Yejun waved slightly as Minjae left, dropping his smile as soon as the alpha stepped out of the room. He turned back to his laptop, slouching in the chair as he sighed. 

The past four days had been the worst of his life. 

He kept face at the dinner and lunch, even managing to lead the group meeting as if nothing was wrong. He had finally apologized to his mother for missing her messages, asked Jihun to delete the recording after saving a copy to his phone and was in the process of paying off the alpha for his silence. He was surprised that Jihun only asked for 1 million won. It was such a small price, insultingly small, but at least his mother wouldn’t question it where the money went.

As far as Jieun, Yejun was ignoring her messages. He couldn’t block her or mute the conversation, but he had silenced her. He still felt stuck on what to do. He couldn’t end the relationship over this alone; he couldn’t claim that she had forced him, as an exam would prove the lack of bodily trauma. If he tried to just use her talking about the early sex, his mother would likely just give Jieun a stern warning, but still proceed with the pairing and the wedding. 

But he couldn’t marry her, not anymore. He couldn’t be trapped with someone who would lie about him to his best friend just to earn sympathy. Who would tell him how perfect he was in private and call him typical in public.

Yejun glanced at his phone as he got another message from Jihun.

Yoo (Pyeonjip): Can I have Ahn-ssi’s number as well?

Woojin’s number? 

Yejun frowned. Normally, he would have just said no, but his mind kept returning to the recording. Woojin didn’t sound like he believed Jieun, but he also didn’t defend Yejun. He simply pivoted the conversation to something else, and the implications of “same place” left a bitter taste in Yejun’s mouth. It didn’t prove anything, and Yejun didn’t want to believe it but…

He needed to know. 

Yejun sighed, putting down his phone. He would wire the money first, then he would think about whether to respond. His hand hovered over the screen, thumb brushing the smooth glass as though he could rub away the guilt and confusion pooling in his stomach.

He looked around the room. The large bed that felt like an accusation. The fluffy slippers neither of them had used. The little touches, rose-scented bath salts, a “Congratulations” card in flowery script; all that mocked what was supposed to be a celebration of a new bond.

His stomach twisted.

Minjae had been kind, at least. Never question, never pried and did everything perfectly.  It had taken Yejun too long to realize the situation he put the alpha in, but Minjae merely insisted it was fine. Once his mother accepted that Minjae was the best choice for Yejun to temporarily share a room with, everything felt a bit calmer, even if he still felt unmoored by the culture shock. It was only his second trip to the states, and he had never felt more foreign. He would never say it aloud, but Minjae’s quiet steadiness was the only reason he hadn’t completely fallen apart. 

Minjae and the others had gone out to celebrate the holiday and Yejun declined, citing tiredness. On any other occasion, he would have been delighted to experience a foreign holiday. To see the live music, deep fried foods and giant desserts he had heard so much about. Even American fireworks were said to be giant, but given everything, Yejun couldn’t find the desire to care.

His phone vibrated again, another message from Jihun and Yejun sighed. 

Yejun: Sure, but can it wait a bit? I want to talk to him first. He’ll find it weird if I suddenly give you his number. I’m sending the money right now, so please give proof you’ve deleted the recording.

Yoo (Pyeonjip): Oh, right. Of course. Thank you.

Yejun shook his head, glancing over to the room service brochure on the table next to him. It was a holiday, so surely it wouldn’t be strange if he ordered a drink. He knew it was unlikely they would have soju, but maybe he could find something similar. A drink or two could help settle his nerves, help him think through what to do.

He had to do something.

He reached for the brochure as Jihun sent the images, time stamped to prove he had deleted the recording from both his phone and their conversation. Yejun barely nodded as he hit the transfer button on his laptop, flipping to the page with adult beverages. He couldn’t read the English, but luckily there was a qr code to the hotel’s website for ordering and he scanned it quickly. 

He quickly selected to have the site translated into Korean, and scrolled through the menu. He found a wine the description described as “like sake” and figured it would do. He ordered two bottles, deciding he would give the second to Minjae as a thank you for putting up with this setup. Tomorrow they would finally have their own rooms, and Yejun he could stop feeling like an intruder in someone else’s life.

Yejun leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the past four days pressing into his chest. The ache was constant now, a dull, sour burn he couldn’t seem to exhale no matter how deeply he breathed. Even with everything he had done, he knew it wasn’t enough. 

He was still going to marry Jieun.

He was still going to be stuck with someone who loved his attention, but didn’t care enough to respect him. His privacy, his care, his devotion. He wasn’t sure if he loved her, but maybe he did. Maybe that was why this hurt so much. Why her lack of care cut so deep that he felt like he was dying.

A soft knock at the door let him know his wine had arrived and he gratefully accepted the tray with the bottles and glasses. The bottles seemed bigger than he thought they would be, and Yejun frowned as he lifted his phone, looking back over the menu. 

“Mizunari Junmai Ginjo White Rice Wine, 750 ml, $82.”

He glanced underneath it to notice they had a smaller bottle but Yejun shrugged. It was more than he had planned on, but if there was ever a time to let himself have something indulgent, it was now. Yejun set the tray carefully on the table, closing his laptop and moving it back into his bag. He uncorked one of the bottles, filling the glass to the brim. 

It definitely did not taste like any sake he liked, but Yejun swallowed it anyway. It warmed his mouth first, then his chest, loosening something he hadn’t even realized was clenched tight. He downed the glass like a man dying of thirst and poured himself another. 

“One bottle won’t hurt,” Yejun told himself, washing down the second glass as quickly as the first.