THE DAWN OF MISUNDERSTANDING
The pale, golden fingers of the morning sun slowly broke through the heavy curtains of the Seoul penthouse, chasing away the remnants of a torturous night.
In South Korea, the clock on the wall read exactly 7:00 AM.
Woonseok's long eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks. He let out a low, groggy moan, his muscles aching with an intense, leaden weight. As he forced his eyes open, the bright morning light forced him to wince. He blinked repeatedly, rubbing his face with his uninjured hand, his mind violently disoriented. He looked down and realised he was still fully dressed in his sharp black turtleneck from the previous day's shoot. He was lying awkwardly across the top of his silk duvet.
Then, like a physical blow to the chest, the memory of the midnight catastrophe hit him.
"sana," he gasped aloud, his deep voice incredibly raspy from sleep deprivation.
Panic spiked through his veins, instantly burning away the lingering fog of exhaustion. He scrambled frantically across the mattress, his fingers sweeping over the sheets until they locked onto his smartphone. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as he clicked the power button, his breath catching in his throat.
The screen illuminated, displaying a series of text notifications from her.
He didn't waste a single second. He swiped open the chat interface, his eyes devouring the heavy blocks of text she had sent while he was unconscious.
Sana: "Woon, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry, Woonseok. I didn't literally mean a single word of what I said. I swear to you, I didn't mean any of it. It was just a massive amount of work frustration and stress that completely boiled over, and I stupidly let it all out on you... Please don't think for a single second that I feel burdened by you... I love you so much. Please rest."
As his eyes read her words over and over again, a massive, profound wave of relief washed over his entire body, causing his shoulders to slump. She wasn't leaving him. She didn't hate him. The apocalyptic scenarios that had tortured his mind during the night dissolved into thin air.
But as the initial relief faded, a new, heavy layer of guilt and stress settled deep inside his chest. He stared at her words: "work frustration and stress that completely boiled over." He remembered how pale she had looked, how her voice had cracked under the weight of an invisible burden.
I am her boyfriend, Woonseok thought bitterly, his dark eyes clouding over with intense self-reproach. I am supposed to be her sanctuary. But instead of letting her rest, I crowded her with my own selfish dreams. I made her cry. I made her feel so sad that she had to apologize to me when she is the one who is suffering.
Before he could type a response, his phone violently vibrated in his hand, the screen changing to an incoming call from his manager. He answered it instantly, his tone tight.
"Yes, Hyung?"
"Woonseok-ah!" Minho's voice boomed through the speaker, completely frantic and rushed. "Thank goodness you're awake! The production team just called an emergency meeting. We have to change the outdoor shooting location because of a sudden weather warning. We have a massive amount of work today, and the car is already waiting downstairs! You need to get ready in ten minutes flat!"
Woonseok let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Fine, Hyung. I'll be down in ten."
He hung up the call, his eyes immediately darting back to Rashi's profile. He couldn't leave her hanging after a message like that. He couldn't just type a cold text. He needed to hear her voice. He needed to tell her that he wasn't hurt, that he loved her, and that he would protect her from every pressure in the world.
Without thinking about the logic of the earth's rotation, Woonseok immediately hit the video call icon.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Across the ocean, inside the dark, freezing walls of her Indian estate, the clock read exactly 5:00 AM.
Sana was completely buried beneath a mountain of heavy quilts, trapped in the deep, unyielding slumber of physical exhaustion and the remnants of her winter cold. Her phone, which she had kept clutched against her chest all night, vibrated weakly against the mattress, its screen flashing in the dark room. But she was too deep in sleep to hear it.
In Seoul, Woonseok watched the screen as the call finally timed out and disconnected.
No Answer.
The rejection hit his fragile, sleep-deprived mind like an icy sheet. Woonseok stared at the blank screen, his heart sinking into a dark abyss of insecurity. His mind, completely frayed from days of non-stop work, instantly began to twist the reality.
She's still angry, he thought, a sharp ache blooming in his chest. She wrote those messages out of guilt, but she's still so upset with me that she won't even pick up my call. I really did ruin everything.
"Woonseok-ah! We are going to be late!" Minho's voice echoed from the hallway as the front door clicked open.
With a heavy, melancholic heart, Woonseok slowly stood up from the bed. He slipped his phone into his pocket, his face hardening into a mask of professional composure, though his soul felt completely hollow.
While Woonseok spent his entire morning and afternoon moving like a beautiful ghost through a relentless series of high-stakes commercial shoots and script readings across Seoul, the hours flew by in a blur of silent misery. Every single break, he would covertly pull out his phone, his dark eyes desperately checking for a notification.
Nothing. The chat remained entirely silent.
Meanwhile, in India, the clock on Sana's nightstand quietly clicked to 9:00 AM.
The bright, unfiltered morning sunlight violently pierced through a gap in her curtains, landing directly across Sana's closed eyes. She winced, groaning softly as she slowly dragged herself out of the deep oblivion of her sleep. She rubbed her swollen, heavy eyes, her head throbbing with a dull, post-fever ache.
She turned her head lazily to look at the clock, and the second her eyes registered the digits, her entire body went rigid with absolute terror.
"Oh no!" Sana shrieked, violently throwing the heavy duvet off her body. "I'm late! I am so incredibly late!"
Her morning briefing at the precinct had started exactly thirty minutes ago. She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold marble floor as her mind went into a frantic, chaotic tailspin. She grabbed her phone from the sheets, her fingers racing to unlock it. Wait... let me see if Woonseok saw my messages.
Before her thumb could even tap on their chat icon, the phone violently vibrated in her hand, the screen flashing with the caller ID of her trusted sub-inspector.
She answered it immediately, pressing the phone to her ear as she frantically began pulling her uniform out of her wardrobe with her free hand. "Commander speaking!"
"Ma'am!" the sub-inspector's voice came through, incredibly tense and urgent. "An emergency case just broke out down at the commercial sector. A high-value theft and a major public disturbance. The local units are struggling to control the crowd, and the media is already arriving on scene. We need your presence and your direct orders immediately, Ma'am!"
The professional instincts of a battle-tested police commander instantly took complete control of Sana's body, overriding her personal life entirely. Her expression turned hard and authoritative.
"I am on my way," Sana commanded firmly. "Have the secondary unit secure the perimeter and draft the initial incident report. I will be at the sector in fifteen minutes."
She slammed the phone down, completely forgetting about her private text messages, Woonseok's existence, and the entire midnight argument. The relentless, high-pressure world of her district had officially claimed her. She threw on her crisp uniform, laced up her boots, and raced out of the house, her mind completely consumed by crime scenes, tactical coordination, and legal briefs.
For the next twelve hours, Sana was an untouchable force of law and order. She didn't look at her phone a single time. She didn't have the luxury of a personal life. She was an officer of the state, and her world was on fire.
By the time evening descended upon Seoul, the city was illuminated by millions of neon lights. Inside a high-end, exclusive industrial lounge in Gangnam, a massive, elite networking gala was in full swing. The room was packed with prominent directors, top Hallyu actors, wealthy producers, and influential studio executives, all celebrating the upcoming winter drama launches.
Woonseok stood near the edge of the grand bar, looking devastatingly handsome, hot, and completely gorgeous.
He was dressed in an immaculate, tailor-made black wool coat that accentuated his broad, powerful shoulders and towering height. Underneath, a dark silk shirt was unbuttoned just slightly at the collar, revealing the sharp lines of his throat. His dark hair was styled perfectly, a few loose strands framing his piercing eyes. To anyone walking past, he looked like a majestic, untouchable king of the entertainment world—the epitome of success and masculine grace.
But behind those dark, mesmerizing eyes, Woonseok's mind was in a state of complete and utter ruin.
While prominent directors laughed and clinked their champagne glasses around him, Woonseok was completely detached from the noise. For the twentieth time that hour, he covertly pulled his phone out from the inner pocket of his black coat, shielding the screen from the flashing cameras of the media outside.
He opened the chat.
His long, desperate paragraphs of apology from the night before, along with her text from yesterday, were still sitting there. But the status hadn't changed. Sana hadn't seen his call. She hadn't sent a single letter. To his distorted, heartbroken perspective, she was deliberately ignoring him for an entire day to punish him.
She really is done with me, Woonseok thought, a wave of profound, agonizing sadness washing through his veins. She realizes how immature I am. She doesn't want a future with a man who acts like a foolish teenager.
A profound, suffocating sorrow took deep root in his heart. To numb the crushing weight of the heartbreak and the overwhelming claustrophobia of the shallow compliments surrounding him, Woonseok reached out and grabbed a glass of high-proof whiskey from a passing waiter's tray.
He knocked it back in a single, aggressive gulp, the burning liquid tearing down his throat.
Then he grabbed another. And another.
By the time the clock struck 9:00 PM in Korea, Woonseok was thoroughly, deeply drunk. His tolerance for alcohol was usually high, but combined with seventy-two hours of sleeplessness and a completely broken spirit, the liquor hit his system like a freight train. His vision was slightly blurry, and his immaculate posture was starting to soften into an unsteady sway.
He couldn't stand the fake smiles of the party for another second. He needed to escape.
Taking advantage of a moment when Minho was trapped in a deep conversation with a major network director, Woonseok quietly turned on his heel and slipped out through the exit of the lounge, entering the crisp, cold night air of Seoul.
Behind him, inside the crowded lounge, Minho finally broke free from the director and turned around, his eyes scanning the bar. "Woonseok? Woonseok-ah?!" Panic instantly flared in the manager's chest as he realized his multi-million-dollar star had completely vanished into thin air. Minho began frantically pushing through the elite crowd, checking the restrooms and corridors, his heart racing. "Where the hell did he go?!"
Woonseok walked unsteadily down the quiet, winding streets of a residential neighborhood a few blocks away from the main Gangnam strip. The cool winter breeze ruffled his perfectly styled hair, but it did nothing to clear the heavy, chaotic fog of alcohol in his brain. He was staggering slightly, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his gorgeous black coat, his eyes fixed on the pavement.
He felt incredibly small. He felt like a lost child.
Up ahead, illuminated by the pale, humming glow of a single streetlamp, was a small, empty neighborhood children's park. It was a modest space—a small sandbox, a plastic slide, and a set of classic rubber swings suspended by thick iron chains.
Woonseok stumbled into the park, his polished leather shoes crunching against the gravel. He walked straight toward the swing set. With a low, dramatic sigh, the 6-foot-tall global superstar clumsily lowered his massive frame onto one of the small, flexible rubber swings meant for fourth-graders. His long legs were bent awkwardly at the knees, his shins practically touching the dirt as he gripped the iron chains for dear life.
He pulled out his phone, staring at the black screen, and the sheer weight of his drunk, heartbroken emotions completely overthrew his emotional dam.
Woonseok began to cry.
It wasn't a silent, graceful tear like the ones he performed for the cameras on a melodrama set. He was sobbing loudly, his broad shoulders shaking violently beneath his expensive black coat, his face turning a bright, flushed red as he sniffled and sobbed like an absolute toddler.
"Butterfly..." Woonseok wept aloud to the empty playground, his deep voice cracking into a high-pitched, pathetic whine as he stared at her unread chat. "I'm so, so sorry... please don't break up with me... I love you so much... I promise I'll be a mature man... I won't say 'marriage' ever again... please don't leave me alone in this big world..."
He rubbed his eyes aggressively with the back of his sleeve, looking completely ridiculous yet utterly tragic, a majestic prince reduced to tears on a plastic swing set.
"Hey. Uncle."
A sharp, clear voice suddenly cut through the sound of his dramatic sobs.
Woonseok gasped, his head snapping up violently. He blinked his blurry, tear-filled eyes, trying to focus on the figure standing directly in front of his swing.
It was a 10-year-old Korean boy. The kid was wearing an oversized yellow puffer jacket, a matching beanie, and a small backpack. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets, casually chewing on a massive, bright pink strawberry lollipop, staring down at the weeping global icon with an expression of profound, unbothered judgment.
Woonseok sniffled loudly, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his expensive coat, looking up at the child with a pouty, tear-stained face. "W-What?" he hiccuped in Korean.
The kid took the lollipop out of his mouth with a sharp pop sound, pointing it directly at Woonseok's face. "Uncle... why are you crying so loudly in a kids' park at night? You are making a lot of noise. And you look way too big to be sitting on that swing. You're going to break the chain."
Woonseok's drunk, childish brain completely accepted the situation without a single drop of adult logic. He didn't see a fourth-grader; he saw a fellow human being to share his misery with. He let out a loud, dramatic sniffle, rubbing his eyes like a little boy.
"My... my girlfriend is not talking to me," Woonseok sobbed out, his lower lip trembling violently as he pointed his phone at the kid. "She has been ignoring my messages for an entire day... I think... I think she broke up with me, kiddo..."
The 10-year-old boy let out a long, heavy, and incredibly worldly sigh, shaking his head back and forth as if he carried the wisdom of a thousand generations. He put the lollipop back in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a second, and then looked back at Woonseok with a serious, solemn expression.
"Hmm..." the kid murmured, crossing his small arms over his yellow puffer jacket. "Such a critical situation. It's a classic tragedy. To be honest, Uncle, I also have the exact same critical situation going on in my life right now."
Woonseok stopped sobbing for a fraction of a second, his tear-filled eyes widening in genuine, drunk curiosity. He leaned forward on his swing, his long legs splayed out in the dirt. "W-Why? What happened to you?"
"My girlfriend is also incredibly angry with me," the kid explained with a grim nod, looking up at the night sky as if remembering a great battle. "We haven't spoken since lunch break. All because I refused to give her my limited-edition favorite Pokemon hairclip during art class. She told me we are over forever."
Woonseok gasped loudly, clutching his chest with his hand, entirely invested in the child's drama. "That is... that is so cruel! Hairclips are temporary, but love is forever!"
"Exactly!" the kid cheered, pointing his lollipop at Woonseok in total agreement. The boy reached into his puffer jacket pocket and pulled out an extra, un-opened blue blueberry lollipop. He held it out toward Woonseok with a look of pure, masculine solidarity. "Here. Take this, Uncle. You look like you need the sugar more than I do."
Woonseok's face lit up with a look of pure, childlike gratitude. With trembling, drunk fingers, he carefully took the lollipop from the 10-year-old's hand. "Thank you, little warrior..."
The kid walked over to the swing right next to Woonseok's, hopping up and settling his small body onto the rubber seat. The two of them sat side by side beneath the pale streetlamp—a 6-foot-tall global superstar in a designer coat and a 10-year-old boy in a yellow puffer jacket, both gently swaying back and forth on a children's swing set.
The kid unwrapped his lollipop, taking a loud lick before turning his head to look at Woonseok, who was clumsily struggling to tear open the plastic wrapper of his own blueberry treat with his teeth.
"So, Uncle," the kid asked curiously, swinging his small legs back and forth in the air. "By the way... what does your girlfriend look like? Is she actually pretty? and that's why you are crying so much?"
The question instantly ignited a powerful, explosive spark of romantic pride straight through Woonseok's intoxicated system. His sadness completely vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense eagerness to brag.
"pretty ?!" Woonseok shrieked defensively, his eyes flying wide open. "How dare you! She is a masterpiece!"
With an excited, boyish grin completely taking over his flushed face, Woonseok frantically tapped his phone screen. He unlocked the device and opened his private photo gallery, scrolling past thousands of studio headshots until he found his absolute favorite photo of Sana.
It was a candid picture she had sent him weeks ago during a quiet moment at her desk. She was wearing her crisp, intimidating police uniform, her hair tied back in a neat, professional ponytail. She was looking slightly away from the camera, a small, genuine, and devastatingly beautiful smile playing on her lips, her dark eyes shining with warmth.
Woonseok proudly shoved the phone screen directly into the 10-year-old boy's face, his chest swelling with pure, arrogant joy. He was blushing furiously from the alcohol, a silly, lovesick grin plastered across his face.
"Look!" Woonseok boomed excitedly, his voice filled with an intense, child-like pride as he pointed a finger at the screen. "Look at her! This is my lovely, beautiful girlfriend! Isn't she the cutest, most gorgeous girl you have ever seen in your entire life?! She is so, so cute! Look at her eyes! Look at her smile! She can literally arrest me whenever she wants!"
The 10-year-old boy leaned closer to the screen, squinting his eyes as he carefully analyzed Sanai's photo for a few long, tense seconds. He took the lollipop out of his mouth, letting out a small, contemplative hum.
"Hmm..." the kid said slowly, shrugging his small shoulders. "She is pretty, I guess. She looks kind of scary with that uniform, but she's pretty. But... my girlfriend, Min-ji, is definitely way prettier than her. Min-ji has bangs and a pink backpack with sparkles on it."
Woonseok's jaw dropped in absolute, unadulterated shock. The lovesick smile instantly vanished from his face, replaced by a look of pure, competitive outrage. He pulled the phone back, staring at the child as if the boy had just committed high treason against the state.
"Huh?!" Woonseok yelled, his drunk voice rising an octave as he stomped his leather shoe into the dirt, causing his swing to rattle. "No! Absolutely not! Are you blind, kiddo?! Nobody—and I mean nobody in the entire universe—is prettier than my girlfriend! My Butterfly is a literal goddess! Your Min-ji cannot even compare to her!"
The 10-year-old boy's eyes narrowed into a fierce, competitive glare. He gripped the iron chains of his swing, leaning forward aggressively. "What did you say, Uncle?! Min-ji won the kindergarten beauty pageant last year! She is the prettiest girl in the entire seoul! Your girlfriend doesn't even have sparkles on her uniform!"
"Sparkles?!" Woonseok scoffed dramatically, throwing his head back in total defiance, completely losing every single drop of his adult maturity. "My girlfriend doesn't need cheap sparkles! She has a real silver police badge! She can fight bad guys and she is a commander! She is a million times more beautiful than your pageant girl!"
"No, she isn't!" the kid screamed back, kicking his feet into the air. "Min-ji is the prettiest!"
"No! My Butterfly is the prettiest!" Woonseok yelled at the top of his lungs, pouting his lips like a stubborn toddler, completely oblivious to how utterly ridiculous he looked bickering with a fourth-grader over a playground swing set.
"Woonseok-ah?!"
A sharp, breathless scream suddenly echoed from the entrance of the park.
Woonseok and the 10-year-old boy both snapped their heads toward the sound, their childish argument instantly freezing.
Standing under the entrance archway was Minho. The manager was completely out of breath, his hair a wild mess, his hands resting on his knees as he gasped for air, sweat pouring down his face from sprinting through the streets of Gangnam for the last thirty minutes. He stared at the scene before him in absolute, dumbfounded horror.
There was South Korea's top Hallyu star, a global ambassador of luxury fashion, sitting on a tiny rubber swing in a children's park at 9:30 PM, clutching an un-opened blueberry lollipop in one hand and a phone showing a picture of an Indian police officer in the other, aggressively shouting at a fourth-grader.
"Oh my God..." Minho whispered, pressing a hand against his forehead as his soul practically left his body. "I am going to retire. I am officially quitting this industry tomorrow."
"Really, Woonseok?!"
Minho's voice cracked, echoing loudly across the empty neighborhood park. The exhausted manager stood completely paralyzed under the pale glow of the streetlamp, his hands aggressively massaging his temples as if trying to push his own brain back into place. "You are a thirty-year-old man! A global ambassador! And you are sitting on a rubber swing, aggressively arguing with a fourth-grader over who has the prettier girlfriend?!"
Woonseok, completely unbothered by his manager's absolute despair, clutched his unopened blueberry lollipop tightly to his chest. His cheeks were flushed a deep, intoxicated crimson, and his dark eyes were narrowed into a fierce, childish glare directed squarely at the 10-year-old boy in the yellow puffer jacket sitting next to him.
"He started it, Hyung!" Woonseok whined loudly, pointing an accusatory finger at the child. "He said his Min-ji is prettier than my Butterfly! I had to defend her honor!"
"Look who is being the real kid here," Minho muttered under his breath, stepping forward to intervene before a tabloid photographer magically appeared from the bushes to end their careers. He looked down at the 10-year-old boy, offering a forced, polite smile. "Hey, kid. It's way too late for you to be out here in the cold. It's past nine-thirty. Go to your home before your parents get worried, okay?"
The kid let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, clearly disappointed that his intense debate had been interrupted by a boring adult. He hopped off the swing, his tiny sneakers hitting the dirt. He adjusted his backpack, but before walking away, he turned back to face Woonseok.
With absolute, chilling seriousness, the 10-year-old boy raised his right hand. He pointed two fingers directly at his own eyes, and then slowly pointed them at Woonseok, giving the global superstar the classic 'I'm watching you' glare.
"I will see you around, Uncle," the kid stated darkly, his voice full of elementary-school menace.
"Yah!" Woonseok gasped, deeply offended by the sheer audacity of the child. He leaned forward on the swing, waving his arms defensively. "Stop glaring at me like that, or I will literally snatch your strawberry lollipop! Try me, kiddo!"
Minho quickly stepped between them, ushering the boy out of the park before his multi-million-dollar actor actually engaged in physical combat for candy. Once the boy had safely disappeared down the street, Minho turned back to Woonseok, letting out a long, ragged exhale.
"Okay, the kid is gone. The debate is over," Minho said, reaching out to grab Woonseok's arm. "You have clearly drunk way too much. The alcohol has completely fried your brain. Come on. Stand up. Let's go back to the van."
Instead of complying, Woonseok aggressively pulled his arm away. He wrapped both of his large hands tightly around the thick iron chains of the swing, anchoring his massive frame to the seat like a stubborn toddler refusing to leave a toy store.
"No!" Woonseok declared loudly, shaking his head until his perfectly styled hair fell into a messy heap over his eyes. "I am not going anywhere! I want to stay right here!"
Minho groaned, running a hand over his face. "Woonseok-ah, please. It is freezing out here. You are going to catch a cold on top of a hangover."
"I don't care!" Woonseok shouted softly, his voice immediately cracking as a fresh wave of alcohol-induced tears welled up in his eyes. His lower lip jutted out into a massive, heartbreaking pout. "I am not moving until I talk to Sana! She isn't talking to me, Hyung! She hasn't seen my messages all day! She hates me!"
Minho stared at the crying giant sitting in the dirt, completely devoid of his majestic idol persona. The manager lightly touched his own forehead, whispering to himself in pure agony. Literally... if I was not his manager... if my salary didn't depend on his face... I would seriously just push him off this swing and leave him in the dirt.
Realizing that physical force would not work on a crying, heartbroken, six-foot-tall drunk man, Minho pulled his own smartphone from his pocket. He quickly scrolled through his contacts, bypassed Woonseok's phone entirely, and tapped the video call icon next to the Indian commander's name.
Thousands of miles away, the sun had already set over the bustling district in India. The clock displayed just past 6:00 PM.
Sana had just stepped into the quiet sanctuary of her bedroom, absolutely exhausted. The emergency case at the commercial sector had taken twelve grueling hours to resolve. Her body ached, her voice was hoarse from shouting orders, and the remnants of her fever still lingered in her bones.
She stood in the middle of her room, having just changed out of her heavy, sweat-stained police uniform into a simple, comfortable pair of cotton pajamas. She let out a long, heavy sigh, stretching her stiff shoulders.
Her first thought, as the adrenaline of the day finally faded, was him.
She walked over to her desk and picked up her phone, her heart dropping slightly as she realized she had completely ignored Woonseok for the entire day. She unlocked the screen, her thumb hovering over their chat application, ready to finally read his messages and apologize for her sudden disappearance.
Suddenly, the screen aggressively vibrated in her hand.
Incoming Video Call: Minho-ssi (Manager)
Sana blinked, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. Why is Minho video calling me? she thought, a sudden spike of panic hitting her chest. Did something happen to Woonseok on set? Did he get injured again?
Without a second thought, she quickly swiped the green icon to accept the call.
The screen flared to life, showing Minho's exhausted, stressed face illuminated by the harsh glow of a streetlamp.
"Sana!" Minho practically begged the second the connection stabilized, his voice sounding entirely desperate. "Thank God you answered! Please, can you just talk to him? He is refusing to move from this park, he got incredibly drunk at a networking party, and he literally just spent the last ten minutes aggressively arguing with a random child! Please, just make him—"
Before Minho could even finish his desperate plea, a massive, dark blur suddenly shot across the screen.
Woonseok had violently launched himself upward from the swing, his long arms reaching out to snatch the smartphone right out of his manager's hands.
"Hey! My phone!" Minho yelled in the background, but the camera perspective wildly spun around until it finally focused on Woonseok's face.
Sana gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. Woonseok's face filled the screen. His hair was an absolute, chaotic mess. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed a deep, bright pink from the alcohol and the cold air. His beautiful, dark eyes were completely glossy with fresh tears, and his lower lip was pushed out in the most dramatic, devastatingly cute pout she had ever seen in her life.
He didn't look like an untouchable star. He looked like a giant, heartbroken puppy.
"Butterfly!" Woonseok practically wailed into the microphone, his deep voice slurred, thick, and incredibly whiny. He brought the phone closer to his face, sniffing loudly. "Why are you not seeing my messages?! I am so sorry! Why are you so angry with me?! I promise I will be a good boy!"
Sana stood frozen by her bed, completely caught off guard by the sheer absurdity of his drunken state. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain that she had been trapped in a police raid, but he didn't give her a single second to interrupt. He was on a completely unrestrained, intoxicated rant.
"And you know what else happened?!" Woonseok sobbed, aggressively wiping a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his expensive coat sleeve. "A kid—a literal child, Butterfly!—he said his girlfriend Min-ji is more pretty than you! He said you are less pretty because you don't have sparkles on your uniform! Literally! That kid has no eyes! I yelled at him for you!"
For three straight days, Sana had been drowning in the toxic, suffocating atmosphere of her parents' screaming matches. For the last twenty-four hours, she had been suffocated by the guilt of snapping at the man she loved. And for the last twelve hours, she had been commanding a stressful, dangerous crime scene.
Her life had been nothing but a dark, serious, and heavy burden.
But looking at this magnificent, incredibly successful global icon—crying into a stolen phone because he had engaged in a screaming match with a fourth-grader over her beauty—something inside Sana completely broke.
It wasn't a break of sadness. It was a break of pure, unfiltered joy.
Sana covered her mouth with her hands, her shoulders shaking violently as a sudden, loud burst of genuine laughter erupted from her chest. She couldn't stop. The sheer, ridiculous cuteness of the situation entirely shattered the dark, depressive cloud that had been hovering over her head. She threw her head back, laughing so hard that tears actually formed in the corners of her eyes.
"Oh my God," Sana gasped between breathless laughs, clutching her stomach. Her heart felt lighter than it had in months. "Oh my God, Woon. Look at you. Just look at my handsome, incredibly drunk, cute idol."
On the other side of the screen, Woonseok froze completely. The sound of her beautiful, bright laughter ringing through the phone speakers instantly short-circuited his intoxicated brain. His tears stopped falling. The massive pout slowly vanished, replaced by a shy, incredibly boyish blush that crept all the way up to the tips of his ears.
He stared at her bright, smiling face on the screen, completely mesmerized.
"Really?" Woonseok asked softly, his slurred voice dropping into a tender, hopeful whisper. He batted his long eyelashes at the camera. "Am I really looking handsome to you right now? Even though I'm crying? Did you... did you finally forgive me, Butterfly?"
Sana's laughter slowly subsided into a massive, affectionate smile. All the heavy tension from the previous night was entirely erased by the profound warmth radiating from his goofy, loving expression.
"Woon," Sana said softly, her voice dripping with absolute adoration. She stepped closer to the camera, wanting to bridge the thousands of miles between them. "I am not even angry at you. Not even a single percent. I am so sorry I didn't reply today. I was just incredibly busy with a sudden emergency case at the district. I literally didn't have my phone on me. That's why I wasn't able to see your messages."
Woonseok's dark eyes widened, absorbing her words like a dying man drinking water.
"I am not angry," Sana repeated firmly, ensuring every single syllable penetrated his alcohol-fogged mind. "I am not breaking up with you. Nothing is wrong between us, okay? I still love you. So much."
A massive, blindingly brilliant smile instantly exploded across Woonseok's flushed face. The heavy heartbreak of the entire day vanished into the cold Seoul night. He brought the phone screen directly up to his lips, leaving a loud, exaggerated, and incredibly sloppy drunk kiss right over the camera lens.
"I love you!" Woonseok cheered loudly, completely uncaring of who heard him. "I love you, my beautiful Butterfly!"
Suddenly, the screen aggressively violently shook as a hand reached into the frame from the side.
"Aish! That's enough!" Minho's exasperated voice yelled.
Minho forcefully grabbed the phone back, yanking it out of Woonseok's grip. The camera spun wildly before settling back on Minho's thoroughly irritated face. In the background, Woonseok could be seen trying to reach for the device, whining like a child who had a toy taken away.
"Leave my phone alone, you crazy man!" Minho scolded Woonseok loudly in Korean, pushing the tall actor away by the chest. Minho looked back at the screen, letting out an exhausted sigh. "Do all this romantic nonsense with your own phone, Woonseok! I have to pay my data bills!"
Sana giggled loudly, thoroughly enjoying the chaotic dynamic between the two men. "Minho-ssi," she called out, her voice gentle and full of gratitude. "Please, take him home safely. Give him some heavy hangover drink, and just let him rest. He has been working so hard."
"Yeah, trust me Sana," Minho nodded grimly, using his free hand to grip the collar of Woonseok's expensive coat to keep him from wandering back to the swing set. "I will handle this mess. I'm taking him straight to bed."
"No!" Woonseok suddenly yelled in the background, lunging forward and tightly grabbing Minho's arm. He pressed his flushed face close to the phone screen, his eyes wide and desperate. "No, Hyung! I want to talk to her more! Give me the phone back! Butterfly, tell him to give it back!"
Minho rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Okay, Sana, let me handle this giant toddler before he decides to fight a streetlight. I will call you later when he is sober. Bye."
"I understand," Sana nodded, a wide, permanent smile fixed on her face. "Goodnight, Woonseok! Get some rest! We will talk tomorrow! We are completely fine, okay?!"
"Butterfly, wait—!"
Before Woonseok could launch into another drunken protest, Minho decisively hit the red button. The call disconnected, throwing Sana's room back into silence.
But unlike the terrifying, suffocating silence of the previous night, the quiet of her room now felt warm, safe, and entirely peaceful.
Sana stood holding her phone, a quiet, joyful giggling still bubbling up in her chest. She walked over to her bed and practically collapsed onto the soft mattress, throwing her arms out wide as she stared up at the ceiling.
The heavy, toxic stress of her family, the exhaustion of her demanding police work, and the bitter arguments of the world had all been completely neutralized by a single, chaotic video call. He was utterly ridiculous. He was dramatic, childish, and way too emotional. But he was also the absolute brightest light in her entirely dark universe.
She rolled over onto her side, hugging her pillow tightly against her chest, a soft, incredibly fond sigh escaping her lips.
"Oh, Mr. Idol..." Sana whispered into the quiet room, her eyes closing as the image of his drunk, pouting face replayed in her mind, sending a fresh wave of warmth through her heart. "What am I ever going to do with you?"
For the first time in nearly a week, as she pulled the heavy duvet over her shoulders, Rashi didn't dread the coming dawn. She fell asleep with a genuine smile still gracing her lips, anchored completely by the knowledge that halfway across the world, a man loved her so much he was willing to fight children for her honor.