Mi-Kyung had watched from afar as the cousin and sisters approached Min-seok at the grave. She had started to follow, but hesitated, turning to them. "Is it alright for you to go? When he's crying like that?"
The youngest sister nodded, her eyes soft. "Yes. We've seen enough of his suffering—we're qualified to invade that space because he's let us in, even if he doesn't say it. But you... not yet. He hasn't opened that door for you again."
The cousin gave a small, sad smile. "He knows we're coming. We always do this when he's sad. He goes here to talk to his mom, and we follow quietly. It's not an issue for us—we're family."
Mi-Kyung stepped back, hiding behind the tree as the scene unfolded. The youngest and middle sisters ran to him first, their faces crumpling with empathy.
They climbed onto his lap without hesitation, hugging him tightly from both sides, their small bodies enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth. "Oppa... we're here," the youngest whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.
The eldest sister couldn't hold back her own tears. She knelt beside him, hugging him tightly from the side, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. "Don't leave us alone ever, Oppa," she pleaded, voice breaking. "Even if you can't open up to us... it's alright. Just promise me you'll never leave. We need you always."
The cousin approached from behind, acting like the older sister she was. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back gently against her, her breasts pressing softly against the back of his head in a comforting, familial embrace planting a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Love," she murmured, her voice soothing, "You're not alone. We're all here for you. Always."
Min-seok leaned into them, his sobs quieting as he held them close. "Of course I know," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Even if I don't admit it... I need you guys more than you would ever need me. I'd be totally ruined, all over the place without you guys. Lost."
Mi-Kyung watched from afar, her heart shattering at his vulnerabilities laid bare—the man who protected everyone, finally allowing himself to be held. Tears streamed down her face. She turned and ran back to her salon, vowing silently, 'I'll make him smile. I'll help him forget all this pain. Whatever it takes.'
Late that night, when the city was asleep, Mi-Kyung returned to the grave. The moon cast a soft glow over the stones. She fell to her knees in front of his mother's gravestone, her hands clasped together, tears falling freely.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, voice breaking. "I'm sorry for causing your son so much sadness. For the words I said, for the trust I broke, for making him cry alone on his birthday because of me. I didn't know... I didn't understand how much he was hurting. Please forgive me. I beg you."
She bowed her head lower, forehead almost touching the ground. "I promise... I'll do anything to make him smile again, to feel happy without hiding behind that mask. I'll help him let go of the guilt, the loneliness. Please... watch over me. Give me your blessings so I can be there for him the way he deserves."
She stayed there, praying silently, vowing to visit the grave every day—to report the progress she made in bringing joy back to his life. "Today, I saw how much he needs healing," she murmured. "Tomorrow, I'll start making it right."
Mi-Kyung woke the next morning with a renewed determination burning in her chest. She wouldn't push Min-seok to open up—she had learned that lesson painfully—but she would show him, through quiet, genuine actions, that he could rely on her. Out of love, not obligation or redemption. She started small, mirroring the care he had given her from the beginning.
When he stopped by the salon that afternoon, looking a bit more tired than usual, she didn't ask why. Instead, she brewed his favorite tea—black with a hint of honey, just as he had made for her that first night—and handed it to him with a soft smile. "I thought you might need a break," she said, echoing his words from their early meetings.
He took it, his eyes flickering with surprise, but he didn't comment. "Thanks," he murmured, sipping quietly.
Over the next few days, her efforts continued, each one sincere and born from the deep love she felt for him. She noticed his shirt had a loose button one evening and sewed it back on without fanfare, her fingers steady as she worked.
When he mentioned offhand that his apartment's light fixture was flickering, she showed up the next day with tools, insisting, "Let me fix this for you. You've done so much for me—it's my turn."
He watched her with a guarded expression, but he didn't stop her. She cooked simple meals and packed them for him and his sisters—kimchi jjigae, just like the one they had shared that first dinner—leaving notes that said, "Thinking of you. Eat well." Not pushing for thanks or reciprocation, just giving because she wanted him to feel seen, the way he had made her feel.
One week later, as they sat in the salon after closing, Min-seok turned to her suddenly, his voice even but probing. "Did you follow me to the graveyard that night?"
Mi-Kyung's heart skipped, but she met his gaze honestly. "Yes. How... how did you know?"
He looked away for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of a coffee cup. "I visited early the next morning, like I always do after a rough night. There were fresh footprints near the tree line—small ones, not like my sisters' or cousin's. And a few strands of long hair caught on a branch. I figured it was you."
She nodded, her voice soft and steady. "I was concerned about your mental health... your well-being. After what your sisters told me, I couldn't just stay away. But I didn't approach—I respected your space. Min-seok, I've vowed to bring you out of that misery. I'll do anything I can. I'm done crying about what I did; now, I'll do everything to get you out of it.
To make you rely on me, just like I relied on you from that night of the attack to the moment I fell in love with you." She paused, her eyes glistening but her resolve firm. "I don't know if you'll actually fall in love with me... or if I even deserve your love after everything. But I'll make sure you can lean on me. I'll be your strength when you need it."
Min-seok's expression softened just a fraction, but he didn't respond immediately. He simply nodded, and they sat in silence for a while longer.
That evening, Mi-Kyung returned to the grave, kneeling before his mother's stone under the stars. "Auntie," she whispered, using the respectful term, "Today I fixed a light for him, like he did for me. He's still guarded, but he let me help. I'll keep going. Please forgive me for the pain I caused him... and bless me to make him truly happy again."
She visited every day after that, whispering updates: "He smiled a little today when I brought tea." "He's starting to talk more about small things." It became her ritual—a quiet promise to the woman who had shaped the man she loved.
To learn more about what made him happy, Mi-Kyung reached out to his family, swallowing her pride. She messaged his cousin, Ji-yeon, first—the one she had wronged so deeply. "I know you don't like me, and I understand why and I don't have any right to ask for your forgiveness. But please... tell me what he likes. I want to make him smile. For him."
Ji-yeon responded warily but honestly: "He loves simple things—spicy ramen on rainy days, sci-fi action movies. And he has a soft spot for handmade gifts; our aunt used to knit him scarves with his name on it."
The sisters—Soo-min (the eldest at 22), Hye-jin (20), and Eun-ji (the youngest at 18)—were more hesitant at first, but they too shared bits and pieces when Mi-Kyung persisted with sincere apologies and promises.
Soo-min told her, "Oppa likes quiet walks in the park; it reminds him of Mom, the times she would take us to the nearby park to play with us, without the pain." Hye-jin added, "He pretends he doesn't, but he loves it when we bake cookies—chocolate chip, extra chewy." Eun-ji whispered, "Draw him something silly; he keeps all our old drawings hidden in a box.
I remember he framing a photo i had made when I was small about me, Hye-jin, Soo-mon and oppa along with mom, it was a really bad photo, but since I made it and put my time into it, he liked it very much and even framed it in his room, he still has them."
Mi-Kyung used their advice with care, her actions always out of pure love. She surprised him with spicy ramen on a stormy afternoon, sitting with him in comfortable silence as they ate.
Mi-Kyung booked tickets for the latest sci-fi action blockbuster that had just been released. She didn't make a big deal of it—just texted him casually: "There's a new movie out tonight. I thought we could watch it together.."
When he arrived at the theater, she slipped her hand into his as they walked to their seats, lacing their fingers naturally. During the film, she rested her head gently on his shoulder, letting the explosions and space battles fill the silence between them.
Halfway through, Min-seok leaned down slightly, voice low and curious. "When did you start liking action sci-fi movies? I remember you telling me once that you hated anything with fighting or aliens—said it gave you headaches."
Mi-Kyung lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes, a soft, knowing smile touching her lips. "I still don't like them," she whispered.
"But I love you. I just want to spend time with you as much as I can. And if watching something you enjoy means I get to sit next to you, feel your warmth, and see you enjoy the explosions… then I'll sit through a hundred of sci-fi action movies. Because being with you is worth every loud scene."
For a moment, Min-seok went still. Then the corner of his mouth lifted—a real, small, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. It was the kind of smile his mother used to give him when he'd come home upset, and she'd say something simple like, "The world can be loud, but you're safe here with me." The memory hit him softly, and he squeezed her hand once, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
One chilly evening, Mi-Kyung waited for Min-seok outside the salon, clutching a small paper bag nervously. When he arrived, she held it out to him with a shy smile, but quickly hid it behind her back when he reached for it.
"What's that?" he asked, tilting his head with a small, curious smile.
Mi-Kyung's cheeks flushed. "I... I wanted to make something for you," she said softly, voice barely above a whisper. "But I tried making a scarf, and since I've never done it before... it didn't turn out how I wanted. It's ruined. I'm sorry."
Min-seok's expression softened. "Let me see."
She hesitated, then slowly brought the bag forward and pulled out the scarf—simple wool in his favorite deep navy blue, but the stitches were uneven, threads poking out here and there, one end noticeably longer than the other. She looked down, embarrassed. "See? It's a mess."
Min-seok took it gently, running his fingers over the clumsy loops and dropped stitches. His eyes immediately caught the faint red marks and tiny cuts on her fingertips from the needles. He looked up at her, gaze warm and appreciative. "You even got my favorite color," he murmured.
Without hesitation, he wrapped the scarf around both of them, pulling her closer so the wool draped over her shoulders too. Then he took her injured hands in his, cradling them carefully. His thumbs brushed gently over the red, irritated areas, caressing the small cuts with tender care. He lifted one hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.
"Thank you," he said quietly, voice thick with emotion. "I love it. It's perfect."
Mi-Kyung's heart swelled, a giddy warmth spreading through her chest. She could see it in his eyes—the genuine appreciation, the way he noticed every effort she had put into it, even the pain she had endured. He didn't look disgusted or disappointed; he looked touched. And when he adjusted the scarf so it covered both of them, he smiled softly.
"Look," he said, tugging the ends gently. "The length is perfect for both of us to wear it together."
She felt herself falling in love with him all over again—how he saw her hard work, how he accepted the imperfect gift with such warmth, how he made even this small moment feel intimate and cherished.
The change was slow, almost imperceptible at first. Min-seok didn't open up about his vulnerabilities—she never asked again, respecting the boundary he had set. But gradually, his smiles became real, not just polite masks.
If my story made you smile even once, that's a win for me. That's what I want to live for—brightening dull days and reminding people that joy still exists. My dream is to keep getting better, to someday reach legendary level of storytelling.
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