The profound, healing gravity of our kiss was just beginning to settle into my soul when a soft, hesitant knock echoed through the massive bedroom doors. It broke the fragile, silent bubble we had just created.
"Sir?"
It was Minho's voice, muffled but urgent through the heavy mahogany wood. "I am sorry to interrupt, but I am here with Dr. Choi. She needs to check on Sana's vitals."
Woonseok didn't pull away immediately. He let his lips linger against mine for one final, reassuring second, his breath ghosting over my skin. He rested his forehead against mine, his dark eyes locking onto my gaze with a promise that the interruption was only temporary.
"Come in," Woonseok called out, his voice instantly shifting from a vulnerable whisper to the firm, commanding baritone of a man fully in charge of his empire.
The double doors clicked open, and Minho stepped inside, closely followed by the sharp, professional figure of Dr. Choi. The doctor carried her black medical bag, her eyes immediately scanning my flushed face and the way Woonseok was protectively positioned on the edge of the mattress, his arm still securely wrapped around my waist.
"She woke up," Woonseok stated before the doctor could even speak, his tone clipped and protective. "Her temperature feels normal now, but I need you to confirm."
Dr. Choi offered a polite, reassuring smile as she stepped toward the bed. "That is excellent news. Let me just take a look, Mr. Jang."
For the next five minutes, the room was filled with the quiet, clinical sounds of a blood pressure cuff inflating, the beep of a thermometer, and the soft hum of the doctor's pen against her chart. Woonseok didn't move an inch away from me; his hand held mine in a vice-like grip the entire time, his eyes tracking every single movement the doctor made.
Finally, Dr. Choi stepped back, snapping her stethoscope around her neck. She looked directly at Woonseok, her expression serious but relieved.
"Sana needs to be monitored, of course," the doctor stated, her voice calm and measured. "But physically, her vitals have stabilized. The hypothermia threat has passed. However..." She paused, her gaze shifting between Woonseok and me. "She needs a monumental amount of rest. Her current weakness and exhaustion are primarily due to acute physical and psychological shock, not just the cold."
She lowered her voice slightly, leaning in closer.
"Her body has just absorbed a tremendous amount of stress and emotional trauma. Her nervous system is completely fried. She needs complete, absolute peace and quiet. No news, no stress, and absolutely no long, draining conversations for the next day or two. Her body will crash if she pushes herself even a fraction of an inch."
Woonseok nodded immediately, his sharp jaw clenching. His features hardened with a renewed, terrifying determination.
"Understood," he said, his voice like steel.
He didn't even hesitate. He turned his head and looked directly at Minho, who was standing quietly near the door.
"You heard the doctor, Minho," Woonseok commanded, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for debate. "Lock down the apartment. No visitors, no phone calls, no agency executives, and no news. Cancel the brand shoot tomorrow, push back the recording sessions, and clear my schedule indefinitely. The world can wait."
He looked back at me, the harshness in his eyes instantly melting away, leaving only the most gentle, overwhelming tenderness. "Your healing starts right now, my love."
Panic immediately flared in my chest.
"No, Minho, don't cancel anything!" Sana blurted out, my voice raspy but panicked, pushing back against the heavy pillows. I couldn't let my personal crisis derail his massively successful career. The guilt was already heavy enough without adding millions of won in breached contracts to the list. "Please don't cancel his schedules. I can take care of myself. I'll be completely fine resting here alone."
Woonseok's arm, which was still firmly around my shoulders, tightened instantly. He looked down at me, his dark eyes flashing with a fierce, absolute refusal.
"Absolutely not, Sana," he stated, his voice completely devoid of compromise. "You will not worry about my schedule. That is entirely non-negotiable. Everything stops until you are completely healed. I mean it."
He pressed a warm, firm kiss to my temple, his expression soft only for me, before directing a stern, unyielding gaze back at his manager.
Minho, seeing the rare, unshakeable finality burning in his Idol's eyes, quickly sided with his boss. His professional concern for my health easily overrode his usual strict adherence to the agency's schedule.
"Sana, with all due respect, it really is okay," Minho insisted gently, offering me a sympathetic smile. "The doctor just said you need complete rest and zero stress. Sir is right; you need full-time care right now. We can easily reschedule a press tour, but we cannot reschedule your health. Please, let us take care of this. Your only job right now is to sleep."
Woonseok nodded approvingly at Minho, his large hand moving to run reassuringly through my tangled hair.
"See, Butterfly?" Woonseok murmured, a tiny, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "It's a team decision. You lost the vote. Now, close your eyes and accept defeat."
The doctor and Minho bowed respectfully and finally left the room, the heavy doors clicking shut behind them, sealing us back into our warm, isolated bubble of privacy.
The second the door closed, Woonseok immediately dismissed his stern, authoritative posture. His fiercely protective gaze softened back into pure, unadulterated tenderness. He shifted on the edge of the bed, turning his body fully toward me, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead.
"Okay, fine," he conceded, echoing my earlier surrender with a breathtakingly soft smile. "The doctor has spoken. Now, let's address a much more pressing matter than my schedule: food. What do you want for breakfast? Name it. Anything. Indian? Korean? I will make absolutely anything you want."
My stomach, which had been completely ignoring me since the violent confrontation with my father days ago, finally gave a faint, embarrassing rumble of protest.
"Anything," I murmured, leaning into his touch. Then I paused, remembering the strict dietary rules I had always followed back home. "But it should be vegan, you know. Something simple. I don't want you working too hard."
"Vegan. Simple. Got it," Woonseok confirmed instantly, making a mental note. The complete ease with which he accepted the detail was a deeply comforting reminder of his constant adaptability. "Don't move a single muscle. I will be right back."
I sat alone, wrapped securely in the warm cocoon of Woonseok's oversized black cashmere sweater. The intoxicating scent of his cedarwood cologne and clean linen clung to the fabric, comforting me in his absence.
But after he left the room to prepare breakfast, the silence in the massive bedroom quickly became too heavy, too isolating.
My mind started to race. The adrenaline of our reunion was fading, leaving behind the stark reality of my physical state. I couldn't just stay passive in this bed while he worked to take care of me. I needed to move. I needed to prove to myself that I was still whole, that the devastating choice I had made at the airport hadn't truly shattered my body into pieces.
I took a deep breath, slowly pushing the heavy duvet aside. I swung my legs over the edge of the towering mattress, planting my bare feet firmly onto the plush, cream-colored carpet.
Just to the kitchen, I told myself. Just to see him.
I took another deep breath and tried to stand.
The moment my weight shifted onto my legs, they violently betrayed me. My knees buckled instantly. They were incredibly stiff and shaking uncontrollably, trembling with a volatile mixture of severe muscular exhaustion and the lingering, invisible shock of the storm.
I grabbed the heavy oak nightstand to catch myself, my knuckles turning white. I paused, squeezing my eyes shut and letting the spinning room stabilize. I forced myself upright, locking my shaking knees.
I began to walk. It was slow, painfully deliberate, and utterly exhausting. I moved toward the bedroom door, leaning heavily against the pristine white walls for support. My movements were hesitant and fragile—nothing at all like the confident, commanding stride of the sharp police officer I once was.
But I had to see him. I had to join him in the physical beginning of our new life.
I finally reached the wide, arched doorway that led into his massive, ultra-modern kitchen. The space was filled with the beautiful, gentle sizzle of oil and the warm, delicious, completely unexpected scent of roasted spices.
Woonseok was standing at the sleek marble stove, his back to me, focused entirely on the food in the pan. He had pulled off his damp hoodie and was now wearing a simple, perfectly fitted white t-shirt, his broad shoulders shifting as he cooked. His dark hair was slightly rumpled from sleep. In the warm, golden morning light filtering through the kitchen windows, he looked incredibly domestic, deeply grounding, and completely, beautifully real.
"Woon..." I managed to whisper, my voice thin and raspy.
He turned instantly. A bright, happy, and immensely proud smile was already blooming on his face, clearly ready to show off whatever culinary masterpiece he was attempting.
But the smile completely froze the microsecond he laid eyes on me.
He saw the way I was leaning desperately against the doorframe just to stay upright. He saw the stark, sickly paleness of my face. He saw the violent, undeniable tremor that was still running through my weakened legs.
The harsh realization of my incredibly fragile physical condition hit him like a physical blow to the chest.
The wooden cooking spoon he was holding clattered loudly onto the marble counter. His dark eyes blew wide with pure, unadulterated alarm. He didn't even speak a complete sentence; he didn't need to.
"Butterfly!" Woonseok gasped, his voice tight and breathless with sudden, paralyzing fear.
He dropped absolutely everything. He practically sprinted across the expansive kitchen floor, eating up the distance between us in two massive, frantic strides. His large hands instantly grabbed my upper arms, his touch incredibly firm but desperately gentle, physically steadying my violently trembling frame.
"What are you doing?!" he demanded, his chest heaving as his eyes frantically searched mine, his overwhelming concern radiating off him in waves. "You should be resting! You are supposed to be in bed! Look at you, your legs are completely shaking, Sana! You are still recovering!"
He didn't wait for me to offer an excuse. With absolute, protective resolve, he stepped closer, sliding one arm securely behind my knees and the other around my back. He carefully, effortlessly scooped me up into his arms, lifting me against his chest as if I weighed absolutely nothing.
"You don't walk until the doctor explicitly clears you," Woonseok murmured, his jaw tight as he carried me back down the hallway. He held me so close I could hear the frantic, rapid beating of his heart. His tone was a heavy mix of terrifying love and loving command. "You let me carry you. Your only job is healing, my love. Absolutely nothing else."
Woonseok carried me straight back to the bed and gently laid me down against the pillows, immediately pulling the heavy duvet back up and tucking it securely around my shoulders.
His expression was dead serious—a captivating mix of fierce, unyielding care and a playful, authoritative command.
"Strict warning," he stated, his voice firm as he pointed a long finger directly at my nose. "You are not to move. Not for water, not for the bathroom, not for absolutely anything. If you need something, you call me. Do you understand?"
I nodded immediately, a weak, apologetic smile acknowledging his loving tyranny. "Understood, Captain."
He let out a heavy sigh, leaning down to press a quick, intensely possessive kiss directly to the center of my forehead.
"Stay here " he ordered softly, before turning and hurrying back to the kitchen, where the scent of sizzling spices was growing even stronger.
Alone again, the heavy silence crept back in. I reached over to the nightstand and picked up my phone. It felt heavy in my hand—the last, fragile technological link to my past life.
I pressed the power button, unlocking the screen. My breath hitched violently in my throat.
The wallpaper illuminated the dark room. It was a bright, smiling photo of my entire family: my mother looking radiant in a silk saree, Aryan grinning like an idiot, and my father—standing tall, his arm wrapped stiffly but proudly around my shoulder. It had been taken just a few months ago at my last police promotion ceremony.
I stared intently at my dad's digital face, my eyes tracing his familiar features, desperately searching that frozen image for any hint of the man who had loved me his entire life. I peered into his eyes—the same eyes that had looked at me with such absolute, freezing disgust just days ago.
I kept the screen lit, staring at the empty notification bar, desperately, foolishly hoping that he would call me. Hoping that a message would pop up saying the disownment was just a massive fit of temper, a cruel threat he couldn't actually follow through on.
But there was nothing. No calls. No messages. Every single second the phone remained completely silent was a painful, agonizing confirmation of his absolute finality.
I missed them. God, I missed them all so much it felt like my chest was actively caving in. I missed the familiar arguments, the casual chaos of the kitchen, the deep, foundational noise of simply being home.
The quiet luxury of Woonseok's massive, multi-million dollar apartment, though incredibly safe, suddenly felt vast, echoing, and terrifyingly empty. A fresh wave of hot tears blurred my vision, spilling over my lashes and dropping onto the screen.
Just then, Woonseok reappeared in the doorway.
He entered the room carrying a large, beautiful wooden tray. On it was an absolute feast: perfectly golden, fluffy vegan Indian pancakes—besan chilla, smelling heavily of cumin and turmeric—alongside a bowl of meticulously cut fresh fruit and a steaming cup of herbal tea.
He crossed the room with a proud smile, but as he approached the bed, his expression instantly shattered.
He saw the shimmering, unshed tears streaming down my cheeks. He saw the raw, gaping pain reflected in my dark gaze, which was fixed completely on the glowing screen of my phone. He didn't even need to lean over to see the wallpaper; his immense emotional intelligence pieced it together in a microsecond.
He saw the overwhelming grief on my face. He saw me missing my home, my family, my friends. He saw the full, devastating, bleeding cost of the freedom I had just won for him.
Woonseok set the heavy tray carefully over my lap without a word. He sat gently on the edge of the mattress beside me. Instead of offering empty platitudes, he reached over, his large, warm hand completely covering my small one, gently obscuring the painful image on the glowing screen and pressing the phone face down onto the blankets.
"The emptiness is the hardest part, I know," Woonseok said softly. His voice wasn't laced with pity or jealousy; it was completely full of a deep, echoing empathy. "But this emptiness is only temporary. We will fill it, Sana."
He lifted his other hand, gently wiping a tear from my jawline with his thumb.
"We will fill this space with life, and laughter, and entirely new memories," he promised, his eyes locking onto mine with an absolute, unwavering certainty. "But first, my beautiful girl, you have to eat."
He picked up a small piece of the warm pancake with his fingers, held it gently to my lips, and smiled—a soft, encouraging curve of his mouth.
"Start right here, Butterfly," he whispered. "You can't build a brand new world on an empty stomach."
I opened my mouth, taking the small, carefully prepared piece of the pancake directly from his fingers.
The savory, perfectly spiced warmth was a pleasant, grounding shock to my system. I chewed slowly, tasting the rich flavors of turmeric and chickpea flour.
A sudden, mischievous spark flared to life inside my chest. The heavy sorrow was still there, but his overwhelming love demanded some levity.
I stopped chewing. I made a highly conscious, deliberate effort to contort my face into a look of absolute, exaggerated distaste. I scrunched my nose violently, narrowing my eyes as if I had just bitten into a lemon.
"Oh, no," I choked out, putting my hand over my mouth with a highly dramatic, theatrical flourish. "Woon... it's too much salt! I told you, you shouldn't have cooked. It's completely ruined!"
The effect was utterly instantaneous, and exactly what I had intended.
Woonseok physically stiffened, the color rapidly draining from his handsome face. His dark eyes, which had been so soft, confident, and relieved just a second ago, blew wide in immediate, unadulterated panic. The intense trauma of the last few days had left his nervous system completely shot, rendering him utterly vulnerable to absolutely any sign of distress or disappointment from me.
"Too much salt? Really?" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He immediately grabbed the edges of the tray, pulling it closer to himself to inspect the innocent pancake as if it held a deadly, radioactive toxin.
"I... I followed the online recipe exactly!" he babbled, his hands hovering over the food in sheer panic. "I measured everything twice! I didn't think I added that much! Let me try it, Rashi, oh my god, I'm so sorry, don't eat it, I'll go make you something else right now—"
He reached out desperately to tear off a piece to taste it, but I couldn't hold it in any longer.
I burst into soft, bright, and completely genuine laughter. I reached out, gently cupping his utterly shocked, panicked face in both of my hands, stopping his frantic movements completely.
"Aww, look at you!" I chuckled, the sound ringing through the quiet room, feeling incredibly wonderful, light, and unfamiliar after days of nothing but screaming and tears. "Your face! You were absolutely terrified!"
I leaned forward, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss directly onto the tip of his nose.
"Don't worry, mr idol," I smiled, looking into his wide eyes. "It's good. It's actually perfect. It's the best breakfast I've ever had in my entire life. I was just teasing you."
Woonseok's reaction was a profound, visible, and highly dramatic collapse of tension.
He literally sagged back against the headboard, running a shaking hand through his already rumpled hair. His broad chest heaved as he let out a massive, shuddering sigh of pure relief.
"You cannot do that to me, Butterfly," Woonseok murmured, his voice laced with mock terror, though the genuine, lingering fear of the moment before was still shimmering clearly in his dark eyes.
He leaned forward and gathered me into a quick, tight hug, burying his face in my hair. "My heart rate is absolutely not stabilized enough for your teasing. I literally thought I had failed the very first mission of our new life together—feeding my beautiful exile."
He pulled back, his eyes sparkling with a renewed, deep tenderness. He picked up another piece of the warm pancake and held it to my lips.
"Eat it all," he commanded softly. "And from now on, only good surprises, please. My heart can't handle any more drama unless it's strictly written in a script and on a stage."
"Sure thing, Mr. Idol," I replied, my voice light and bubbling with the true happiness of our quiet moment, reaching for a piece of the freshly cut fruit on the tray.
Woonseok sat there and watched me eat for the next twenty minutes, his presence a constant, radiating, and comforting warmth. He was my silent, vigilant guardian, sipping his own tea and sitting closely near my hip, taking care of me with every soft look and quiet inquiry about the food.
Eventually, the tea and the water I had chugged caught up with me. Nature called.
I took a deep breath, determined to prove my recovering independence one more time. I slowly began to push the heavy duvet back and attempted to subtly swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
He noticed the microscopic shift instantly. His eyes snapped directly to my movement.
"What happened?" Woonseok asked, setting his tea cup down immediately, his voice instantly alert and laced heavily with his protective concern.
I paused, realizing I couldn't simply sneak away from a man whose entire existence was currently revolving around my vitals.
"Um..." I said, feeling slightly sheepish and a bit embarrassed. "Just going to the washroom. It's okay, I can go." I even tried to give him a confident, reassuring little nod.
Woonseok's reaction was incredibly swift, intensely firm, and entirely characteristic.
He shot off the mattress as if physically propelled by a spring, moving directly into my path and blocking the edge of the bed with his large frame.
"Absolutely not," he stated, his voice ringing with a gentle, smooth, but completely non-negotiable command.
He placed both of his large hands firmly on my shoulders, gently but steadily pressing me right back onto the soft pillows.
"The doctor explicitly said no movement. You are absolutely not testing your muscle recovery on the hard tile floor of the bathroom," he lectured, his dark eyes holding mine with utter seriousness. "You completely lost the right to independence the exact minute you fainted in the freezing rain."
He leaned down, his rigid posture relaxing slightly as his eyes softened into a warm, teasing intensity.
"Did you forget the rules already?" he whispered, his face inches from mine. "If you need anything, you call me. I am your personal butler, your bodyguard, and your chief of staff for the next forty-eight hours. Now, tell me, Butterfly."
He paused, a tiny, devastatingly attractive smirk appearing on his lips. "Do you need me to carry you inside, or do you need me to wait right outside the door?"
He leaned in closer. "Either way, I'm coming with you. No argument."
I let out a soft sigh, accepting defeat. "Yes," I confirmed, my voice a little breathless as I fully accepted his protective boundary. "But it's okay, you wait outside the door. I'm okay."
He gave me a reluctant but deeply loving look of surrender. True to his word, he easily scooped me back up into his arms, carrying me the few steps across the massive bedroom to the en-suite bathroom door, and setting me down incredibly carefully on the bathmat inside.
"Call my name the second you're done, understood?" he instructed, his voice low and serious as he kept his hand on the doorknob.
"Understood," I nodded.
I closed the door, letting out a heavy sigh, relieved to finally have a brief moment of complete privacy.
But it was exactly in the privacy of that quiet, marble-lined space that my body decided to deliver another massive, highly unexpected blow.
As I sat down, a sudden, sharp, and intensely familiar cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. I gasped, doubling over slightly.
I looked down, and the reality set in.
The immense psychological stress of the disownment, the physical shock of the hypothermia, and the violent trauma of the past few days had completely scrambled my system, bringing on my cycle early.
It was agonizing, unwelcome timing. It was an added, heavy layer of brutal physical pain in a body that was already in absolutely no state to handle it. The dull, throbbing ache began to spread through my lower back, a cruel, heavy weight dragging me down.
I leaned my forehead against the cool marble of the counter, closing my eyes tightly as a fresh tear of pure exhaustion slipped out. It was just one more impossible thing stacked against my recovery, and as the pain flared higher, I realized I was going to have to open that door and tell him.
I opened the heavy bathroom door incredibly slowly, bracing myself heavily against the marble frame just to keep my balance. The sudden, agonizing cramps radiating through my lower abdomen had drained whatever tiny reserve of strength I had managed to gather.
Woonseok was standing right outside. He had his broad back pressed flat against the hallway wall, his arms crossed over his chest, already looking up the exact millisecond the latch clicked. His handsome face was completely tense, his dark eyes shadowed with a heavy, restless worry.
He took one look at my pale, sweaty face, and his posture broke instantly. He pushed off the wall, stepping toward me.
I couldn't hide it. I didn't even have the energy to try and maintain any shred of dignity. My voice was incredibly small, edged with fresh fatigue and a heavy, embarrassed hesitation.
"Woon..." I began, my eyes dropping to the floor, actively avoiding his intense gaze. "I... I got my periods."
Woonseok's initial reaction was a momentary, blank stare. For exactly one second, the global superstar looked completely short-circuited.
But then, an immediate, intensely practical understanding washed over his features. His face instantly shifted from a generalized anxiety over my health to a frantic, overwhelmingly tender concern over my sudden, localized discomfort. The untouchable Idol vanished entirely into the ether; only the deeply devoted, fiercely protective partner remained.
"Oh, Butterfly," Woonseok breathed, his voice incredibly low and full of a soft, agonizing remorse, as if he somehow blamed himself for the timing of my biology.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't flinch. He didn't make it awkward for even a fraction of a second. He simply reached out for me.
"Why didn't you tell me you were hurting?" he murmured softly, wrapping his arms around my waist to support my weight. "Of course... of course, the stress and the cold would do this to your system. Your poor body has been through too much."
He gently helped me lean against the wall outside the bathroom, wrapping one arm securely around my shoulders. Then, to my absolute shock, he immediately dropped to his knees right in front of me, his large hands resting gently on my hips as he looked up into my face, his mind already rapidly calculating the immediate steps for my comfort.
"Where exactly are you feeling the pain, Sana ? Is it just cramps, or your back too?" he demanded softly, his dark eyes scanning my face. "Do you need stronger medication? I have heating pads somewhere. We need hot tea. And chocolate."
He spoke rapidly, his CEO-like efficiency completely taking over. "I need to go buy supplies—I don't keep those kinds of things here. I'll be back in exactly five minutes. Do not move. You wait right here."
Before I could even protest or tell him what brand I needed, Woonseok was moving.
He practically sprinted to the entryway. He grabbed a long, black trench coat, throwing it over his white t-shirt, and violently shoved a black face mask over his mouth and nose, pulling a dark baseball cap low over his eyes. Completely disguised, he shot out the front door, the heavy lock clicking securely behind him.
Down on the street, the world was still recovering from the storm, but the local convenience store and pharmacy on the corner was brightly lit.
Woonseok pushed through the glass doors, the little bell chiming overhead. He ignored the snack aisles completely, his long legs eating up the distance until he found the feminine hygiene section.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
He stared at the massive, colorful wall of plastic packaging. There were dozens of brands. Pink ones, blue ones, green ones. Wings, no wings. Overnight, regular, heavy flow, organic cotton, scented, unscented.
The man who routinely memorized complex, twenty-minute choreography routines in a single afternoon was completely, utterly paralyzed by confusion.
He reached out tentatively, picking up a package of overnight pads, staring at the Korean text on the back as if it were written in ancient hieroglyphics. Which one does she need? What size? Why are there so many sizes?!
He felt a light tap on his arm.
Woonseok jolted, looking down. A middle-aged female staff member in a store apron was looking at him with an amused, knowing smile.
"Oh, excuse me, young man," she said gently. "Do you need some help with this? You look a little lost."
Beneath his mask, Woonseok's cheeks flared with a sudden, rare flush of intense shyness. The Sovereign, the man who stared down thousands of screaming fans without blinking, felt his ears burning hot.
He cleared his throat, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Yes... I..." He lowered his voice, leaning in slightly. "I need this for my... for my girlfriend. She is very unwell right now. But I don't know much about this. I don't know which one to take."
The staff member's smile widened, softening into pure endearment at the sight of this massive, intimidatingly tall man looking so completely flustered over taking care of his partner.
"Don't worry at all," she smiled, stepping up to the shelf. "It's very sweet of you to run out for her. Let me explain. If she is resting and unwell, you will want the heavy overnight ones with wings. They are the most secure."
She handed him three different, large packages of the most expensive, comfortable brands on the shelf.
"Take these," the woman instructed kindly. "And don't forget a heating patch from aisle four. It does wonders for the cramps."
"Thank you. Thank you so much," Woonseok bowed deeply, his gratitude completely genuine.
He didn't just take the three packages. In his absolute panic to ensure he didn't fail this mission, he grabbed two more boxes of different sizes, a handful of heating patches, and completely cleared out the shelf of premium dark chocolate on his way to the register.
Less than ten minutes after he had left, the front door of the apartment clicked open.
I didn't have to wait long.
He came bursting back into the hallway, breathing heavily, clutching the massive, overflowing plastic bag from the pharmacy as if it contained a vital, life-saving organ transplant.
He found me still standing near the bathroom door, leaning heavily on the doorframe, my eyes squeezed shut against a fresh wave of cramps. He stepped right up to me, thrusting the heavy bag directly into my hands, his beautiful face still etched with absolute, protective panic beneath the brim of his cap.
"Here. I got everything," Woonseok instructed, his chest heaving as he pulled off his mask. "Don't worry about absolutely anything else. Go."
I nodded gratefully, taking the bag, and disappeared back into the privacy of the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
A few minutes later, after washing up and using the supplies, I emerged. I was feeling marginally steadier, but my body was still incredibly weak, trembling from the sheer effort of staying upright.
As I took a hesitant, slow step back into the bedroom, Woonseok turned around from where he was arranging the pillows on the bed.
His dark eyes immediately caught sight of the hem of my clothes.
There was a blood stain. It was a small, dark red patch right on the front of the incredibly expensive, soft cashmere sweater he had lent me. It was a stark, unavoidable, and deeply embarrassing mark of my physical state.
My heart dropped into my stomach. I gasped softly, my hands instantly flying up to try and cover the stain, hot shame flooding my cheeks.
"Woon, I'm so sorry," I stammered, fresh tears of pure exhaustion springing to my eyes. "Your sweater... I completely ruined it, I didn't mean to—"
Woonseok stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes were locked completely onto the dark stain on the expensive fabric. But as I watched his face, all the professional composure he cultivated, every ounce of the Idol persona, vanished completely.
His handsome face completely crumpled.
It wasn't with disgust. It wasn't with annoyance over a ruined piece of designer clothing. It was a heartbreaking, devastating mix of absolute tenderness, crushing guilt, and pure, unadulterated protective fury.
It wasn't the blood that horrified him; it was the vivid, unmistakable, physical evidence of the brutal distress my body had been under when I collapsed. To him, that stain was proof that my body was actively breaking down from the trauma of choosing him.
He didn't hesitate. He rushed toward me, completely ignoring my attempts to cover myself.
He reached me in two strides, his touch radiating immense, careful devotion. He didn't focus on the stain at all; he focused entirely on the pain it signified.
"Oh, Sana," Woonseok whispered, his voice thick, rough, and vibrating with heavy emotion. His dark gaze radiated a profound sorrow as he looked down at me. "My poor Butterfly."
He gently reached out, placing his large, warm hands firmly on my shaking shoulders. He slowly moved one hand down, his long thumb gently, reverently brushing the soft wool right next to the stain.
"Do not apologize to me," he commanded softly, his eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity. "Don't you dare worry about this sweater for one single second. It's just a stain, Sana. It is just a battle scar from the terrible fight you just won."
He didn't make me feel ashamed. He didn't make it feel awkward or gross. Instead, he carefully, protectively gathered the ruined cashmere sweater around my waist, pulling me gently against his chest.
"I'm going to get you a new one," Woonseok promised, pressing a fierce kiss to my temple. "Something clean, dry, and even warmer. You just focus on getting into that bed. Let me take care of the rest, always. The clothes, the cleaning, the world outside... everything else is just detail."
Before I could even formulate a reply, he swept me up into his arms once again. His physical strength was absolute, an anchor in my storm. He carried me securely across the plush carpet back to the massive bed, kissing the top of my head with a desperate, fierce tenderness.
"You did enough fighting in India," he murmured against my hair as he laid me gently against the pillows. "Now, you let me be your sanctuary."
Woonseok quickly and carefully helped me change out of the ruined cashmere and into a completely fresh, incredibly thick black hoodie and a pair of soft, thermal leggings—a new set of his own clothes that dwarfed my frame but felt like a warm, secure hug.
Once I was settled under the duvet, he moved around the room like a man on a sacred mission, transforming the bedside table into an absolute sanctuary of warmth and care.
He returned from the kitchen a few moments later. He set down a warm hot-water bottle carefully wrapped in a soft towel, a heavy silver bowl completely overflowing with premium dark chocolates, a fresh, steaming mug of ginger and chamomile herbal tea, and a blister pack of the strongest pain medication he had bought.
He pulled a velvet armchair incredibly close to the edge of the bed, sitting down and watching me settle in. His face still reflected a raw, deeply vulnerable concern.
"Here," Woonseok murmured, leaning forward. He gently took the warm bottle and slipped it under the blankets, placing it perfectly against my aching lower abdomen. "This should help with the cramps. And the chocolate is a mandatory battlefield ration. You earned every single piece."
He sat back in the chair, his dark gaze earnest, intense, and slightly pleading.
"Am I doing this right, Butterfly?" he asked, his voice laced with a charming, incredibly vulnerable uncertainty. "The pads... the warm things... did I get the right ones? Actually, I have a confession."
He rubbed his face, letting out a heavy breath. "I had to ask for help from the lady working at the store. I bought so many pads because she was so sweet, but... I didn't know which one was exactly right for you."
He looked down at his hands, his voice dropping into a whisper of profound apology.
"I'm so sorry, Sana. I will learn everything, you know. I just only know a few things right now. But you have to tell me. I don't know this part of your life. I didn't know the terrible storm outside was also raging inside your body."
He reached out, his large, warm hand resting tentatively on top of the duvet, just inches from my own hand.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, his eyes lifting to meet mine. "I don't know the proper, perfect way to take care of you right now."
He gave me a look of absolute, breathtaking sincerity. It was the look of a man who possessed the power to command absolute armies of screaming fans across the globe, a man whose face was plastered on billboards on every continent... but who felt utterly, entirely helpless in the face of simple female biology because he wanted to be perfect for me.
"But I swear to you, I will learn everything," Woonseok vowed, his jaw clenching with determination. "Every single detail. Just tell me what you need, and I will be the absolute best partner in the world at this, too."
His absolute honesty—his total willingness to admit his own ignorance and his fierce, unyielding determination to learn how to care for my body—was the most comforting thing I had ever experienced in my entire life.
This was absolutely not the Idol. This was the devoted man, ready and willing to make my most mundane, uncomfortable physical needs his most vital, sacred mission.
My gaze rested on the beautiful collection of comforting items he had so frantically gathered on the nightstand—the mountain of chocolate, the perfectly steeped tea, the soothing warmth of the bottle pressing against my skin. It was all tangible, undeniable proof of his swift, absolute care.
The heavy, lingering question in my heart—the question of why a man this powerful, this wonderful, this incredibly devoted, was so utterly and completely mine—broke me all over again.
Tears, hot, heavy, and completely unbidden, welled up in my eyes and spilled over my lashes, tracking fresh, clean paths down my pale cheeks.
I reached out from beneath the heavy duvet. My hand was trembling slightly as I gently touched his face. I traced the sharp, perfect, aristocratic line of his jaw with my fingertips, feeling the slight, rough friction of the soft stubble there.
"Why..." I choked out, my voice thick with heavy emotion and absolute wonder. "Why are you... too much? Why are you like this, Woonseok?"
The question wasn't a demand for a logical answer. It was a pure overflow of overwhelming feeling, a vocal declaration of my absolute disbelief at his selfless, beautiful devotion.
Woonseok's reaction was instantaneous and deeply moving. The soft vulnerability in his dark eyes intensified beautifully, but he didn't try to frantically stop my tears this time. He was learning. He understood that these were tears of release, of overwhelming love, not just pain.
He leaned heavily into my touch. He turned his head slightly, pressing his warm cheek firmly and desperately into the soft palm of my hand. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling a shaky breath, completely absorbing my presence and my touch before opening them again.
He fixed me with a gaze so completely full of unwavering love and quiet, dangerous intensity that it made my breath hitch.
"I am like this," Woonseok murmured, his voice incredibly low, vibrating with an utter, absolute sincerity that resonated in my bones, "because you, Sana, you are the only person on this earth who ever made me feel real."
He shook his head slowly against my hand, a faint, incredibly tender smile touching the corners of his beautiful lips.
"You didn't fall in love with the Idol, Sana," he whispered, his eyes searching mine. "You never cared about the money, or the fame, or the billboards. You fell in love with the broken, exhausted boy who was hiding terrified behind the fame. You gave him the courage to actually face his own life. And you did it by fighting a brutal war in India that I should have been fighting for you."
He slowly turned his face, pressing a deep, lingering, and intensely reverent kiss directly into the center of my palm.
"I am only repaying a debt, Butterfly," Woonseok vowed, his eyes blazing with a protective fire. "An eternal debt of devotion. You gave up absolutely everything—your family, your name, your country—just for me. I will be 'too much' for you every single day for the rest of our lives, because anything less would be a complete betrayal of the terrible price you paid to be here."
The sheer weight of his confession hung beautifully in the quiet air of the bedroom. I couldn't speak; I just let my thumb gently stroke his cheekbone, completely overwhelmed by the depth of his heart.
Eventually, the heavy pain medication began to kick in, dulling the sharp edges of my cramps. The warm hot-water bottle worked its magic, and the tension in my muscles slowly began to melt into the soft mattress.
Woonseok didn't stay in the chair. Seeing my eyes drooping slightly, he carefully climbed onto the massive bed beside me. He didn't pull the covers up over himself; he just lay down on top of the duvet, carefully wrapping one heavy arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side to offer the soothing, radiant heat of his own body.
He was gently rubbing his large hand up and down my arm, comforting me in the dim light.
As the pain subsided, the exhaustion gave way to a soft, lingering affection. A small, teasing smile played on my lips as I remembered his frantic confession about the convenience store.
"Woonseok," I murmured softly, my head resting comfortably on his chest, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat.
"Hmm?" he hummed, his fingers gently playing with the ends of my hair.
"Why didn't you just call me?" I asked, looking up at him through my lashes. "When you were at the store. You could have just called and asked me what size or brand I needed."
Woonseok froze slightly. His hand stopped stroking my hair.
Even in the dim light of the bedroom, I could see a deep, embarrassed flush aggressively creeping up his neck. He quickly reached his free hand up, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of pure, boyish shyness that completely shattered his intimidating aura.
"Actually..." he mumbled, aggressively refusing to meet my eyes, suddenly finding the white ceiling tiles incredibly fascinating. "I was so incredibly nervous... I literally forgot I had my phone in my pocket."
I let out a soft gasp.
"Seeing you in pain like that..." Woonseok continued, his voice dropping into a slightly defensive, embarrassed grumble. "You know, it short-circuited my brain. And then, when I got to the aisle... seeing so many pads there. There were hundreds of them, Sana! With wings, without wings, overnight, active... I was so confused I couldn't even think straight."
I couldn't help it. A soft, genuine laugh bubbled up from my chest, breaking through the heavy atmosphere of the room. The image of the untouchable Sovereign standing paralyzed in a convenience store aisle over a box of tampons was too much.
"Oh, my poor Woonseok," I chuckled softly, reaching up to gently pat his chest.
"Don't laugh," he grumbled playfully, finally looking down at me, his eyes narrowing in a fake glare. "A very kind lady had to help me. Thank God for her."
I laughed again, the sound bright and healing. I reached up higher, gently patting his soft, dark hair as if he were a triumphant soldier returning from battle.
"Oh my," I smiled, my eyes crinkling. "I am so proud of my boyfriend's bravery. Surviving the feminine hygiene aisle all by himself."
Woonseok let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, but a reluctant, deeply affectionate smile tugged at his lips. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
"But seriously," I continued, pointing a lazy finger toward the massive mountain of supplies currently burying the nightstand. "You still bought so many. There are literally enough boxes there to last me for an entire year."
Woonseok tightened his arm around my waist, his expression shifting back to one of stubborn, protective logic.
"I know," he stated matter-of-factly. "But I had to make sure. What if you needed a different one? Or what if the lady at the store got it wrong? I couldn't risk coming back here with the wrong thing while you were hurting. So, I bought them all."
I stared at him for a long moment, completely captivated by the absolute, ridiculous, overwhelming perfection of this man.
I shook my head slowly, letting out a final, happy sigh as I snuggled deeper into his chest, entirely surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and his absolute, unwavering devotion.
"What am I ever gonna do with you, Mr. Idol?" I whispered softly into the quiet room.
Woonseok rested his chin gently on top of my head, his large hand resuming its soothing, rhythmic stroke down my arm.
"You're going to keep me, Butterfly," he answered softly into the dark. "Forever."