Chapter 9 Coming Home #2
“It’s not too late for you, either,” I say, my voice sharp with sudden intensity. I sit up straight, my mind racing. “It’s never too late, Kang Shin!”
He shakes his head. “Min-hee, it’s not realistic—”
“You could start a blog. A YouTube channel breaking down basketball games.” A clear, actionable plan spins through my head.
“You know that producer at KBS Sports? The one who’s a huge fan of mine?
I could make a single phone call.” I realize I also have the power to invest in him, just as he invested in me.
He stares at me, genuinely taken aback, completely lost. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him without a plan.
“Hey,” I say softly, nudging him with my knee. “We’re a team now, right? That means I get to be your manager sometimes, too.” I grin at him, feeling a new, powerful sense of purpose. “Consider ‘Operation: Sports Commentator Kang Shin’ officially in development.”
He lets out a shaky laugh but doesn’t pull his hand away. He just looks at me—really looks at me—and in his eyes, I see something. I see a future. Not just mine, but ours. My eyes on him now, seeing the same spark in his gaze. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
***
A few hours into the drive, the sun begins to bleed below the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and purple.
We sit in quiet, and it feels natural. But the thought of returning to my apartment in Seoul—to the silence and the reality of my suspended life—brings the same dull, sinking feeling as the last day of a perfect vacation.
“Hey,” I say, breaking the silence. “It’s getting late. And honestly, the thought of hitting Seoul traffic right now sounds like a special kind of torture.”
He glances at me, reading the exhaustion I don’t have to fake. He gives a single, decisive nod and, at the next exit, pulls off the highway into a sleepy town that looks like it’s been forgotten by time in the best way. He finds a small, cozy hotel tucked away on a quiet street.
At the front desk, a friendly clerk smiles warmly. “How many rooms will you be needing this evening?”
And just like that, the competent, unflappable Manager Kang vanishes, replaced by a slightly panicked man who has just been confronted with a logistical problem his training never prepared him for. A faint blush creeps up his neck.
“Just… one?” he says, the word coming out as a question, his voice a little tight. He glances back at me, his eyes wide with a silent, panicked plea that says, Is this okay? Are we doing this? Is this a line we’re allowed to cross?
It’s the most flustered I have ever seen him. And it’s ridiculously endearing.
I decide to save him from his own internal HR manual. I give the clerk a small, reassuring smile. “One is perfect,” I say, my voice calm and clear, making the decision for both of us.
He nods, still looking a little unsure but relieved, and handles the check-in smoothly.
Upstairs, the room is small and clean, dominated by a double bed draped in soft white linens. Shin sets our bags down, the air suddenly thick with eight years of unspoken things.
“Are you sure this is okay? It’s not exactly… spacious.”
My brain is currently a high-speed collision of ‘There’s no return after this point’ and ‘Please, for the love of god, kiss me.’
As usual, I opt for teasing. “We shared a smaller bed at your parents’ place, remember?” I wink, trying to act cool even though my heart is pounding.
We take turns showering, a polite, nerve-wracking dance of avoidance. But eventually, the night arrives.
It’s just us, the quiet room, and the palpable heat crackling in the space between us. I see something new in his eyes then—not just care, not just concern, but raw, undisguised desire.
He opens his mouth, “Min-hee… I—”
I can’t take the suspense anymore. “Oh, for god’s sake, Shin, just kiss me already,” I say, fisting my hands in the hem of his shirt and pulling him in.
The world around us falls away, and there is only our connection. Our tongues dance together, exploring and tasting, our hearts pounding in unison as we press closer.
Soon, our bodies meld together, hands roaming over each other, desperate for more contact.
Our clothes become burdensome barriers in the heat of our desire.
As our kiss breaks, I find myself helpless against him, panting heavily.
My sweater is pushed up, revealing my breasts, and he takes one into his mouth, suckling gently and drawing a gasp from my throat.
Without hesitation, he explores further, nipping gently at my neck before tracing kisses down my collarbone and across my chest, my body instinctively arching into him as my breath hitches in my throat.
Shin groans, his fingers finding the hem of my jeans and tugging them down slowly, inch by tantalizing inch.
I gasp as his palm slides over my bare skin. He pushes my panties aside, his fingers dancing across my wet folds. He slips one inside me, finding my entrance, already slick with anticipation, and I cry out, bucking my hips against his hand.
This isn’t the gentle Shin I know. This is a man who has been waiting, and his patience has finally run out. He groans low in his throat, pressing deeper and finding the spot with precision, and a jolt of pleasure courses through my body.
I writhe and call his name, “Shin…” I moan into his mouth, my body continuing to arch into his touch, begging for more.
He breaks the kiss, and for a terrifying second I think he’s stopping, but he just reaches for the nightstand. The sound of a condom wrapper tearing is the loudest thing in the room. He never breaks eye contact as he sheathes himself and then pushes inside me.
I gasp at the sudden, perfect fullness. He starts a slow, rhythmic thrust, each movement sending a deep thrum of pleasure through my core.
It feels so right. And so… good.
As he moves faster, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. The world around us disappears once more. All that exists is our shared rhythm, our pounding hearts, and his name on my lips.
His hips continue to move, filling me completely before pulling back, only to thrust forward again, hard and fast. His other hand slips between our bodies to stroke my clit in time with his thrusts, driving me crazy.
With each thrust, I feel myself getting closer, the heat of his touch burning through me. My nails dig into his shoulders, and he groans in response, pulling me closer still.
“Shin!” I cry, feeling my release.
He pushes into me one final time, grunting as he releases inside me and holds me tightly against him.
Our chests heave together, our hearts pounding wildly as we catch our breath, finally coming down from the heights of our passion.
We lie together in the quiet aftermath, tangled in sheets, the only sounds our ragged breaths and the frantic rhythm of our hearts slowly returning to normal.
Shin’s arms wrap around me like a tight, comforting cage. He kisses my forehead, a soft, lingering touch that is a world away from the burning lust that had consumed us moments before.
He breaks the silence, his voice a rough, exhausted whisper against my hair.
“You know,” he says, as if stating a simple, observable fact—like the time of day, “for eight years, I’ve had a front-row seat to your entire life.”
He pulls back just enough for me to see the profound, unwavering seriousness in his eyes.
“And for eight years, my actual full-time job wasn’t managing your career.”
He taps his chest lightly, right over his heart. “It was managing this.”
A startled, breathless laugh escapes me, muffled against his shirt.
Of all the things he could have said, that’s the most absurd, the most unexpected—and the most perfectly, wonderfully Shin.
He’s not making a grand declaration of love; he’s just…
reporting a fact. An eight-year fact he’d held close, hidden behind a calm exterior—until now.
It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
I tilt my head back to look at him, a real, genuine grin spreading across my face.
“Now you don’t need to manage it anymore,” I say, poking him in the ribs. “Because I’m officially promoting you.”
He lets out a deep, relieved laugh that vibrates through my whole body and pulls me closer, burying his face in the curve of my neck.
After a moment, he whispers, almost shyly, “Next time… let’s go to another, more beautiful beach.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Jeju,” he says softly.
My chest tightens at the thought of Jeju. Every memory I’ve tried to push away—the letters that never came, the birthdays she missed, the ghost of my mother’s absence that has haunted me—surges to the surface.
“We’ll go together,” he whispers, his thumb brushing over mine. “Walk the beaches, taste the tangerines, see her. You don’t have to face it alone.”
I look at him—this man whose care has never wavered, who never makes me guess or play emotional games, whose quiet steadiness feels like a home I can finally trust.
I cup his face and kiss him, slow and deep, everything we’ve been through and everything we’re hoping for caught in that one moment.
As the first light of dawn begins to paint the sky, I rest my forehead against his, letting the quiet stretch between us.
Thoughts of the agency board, the hallway encounters with new clients, and the inevitable search for a manager who’ll never quite understand my love for bad historical dramas floats at the edges of my mind. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel heavy.
The professional chaos, the headlines, the auditions—they’re all coming, sure. But it doesn’t matter. Not now. Not with him here, hand in mine.
He might not be my manager anymore.
But he’s mine.
***