The fourth bond exploded into existence.
Rose pink — soft and warm and overwhelming — blooming in my chest alongside the other three, the sensation so intense that I gasped out loud and knocked my spoon off the table. It clattered against the floor, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet restaurant, and I watched Min-jun flinch at the same moment I did, his hand coming up to press against his own chest where the bond was settling into place.
"Keira," he breathed, my name falling from his lips like a prayer, his eyes wide and desperate and full of something that looked like wonder. "I didn't — I wasn't — I had no idea you'd be here, I just come here sometimes to think?—"
My legs were giving out.
I could feel it happening, the same way it had happened with Tae-min — the bonds overwhelming my system, my body unable to handle the strain of four incomplete connections pulling me in four different directions. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles going white, and watched the world tilt sideways.
"Keira." Min-jun was moving toward me now, his voice sharp with concern, his forest-and-cedar scent flooding with worry and alpha protectiveness. He stopped a few feet away, hands raised like I was a wounded animal he was afraid of spooking. "Keira, you're going to fall. Please let me?—"
"I'm okay," I managed, but the words came out slurred and weak, and even I didn't believe them. "I just need — I just need a minute?—"
"You need to sit down," Min-jun said firmly, and I heard something like authority bleeding into his voice despite his efforts to keep it contained — not a command, not quite, but close enough that my omega whimpered in response. "Please. Let me help you back to your chair. That's all. I won't do anything else, I promise."
I should refuse. Should push him away, maintain the distance, protect what was left of my crumbling walls. I was so tired. And the rose pink bond was pulsing in my chest, warm and gentle, and Min-jun's forest-and-cedar scent was wrapping around me like safety made tangible.
"Okay," I whispered, and watched relief flood his features, his whole body seeming to sag with it.
He moved slowly, carefully, the same way Tae-min had. His hands found my elbows, his touch feather-light through my sweater, and he guided me back into my chair with a gentleness that made my throat tighten. The moment I was seated, he let go, stepping back to give me space even though I could see how much it cost him to do so.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't thank me," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion, his dark eyes shining with something that looked almost like tears. "I should be apologizing. I didn't mean for this to happen. I really had no idea you'd be here."
"It's not your fault," I said, and was surprised to find I meant it. "Neither of us planned this. It just... happened."
Something in his expression cracked — hope bleeding through the careful mask he'd been maintaining, his whole face softening with relief. "You're not angry?"
"I'm too tired to be angry." A weak laugh escaped me. "And I believe you. I can tell you didn't know." I could see the sincerity in his eyes, could feel it through the rose pink bond that was still settling into place in my chest. He hadn't planned this. It was just the universe, conspiring to bring us together whether I was ready or not.
"But Min-jun..." I took a shaky breath, pressing my hand against my chest where four bonds now pulsed. "I'm still not ready. I know I keep saying that. I know the soul sickness is getting worse. But I just need a little more time. A few more days. Can you... can you give me that?"
"Of course," he said immediately, no hesitation, his voice fierce with conviction. "Whatever you need. However long you need. We'll wait."
"Thank you," I whispered.
He nodded, his jaw tight with the effort of restraining himself, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. I could see how much he wanted to stay, to sit across from me, to share this meal and this moment and every moment after. But he stepped back instead, honoring my request even though it clearly cost him everything.
"I'll go," he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges. "I'm sorry for disrupting your meal. Please... please eat. You need the strength."
"Min-jun," I called out as he turned to leave, and he froze, looking back at me with desperate hope in his eyes, his whole body going still like he was afraid to move. "Your food. The deliveries. They've been helping. Thank you."
His smile was like the sun breaking through clouds — warm and genuine and so full of love it made my chest ache.
"Anytime," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Anything you need. Always." Then he was gone, the bell above the door chiming as he left, and I was alone with my cooling soup and my racing heart and the four bonds pulsing in my chest like a symphony I didn't know how to conduct.
Four, my omega breathed, something like awe in her voice.Four bonds now. Only one left.
"Only one left," I repeated, staring at the door Min-jun had disappeared through. "And then..."
I didn't finish the sentence.
I didn't need to. The soul sickness was getting worse. Four incomplete bonds were more than my body could handle. I could feel it in the trembling of my hands, the fever burning beneath my skin, the way my vision kept swimming at the edges.
I needed to go home. Needed to rest. Needed to figure out what came next before the universe decided for me again.
First, I finished my soup.
