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 featureslike 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.
