I realized.
.." I paused, trying to find the right words, feeling the weight of his attention.
"If I kept hiding, you'd never know who you were actually bonded to.
You'd just know the mask. And that felt worse than being vulnerable. "
"So you decided to stop hiding." His voice was soft, almost reverent, like I'd given him something precious, something he'd been waiting for.