P.S. Thank you for letting me walk you home. It meant more than you know.
I laughed despite myself, the sound watery and broken but real. He'd ended his letter the same way he'd ended our conversation — with something light, something that cut through the heaviness and reminded me that this didn't all have to be serious and scary.
He's good for us, my omega observed.He makes us laugh.
Min-jun's letter was next. His handwriting was warm somehow, if handwriting could be warm — rounded letters that seemed to lean toward each other like they were seeking comfort. The paper smelled faintly of cedar and something herbal, like he'd written it in the kitchen while cooking.
Keira,
I don't know how to put feelings into words the way Jin-ho does. I've always been better with actions — with doing things for people instead of saying things to them. So I'll keep this simple.
I notice things.
I notice when Hwan's smile doesn't reach his eyes. I notice when Jin-ho hasn't eaten because he's too lost in his music. I notice when Tae-min is trying too hard to prove himself. I notice when Jae-won is carrying too much weight alone.
I notice, and I try to help. Food, mostly. Food is my language. It's how I say "I see you" and "I care about you" and "you don't have to carry this alone."
I noticed you too, even before Tae-min came home and told us about your conversation. I noticed how thin you looked in the photos Jin-ho found. How tired.
I've been cooking for you for days. Making things and storing them, hoping I'd eventually get to give them to you. The containers in your apartment right now — that's just the beginning. There's more whenever you want it.
Please eat. Please take care of yourself. And if you can't take care of yourself right now, please let us do it for you.
— Min-jun
P.S. The rice balls have a red bean filling. I remembered from an interview you did years ago when you were first starting out, before you stopped doing them… that you mentioned liking sweet things. I hope I remembered right.
The tears were flowing freely now, dripping onto the table, onto the letters, onto my trembling hands. He'd remembered. From an interview years ago, before any of this had started, he'd noticed what I liked and stored it away and used it to take care of me.
He pays attention, my omega whispered, her voice thick with emotion.He sees the small things.
One letter left.
Jae-won's.
I stared at the envelope for a long moment, my heart pounding against my ribs. The pack alpha. The one I knew the least about, the one whose presence even in letters felt like something vast and powerful and slightly terrifying. His handwriting on the envelope was bold and decisive, each character struck with confidence.
I opened it slowly.
Keira,
I've rewritten this letter six times. Every version sounds like either a threat or a stalker. So I'm giving up on elegance and just saying what I mean.
I'm terrified of failing them.
The pack. My brothers. I became pack alpha young — younger than most. The responsibility of it, the weight of making decisions that affect everyone, the pressure of being the one who can't show weakness because everyone else needs me to be strong... it's a lot. Most days I handle it. Some days I don't.
Now there's you.
You're not just another responsibility. You're the center that our pack has been missing. The piece that makes us whole. I can feel it in the bond, even incomplete as it is — the way you fit into the spaces between us, the way you belong in ways I can't explain.
I'm terrified of failing you.
I'm terrified that I'll say the wrong thing, push too hard, not push enough. That I'll let my instincts override my judgment and cage you when you need freedom. That I'll be the reason you run again.
So I'm going to make you a promise: I will never command you. I will never use my voice to make you do something you don't want to do. I will never treat you as something to be owned or controlled or broken.
You are not a possession. You are a person. If you choose us — when you choose us — it will be because you want to, not because we forced you.
