The candlelight inside the restaurant flickered softly while silence stretched between them after Ethan's confession. Yuna still sat close beside him now instead of across the table, her shoulder lightly touching his while the city glowed beautifully outside the giant windows.
But her mind remained stuck on one thing.
Twenty years.
Ethan had known her for twenty years.
Yuna slowly turned toward him again, her expression thoughtful now instead of teasing.
"Wait," she said softly. "Then why did you say we've known each other for only nine years before?"
Ethan looked at her calmly. "Because that's when you started remembering me properly."
Yuna frowned slightly.
"And because," he added quietly, "that's when you started living with me."
The memories hit her instantly after hearing that.
College.
Arguments.
Late nights.
The tiny apartment before Ethan became overwhelmingly rich.
Yuna slowly smiled faintly. "Right…"
It wasn't marriage that tied them together back then.
It was survival.
And Ethan.
Yuna leaned back against her chair while looking at the ceiling briefly as old memories slowly returned.
"I was nineteen," she murmured softly.
"You cried on the first day too."
Yuna looked offended immediately. "Why do you only remember embarrassing things about me?"
"Because there were many."
"That's rude."
Ethan's lips twitched faintly again.
Yuna stared at him suspiciously before laughing softly herself.
The truth was—
Those years felt distant now.
But also strangely precious.
Back then Ethan wasn't the terrifyingly powerful man everyone feared today.
He was still cold.
Still distant.
Still frighteningly serious.
But younger.
Rougher around the edges.
And despite everything—
He was the reason her life didn't collapse completely.
Yuna looked at him quietly for a second before asking softly, "Why did you help me?"
Ethan's eyes shifted toward her slowly.
"You know why."
"No," she shook her head lightly. "I don't."
The restaurant stayed quiet around them while soft music echoed faintly in the background.
Yuna continued carefully now.
"Back then… I suddenly lost everything." Her voice softened slightly. "Dad stopped supporting my studies because we fought constantly about acting. My accounts were frozen for a while. I remember sitting outside the university office completely panicking about tuition fees."
Ethan remembered it too clearly.
Too clearly.
Yuna laughed softly to herself. "And then you suddenly appeared out of nowhere like some emotionally unavailable hero."
"That sounds terrible."
"It's accurate."
Ethan stayed silent while watching her smile at the memory.
Yuna continued softly, "You paid everything without even explaining properly."
"You needed help."
"I barely knew you then."
"You knew me enough."
Yuna looked at him carefully. "No. I didn't."
That was the truth.
Back then Ethan already knew her deeply.
But Yuna barely understood him at all.
She only knew one thing—
Whenever she was desperate, Ethan appeared.
Yuna lowered her gaze toward the candlelight again.
"You know what scared me the most back then?"
Ethan stayed quiet.
"You never asked for anything in return."
That made his eyes shift slightly.
Yuna smiled faintly. "People like my father always wanted something after helping someone." Her voice became quieter. "But you didn't."
Ethan leaned back slightly against the chair. "I wasn't helping for profit."
"That's what confused me."
The memories continued surfacing slowly now.
The small apartment.
Studying late together.
Sharing meals because Yuna constantly overspent on unnecessary things.
Ethan silently paying rent without ever mentioning it.
Yuna suddenly laughed again.
"You used to cook terrible pasta."
Ethan looked offended for the first time all evening. "It wasn't terrible."
"It tasted like depression."
"That's dramatic."
"You burned it three times."
"You still ate it."
"Because we were broke!"
"We weren't broke."
"I was broke."
"That's because you bought expensive skincare instead of groceries."
Yuna pointed at him immediately. "Skin care is important."
"Food is more important."
"Debatable."
Ethan shook his head faintly while looking away, though Yuna caught the small smile threatening to appear again.
She loved seeing that now.
Because years ago—
Ethan barely smiled at all.
Back then he worked endlessly.
Always exhausted.
Always carrying responsibilities silently.
Yuna slowly became quieter again while watching him.
"You worked so hard back then."
Ethan glanced at her briefly. "Still do."
"No," she shook her head softly. "It was different before."
The atmosphere shifted gently again.
Yuna remembered those nights clearly now.
Ethan returning home after midnight.
Suit wrinkled.
Eyes tired.
Hands rough from stress.
Yet somehow still stopping to bring her food because she forgot to eat while practicing scripts.
"You never slept properly," she murmured.
"You talked too much at night."
"That's because you ignored me during daytime."
"You were distracting."
Yuna smiled faintly before whispering softly—
"You took care of me long before you admitted you cared."
Ethan's gaze lingered on her silently after that.
Then finally he said quietly—
"You made it difficult not to."
Her heart skipped slightly.
Yuna looked down quickly, pretending the warmth in her cheeks came from the candlelight again.
Unfortunately Ethan noticed immediately.
"You're blushing."
"You're imagining things."
"You still do that whenever you're embarrassed."
"You're annoying."
"And you still avoid eye contact when nervous."
Yuna glared at him dramatically. "Stop knowing me so well."
"That's impossible after nine years."
The words settled softly between them.
Nine years.
Not marriage.
Not ownership.
Life together.
Real life.
Messy life.
Late-night ramen.
Arguments over bills.
Supporting each other silently even while pretending not to care.
Yuna suddenly smiled faintly to herself again.
"What?"
"I just realized something."
Ethan waited quietly.
"You've basically been taking care of me since I was nineteen."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It probably was."
Ethan looked at her calmly. "You were worth the trouble."
The words hit her instantly.
Yuna froze slightly.
Ethan seemed to realize what he said a second too late this time.
But neither of them looked away.
The silence between them became warmer now.
More dangerous.
Yuna slowly moved closer beside him again until their shoulders touched completely.
"You know…" she whispered softly, "…I used to think you hated me back then."
"I know."
"You always looked angry."
"I was stressed."
"You scared everyone in college."
"That's not my problem."
Yuna laughed quietly. "Girls still liked you though."
Ethan looked unimpressed. "Unfortunately."
"I remember one girl confessed to you near campus."
"You remember that?"
"She was very pretty."
"And?"
"And I hated her immediately."
For the first time Ethan looked genuinely surprised.
Yuna immediately laughed seeing his expression.
"What?"
"You were jealous?"
"I didn't know it was jealousy back then," she admitted softly. "I just suddenly wanted to throw her into traffic."
That actually made Ethan laugh quietly again.
Yuna grinned proudly. "There it is."
"You were insane."
"I was emotionally confused."
"You yelled at me afterward for no reason."
"Because you accepted her chocolate!"
"It would've been rude not to."
"You ate it in front of me!"
"You stole half."
Yuna covered her face while laughing softly. "Oh my god…"
The memories felt so vivid now.
So alive.
And strangely—
So precious.
Because despite all the pain between them later…
Their beginning wasn't built on destruction.
It was built slowly.
Carefully.
Over years.
Yuna looked at him quietly now, her expression softer than before.
"Why didn't you ever tell me you liked me?"
Ethan's gaze lowered briefly.
Then quietly—
"You weren't ready."
Yuna blinked softly.
"And honestly," he admitted, "neither was I."
The honesty in his voice made her chest ache gently.
Yuna leaned her head slowly against his shoulder after that, and Ethan immediately relaxed slightly beside her without thinking.
The restaurant remained silent around them.
Just soft piano music.
City lights.
And years of memories unfolding quietly between two people who had loved each other long before either of them understood what that feeling truly meant.