P.S. Thank you for letting me walk you home. It meant more than you know.
I read over the letter twice, wincing at some of the phrasing, wondering if I should rewrite the whole thing. But she'd asked for real, and real wasn't polished. Real was messy and awkward and sometimes said too much.
I folded the letter carefully and went to find an envelope.
In the kitchen, Min-jun-hyung was surrounded by containers, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he portioned out soup and side dishes and what looked like homemade rice balls. His forest-and-cedar scent was warm with purpose, the kind of focused calm he got when he was taking care of someone.
"That's a lot of food," I observed.
"She hasn't been eating," he said without looking up. "Her body is fighting five incomplete bonds. She needs fuel." He paused, adding another container to the pile. "I'm not overwhelming her. I'm being practical."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it." He finally looked up, his expression softening. "Thank you, Tae-min-ah. For finding her. For being what she needed."
"I didn't plan it," I reminded him.
"Maybe not. But you didn't mess it up either." He turned back to his packing, his movements careful and precise. "That matters more than you know."
I left him to his cooking and wandered back to the living room, where Hwan-hyung was curled up on the couch with a piece of paper, his pen moving in fits and starts. Jin-ho-hyung was in his usual corner, writing steadily, his expression distant in the way it got when he was lost in words. And Jae-won-hyung was at the dining table, staring at a blank page with an intensity that suggested the page had personally offended him.
"Having trouble?" I asked, sliding into the chair across from him.
He glanced up, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "How do you tell someone you'd burn the world for them without sounding like a stalker?"
I snorted. "Maybe don't lead with that."
"Helpful." But his expression had lightened, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "You really think this will work? Letters and food?"
"I think it's what she asked for," I said carefully. "And I think she's trying. Really trying. She just needs us to meet her where she is instead of demanding she come to us."
Jae-won-hyung nodded slowly, his gaze dropping back to the blank page. "When did you get so wise, maknae?"
"I've always been wise," I said lightly. "You just never noticed because you were too busy treating me like a baby."
He looked up sharply, something flickering in his expression — surprise, maybe, or recognition. "Is that how it feels?"
"Sometimes." I shrugged, trying to keep my voice casual. "But I get it. You're the pack alpha. Protecting us is what you do. Just... maybe trust me to handle things sometimes? I'm not going to break."
Jae-won-hyung was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached across the table and squeezed my shoulder, a rare gesture of physical affection from a man who usually showed love through action rather than touch.
"I'll try," he said quietly. "You've earned that."
I ducked my head to hide my smile. "Thanks, hyung."
"Now go away and let me figure out how to write a letter that doesn't sound insane."
I laughed and retreated to my room, the crimson bond warm in my chest.
Tomorrow, Min-jun-hyung would leave food at her door. Tomorrow, she'd read our letters. Tomorrow, she'd have proof that we were listening, that we were honoring her request, that we were willing to be patient even though every instinct we had was screaming at us to go to her, to hold her, to fix everything.
One step at a time.
One letter.
One meal.
One proof that we were worth trusting.
