𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. two hearts rejoice

THE AIR WAS THICK WITH THE STERILE scent of antiseptic, mingling with a faint, persistent odor of something vaguely medicinal, like iodine. The walls, an unbroken expanse of white, seemed to stretch endlessly, a cold, stark backdrop that absorbed the quiet anguish permeating the room. The flooring, equally white, gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, with only the occasional burst of color from a child's forgotten toy or a misplaced magazine disrupting the monochrome.

Jieun sat in the waiting room, her posture rigid and her hands folded neatly in her lap. The room was a silent symphony of muted sounds: the soft murmur of distant conversations, the mechanical beep of monitors, and the shuffling of feet against the polished tiles. People came and went with a sense of purpose, their movements brisk and determined, yet tinged with an underlying heaviness.

Some left the room with a brisk nod to the nurses, their faces a mask of numb relief, while others sat slumped in their seats, eyes swollen and red, staring vacantly at the linoleum. A mother cradled a child's forgotten teddy bear, her tears soaking into the worn fabric. An elderly man held his wife's hand, their fingers intertwined in a fragile grasp that spoke of decades shared and the fear of what might come.

The occasional whisper of a nurse, offering words of comfort or updates on a loved one's condition, cut through the silence like a gentle breeze, barely disturbing the solemn atmosphere.

The pops of color — a bright red emergency exit sign, a cheerful poster promoting hand hygiene, a green potted plant struggling to thrive in the corner — seemed almost intrusive in their cheerfulness, reminders of a world beyond these walls where life continued in vibrant hues.

Jieun's gaze drifted over the scene, her eyes lingering on each figure, each tableau of grief and hope. She felt like an intruder in this space of intimate sorrow, a witness to the quiet battles fought within the hearts of strangers. Yet, she was drawn to the humanity of it all, the raw, unfiltered emotions that made the air heavy and the silence deafening.

In this sterile, colorless place, every tear, every sigh, every whispered prayer was a testament to love and loss, a poignant reminder of the fragile threads that bound them all together. And as Jieun watched, she felt a quiet kinship with these strangers, a shared understanding that in this place, beneath the fluorescent lights and the whitewashed walls, they were all united by the same profound, universal experience of waiting.

The nurses behind the counter moved with a practiced efficiency, their crisp uniforms a splash of blue in the otherwise colorless expanse. Their faces were a study in contrasts — expressions carefully composed for the patients and their families, yet softening into the familiar ease of companionship when they turned to each other. They shared knowing glances and occasional smiles, their voices hushed but animated as they exchanged snippets of gossip, the small talk a balm against the weight of their surroundings.

The counter itself was a clutter of necessity and neglect. Clipboards stacked haphazardly beside a row of neatly labeled files, each name a story yet to unfold. A jar of pens, some capped, some not, sat next to a half-empty box of tissues, a silent testament to the tears that had been shed nearby. A potted succulent, valiantly green, stood in stark defiance of its sterile environment, a tiny beacon of life in a sea of white.

Beyond the counter, the hallway stretched out, a corridor of doors that led to rooms filled with the wounded, the healing, and the hopeful. Each door, a portal to private battles, bore a small plaque with a number, impersonal and clinical, reducing the complex narratives within to mere digits. Occasionally, a door would open, releasing a doctor or nurse into the hallway, their faces a blend of determination and fatigue, their steps quick but heavy with unspoken burdens.

Jieun's eyes wandered back to the waiting room, where the chairs, arranged in a solemn grid, were filled with people lost in their own thoughts. A woman clutched a rosary, her lips moving in silent prayer. A man, his suit rumpled and his tie askew, stared blankly at his phone, the screen dark and unresponsive. A teenager with headphones on, music a private refuge from the surrounding grief, tapped his foot to a beat only he could hear.

The room was punctuated by the occasional squeak of rubber soles on tile, and the rustle of paper as someone flipped through a magazine without really seeing the pages. The clock on the wall ticked away seconds that felt like hours, each moment stretching into an eternity of anticipation. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, a constant, droning hum that underscored the room's quiet desperation.

Jieun shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the edge of her sleeve, grounding herself in the tangible while her mind drifted through the intangible. The waiting room, for all its sterility, was alive with the invisible threads of connection and disconnection, a web of human experience spun from the delicate strands of hope and despair.

Jieun sat with a patience that felt brittle, her heart a delicate balance of hope and dread. She had been waiting for Carmen, who had wanted to come even though she was on maternity leave. Carmen, who had vowed to help Jieun, to at least check on Yujin.

The very thought of Yujin, lying somewhere beyond those stark white walls, sent a shiver through her. The memory of their last encounter was a haunting specter that lingered in the corners of her mind.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, a small, repetitive motion that provided a semblance of calm in the storm of her thoughts. She remembered Carmen's words, her promise like a lifeline thrown into the churning sea of guilt and uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm her. Carmen had always been a beacon of strength and compassion, qualities Jieun desperately needed now.

The minutes stretched on, each one an agonizing eternity. Jieun's eyes flickered to the door every few seconds, searching for any sign of Carmen's familiar, reassuring presence. She had replayed the scene countless times in her mind: Yujin's eyes wide with surprise, the brief flash of pain, and then the blood, so much blood. It was a moment that seemed to loop endlessly, a torment she couldn't escape.

Guilt gnawed at her, a relentless force that made her stomach churn and her chest tighten. She had put Yujin in the hospital, and the weight of that knowledge was almost too much to bear. The waiting room, with its cold, impersonal whiteness, became a backdrop to her inner turmoil. The people around her faded into the background, their grief and hope merging with her own in a silent, shared agony.

Jieun closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her breathing and calm her heart's racing. She thought of Carmen, the way her eyes crinkled with warmth and understanding, the way her voice could soothe even the most frayed nerves. Carmen had promised to help, to be there, and Jieun clung to that promise like a drowning person to a lifeline.

She wondered if he was awake if he was in pain, if he blamed her as much as she blamed herself.

The waiting room's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a dull, monotonous hum that seemed to sync with the rhythm of her anxious heartbeat. The nurses' whispers behind the counter, and the muted conversations of other waiting families, all merged into a distant murmur that barely registered in her consciousness.

As she waited, her thoughts drifted to the moments she and Yujin had shared before everything went wrong. The laughter, the shared secrets, the bond that had once seemed unbreakable. She wondered if those moments were lost forever, shattered by her actions, or if there was still a chance for redemption.

The door opened, and Jieun's heart leaped into her throat. She turned hope and fear warring within her, and saw Carmen stepping into the room, her face determined. Jieun felt a surge of relief, a rush of gratitude that brought tears to her eyes. Carmen had come, just as she had promised, and in that moment, Jieun felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be set right.

Carmen walked into the room with a sense of purpose, her eyes scanning the waiting area until they landed on Jieun. She offered a small, reassuring smile, a gesture that was both grounding and filled with an unspoken understanding.

Jieun rose from her seat, the anticipation and anxiety coiling tightly in her chest. Carmen approached her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her voice, though soft, carried the weight of both caution and comfort.

"You can go in now," Carmen said, her eyes meeting Jieun's with a steady gaze. "He might not be well enough to talk just yet, but he's stable. That's what's important right now."

Jieun nodded the words both a balm and a new source of apprehension. She followed Carmen out of the waiting room, her steps tentative as they moved through the sterile corridor. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow, reflecting off the polished floors and the white walls, making everything seem even more clinical and distant.

Each step felt like an eternity, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway. Carmen led her to a door, its plaque bearing a number that Jieun would forever associate with this moment. Carmen paused, giving Jieun a final look of encouragement before gently pushing the door open.

The room was dimly lit a stark contrast to the blinding brightness of the corridor. The hum of machines filled the air, a symphony of beeps and whirs that monitored Yujin's fragile state. Jieun's eyes immediately found him, lying on the bed, surrounded by a tangle of tubes and wires. His face was pale, almost ethereal, and he appeared to be lost in a deep, unconscious slumber.

She stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her with a muted click that seemed to resonate through her entire being. The room was small, the walls closed, creating an intimate space where the outside world seemed to fade away. The only light came from the machines and a small lamp on the bedside table, casting soft, gentle shadows.

Jieun approached the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid that any sudden motion might disturb the delicate balance that kept Yujin tethered to life. She stood by his side, her eyes taking in the rise and fall of his chest, the only sign of life in his otherwise still form. The machines beeped in a steady rhythm, a mechanical heartbeat that filled the silence.

She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his hand, the touch both familiar and foreign. It was a connection, a fragile thread that tied her to him in this moment of vulnerability and uncertainty. The reality of the situation settled over her, the weight of her actions and their consequences pressing down, yet there was also a glimmer of hope.

Yujin was stable. He was here. And for now, that was enough.

She pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, her eyes never leaving his face. The seconds stretched into minutes, and she remained a silent sentinel, watching over him. In the quiet of the hospital room, amidst the gentle hum of machines, Jieun allowed herself to breathe, to hope, and to believe in the possibility of healing and forgiveness.

Jieun held Yujin's hand, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the coolness of the hospital's air. The rhythm of the machines provided a constant, mechanical backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the room. As she gazed at his peaceful, unconscious face, tears began to pool in her eyes, the weight of her emotions pressing against her chest until she could no longer hold them back.

"Yuyu," she began her voice a whisper that barely disturbed the air.

The tears that had been gathering in her eyes finally spilled over, tracing silent paths down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away; they were a small testament to the storm inside her, the guilt, the sorrow, and the hope that tangled together in a knot of conflicting emotions.

"I never wanted this to happen," she continued, her voice trembling. "I never wanted to hurt you. When I think about that day, it feels like a nightmare I can't wake up from. I keep replaying it in my mind, trying to understand how everything went so wrong."

Her grip on his hand tightened as if by holding on to him, she could somehow anchor herself in this moment, keep herself from being swept away by the flood of regret and self-recrimination.

"I've made so many mistakes," she said, her voice breaking. "And I know I can't undo them. But I need you to know that I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Yujin. For everything. For the pain I've caused you, for the way I've let you down. You're lying here because of me, and that's a burden I'll carry for the rest of my life."

She paused, taking a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls a silent witness to her confession. The steady beeping of the monitors continued a relentless reminder of Yujin's fragile state.

Jieun leaned closer, her tears dripping onto the white hospital sheets, small, dark spots of sorrow. She could see the flutter of his eyelashes, the faint rise and fall of his chest, and she clung to those small signs of life like a lifeline.

"I don't know if you'll ever forgive me," she whispered. "I don't even know if I deserve your forgiveness. But I need you to come back. I need you to wake up and tell me that it's going to be okay, even if it's not true. I need you to give me a chance to make things right, to be the friend you deserve."

Her words hung in the air, a fragile plea that seemed to dissolve into the soft hum of the machines. She rested her forehead against their joined hands, her tears soaking into the thin hospital blanket. The silence in the room was profound, a heavy presence that pressed down on her, making her feel small and insignificant.

She sat there, holding his hand, her tears slowly drying on her cheeks. The minutes stretched into hours, and still, she remained, a sentinel by his side, her heart heavy with the weight of her words. She knew that there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. The path to redemption, if it even existed, would be long and fraught with challenges.

Jieun managed a soft, rueful laugh, the sound trembling in the still air of the room. "Y'know, this is giving me a serious case of déjà vu. I remember when Miguel was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to these machines. It feels like a twisted mirror image, except... except it wasn't my fault back then. This time, it's all on me."

She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat, her eyes never leaving Yujin's face. "I stayed by his side, just like this, feeling guilty even though it wasn't my fault. But this... this is different. I put you here. And that guilt... it's so much heavier."

The only response was the steady, unchanging beeps of the machines, a constant reminder of Yujin's fragility. The silence between her words and the mechanical rhythm of the monitors felt like an endless void, each beep echoing the emptiness she felt inside.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Jieun turned to see Carmen standing in the doorway, a gentle reminder in her eyes. "Jieun," she said softly, her voice a quiet intrusion into the heavy atmosphere, "we need to start preparing the baby shower."

Jieun nodded, quickly wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She patted Yujin's head gently, her fingers lingering for a moment in a silent gesture of affection and hope. "I'll be back," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Hang in there, okay?"

She stood up, smoothing her clothes and trying to compose herself. The emotional weight of her words hung in the air as she took one last look at Yujin, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the faint hum of the machines.

THE KITCHEN IN THE LARUSSO HOUSE was a warm haven, filled with the comforting scents of vanilla and sugar. The aroma of freshly baked cupcakes wafted through the air, mingling with the faint undertones of coffee and the lingering scent of citrus from a recent cleaning. Jieun stood at the counter, her focus entirely on the task at hand, the world outside the kitchen fading into a blur of unimportant details.

She carefully piped the tops of the cupcakes, her hands steady and precise. The frosting emerged from the piping bag in smooth, elegant swirls, each cupcake receiving the same meticulous attention. The light in the kitchen was soft, the morning sun filtering through the windows and casting a gentle glow on the polished granite countertops. The scene was almost serene, the act of decorating cupcakes a meditative practice for Jieun.

Her movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic. She had chosen a classic buttercream frosting, its pale creaminess a perfect canvas for the delicate sprinkles she would add later. As she worked, she allowed herself to be absorbed by the process, the rhythmic squeeze and release of the piping bag, the careful rotation of each cupcake to ensure an even, beautiful finish.

The kitchen was alive with the quiet hum of domesticity. The refrigerator occasionally kicked on with a low, comforting buzz. Outside, birds chirped in the early morning light, their song a cheerful counterpoint to the focused silence inside. The scent of the cupcakes was rich and inviting, a promise of sweetness that filled the room and spilled out into the rest of the house.

Jieun took a moment to admire her handiwork, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling over her. The cupcakes stood in neat rows, each one a tiny work of art, their tops crowned with perfectly piped frosting. She reached for a small jar of pastel-colored sprinkles, adding a final touch to her creations. The sprinkles fell in delicate showers, tiny bursts of color that transformed the cupcakes into festive treats.

The act of baking and decorating had always been a source of joy for Jieun, a way to lose herself in something simple and pure. It was a connection to her past, to memories of baking with her mother in their kitchen. The familiar motions brought a sense of comfort and continuity, a way to ground herself in the present while honoring the past.

Jieun's mind wandered briefly to Robby, who had praised her baking skills to Carmen, leading to this request. The thought brought a smile to her face, a warmth that mirrored the cozy atmosphere of the kitchen. She could almost hear his voice, the affectionate teasing that always accompanied his compliments, the way he made her feel appreciated and seen.

Jieun was so immersed in her baking that she didn't notice when Robby and Miguel entered the kitchen. The rhythm of her movements, the focus on each delicate swirl of frosting, had drawn her into a meditative state where the outside world ceased to exist. She continued her work, unaware of the mischievous glances exchanged between the two boys as they quietly observed her for a moment.

Robby, always eager to lend a hand, picked up the recipe card Jieun had left on the counter. He nudged Miguel, and they both leaned in, scanning the instructions with a mix of curiosity and determination. They had decided to surprise Jieun by preparing another batch of cupcake batter.

Miguel took charge of the mixer, pouring in flour, sugar, and other ingredients with a confidence that belied his lack of baking experience. Robby, meanwhile, measured out the butter and eggs, his attention divided between the recipe and keeping an eye on Jieun to ensure their efforts remained unnoticed.

As Miguel added milk and vanilla extract, Robby searched for the food coloring. He found a small bottle of red dye and, without much thought, poured a generous amount into a bowl of buttercream frosting, hoping to achieve a delicate pink hue.

The mixer whirred to life with a sudden, violent intensity. Miguel had turned the setting too high, and in an instant, the kitchen erupted into chaos. Batter splattered in all directions, painting the walls, countertops, and even the ceiling with streaks of pale yellow. Jieun snapped out of her reverie, turning just in time to see the mixer bucking wildly in Miguel's hands, batter flying everywhere.

Robby, trying to salvage the situation, reached for the bowl of frosting. He stirred it vigorously, hoping to achieve the desired pink color. Instead, the frosting turned a vibrant, alarming shade of red. He glanced at Miguel, who was struggling to regain control of the mixer, and then at Jieun, who stood frozen, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and amusement.

The scene was absurd, a tableau of well-meaning chaos that filled the kitchen with laughter and exclamations. Miguel finally managed to switch off the mixer, his face and clothes speckled with batter. Robby held up the bowl of red frosting, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

Jieun couldn't help but laugh, the sound a release of tension and joy. The pristine kitchen, once a haven of calm and order, was now a vibrant mess. Batter dripped from the cabinets, and the countertops were smeared with bright red frosting. It was a disaster, but it was also a moment of pure, unfiltered life.

Robby and Miguel, both covered in the evidence of their efforts, looked at Jieun with a mix of guilt and anticipation. She shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The chaos they had created was a testament to their enthusiasm and their desire to help, even if the results were far from perfect.

Jieun wiped her hands on her apron, surveying the chaos in the kitchen with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. She turned to Robby and Miguel, who were still covered in batter and frosting and shook her head. "You two need to leave me alone," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Carmen wanted these cupcakes to be perfect, and right now, we're far from that."

Miguel looked disappointed. "But it feels weird not helping out," he protested.

Jieun softened, appreciating their enthusiasm. "There's plenty to do around the house. Why don't you check if Sam needs help with anything?"

Miguel nodded, understanding. "Alright, but if you need anything, just holler," he said, giving Robby a nudge as he headed toward the door.

Robby lingered, his eyes fixed on Jieun with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Are you okay? About the whole Yujin situation, I mean," he asked, his voice gentle.

Jieun avoided his gaze, focusing instead on a particularly stubborn spot of batter on the counter. "Actually," she said, trying to deflect, "I could use your help here after all. I need someone who can follow instructions without turning the kitchen into a disaster zone."

Robby chuckled, the tension easing slightly. "Fair enough," he said, rolling up his sleeves.

They began working side by side, Jieun giving Robby precise instructions on measuring ingredients and mixing the batter. The kitchen filled once again with the comforting sounds of baking: the gentle clink of measuring spoons, the soft whirr of the mixer, and the occasional burst of laughter.

"So, no more turning the mixer to max speed?" Robby teased, glancing at Miguel, who was now helping Tory in the living room.

"Definitely not," Jieun replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "We don't need another explosion."

As they worked, their movements became synchronized, a silent dance of cooperation and familiarity. Jieun guided Robby through the process of creaming butter and sugar, his hands steady as he followed her lead. She couldn't help but notice how focused he was, the playful banter giving way to a quiet concentration.

Robby picked up a piping bag, attempting to mimic Jieun's technique. His first attempt was clumsy, the frosting coming out in uneven blobs.

"Here, let me show you," Jieun said, stepping closer. She guided his hands, their fingers brushing as she adjusted his grip. "You need to apply even pressure and move in a steady motion."

As Jieun meticulously piped the last swirl of icing onto a cupcake, she could feel Robby's presence close beside her, his breath warm on her neck as he watched her work. "You're really good at this," he murmured, his voice low and admiring.

"Years of practice," Jieun replied, her concentration never wavering. "It's all about even pressure and a steady hand."

Robby leaned in closer, practically pressed against her now. "Like this?" he asked, attempting to pipe his own swirl, the frosting coming out in a wobbly line.

Jieun couldn't help but laugh. "Not quite. Here, let me show you again." She placed her hand over his, guiding him through the motion. Their fingers intertwined, and she felt a shiver of something more than just the chill of the frosting.

"Why do you have to make it look so easy?" Robby grumbled good-naturedly.

"Because I'm good at everything," Jieun teased, a playful glint in her eye. "And because you're an egghead."

Robby feigned offense, his eyes widening in mock indignation. "I am not!"

With a mischievous grin, Jieun grabbed an egg from the counter. "Oh really?" she said, and before he could react, she cracked it on his head, the yolk dripping down his hair and onto his forehead.

"Jiji!" Robby exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and laughter. He grabbed a handful of flour and sprinkled it over her head in retaliation, the fine white powder settling in her hair and on her clothes.

"You are so going to regret that," Jieun giggled, reaching for the cocoa powder. She flicked a handful at him, the dark dusting contrasting sharply with the flour already coating his face.

Robby grabbed a nearby bag of powdered sugar, shaking it out over her with gleeful abandon. They were both laughing uncontrollably now, the kitchen once again descending into joyful chaos. Jieun retaliated with more cocoa powder, and Robby countered with sprinkles, the colorful bits sticking to the flour and sugar that covered them both.

The air was filled with their laughter and the sweet scent of the baking products they were throwing at each other. Jieun's giggles were infectious, and Robby's deep chuckles resonated through the room. They paused, catching their breath, and looked at each other, their faces inches apart, eyes locked in a moment of shared hilarity and something deeper.

Jieun felt a magnetic pull, an irresistible urge to close the gap between them. She could see the same desire reflected in Robby's eyes as he leaned in, their laughter fading into a charged silence. Their faces drew closer, lips almost touching, when suddenly footsteps burst in.

"What the hell?" Sam LaRusso's voice cut through the moment like a knife.

Robby and Jieun froze, their heads snapping toward the door where Sam stood, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in a mixture of disbelief and irritation. They were a sight to behold: covered in flour, cocoa powder, and sprinkles, remnants of their impromptu food fight.

"We're baking!" Jieun declared, her voice still laced with the remnants of laughter.

Sam nodded slowly, with barely a hint of a smile on her face. She looked almost irritated, her eyes flicking between the two of them and the mess they had created. "Yeah, I can see that," she said dryly.

Robby sighed, running a hand through his flour-dusted hair. "We'll clean up, Sam. Don't worry."

Jieun chuckled, unable to suppress the grin that tugged at her lips. "It's all part of the creative process."

Sam shook her head, a faint smile finally breaking through her stern facade.

As she left, Jieun and Robby exchanged a look, their earlier tension replaced by a shared amusement. The kitchen was a mess, but it was a beautiful mess, filled with laughter and the remnants of a moment they would both cherish.

"Well," Jieun said, her voice light and teasing, "we should probably start cleaning up before Carmen sees this."

Robby nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Yeah, but admit it, that was pretty fun."

Jieun laughed, a sound that echoed through the now quiet kitchen.

The kitchen was still buzzing with the remnants of their playful mess when a sudden, thunderous noise erupted from the other side of the house. The sound was jarring, like an explosion, and it sent Robby and Jieun sprinting out of the kitchen, their laughter and baking chaos momentarily forgotten.

They skidded to a halt in the living room, where the commotion had originated. There, standing in the doorway with a look of bemused satisfaction, was Johnny Lawrence, his shirt stained a vibrant pink. Behind him, Carmen stood, her face flushed with excitement.

"The package came early!" Carmen announced, her voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.

Johnny grinned widely, his eyes sparkling. "Guess it's a girl!"

The room erupted into cheers and applause, the air filled with the exuberance of the announcement. Jieun, still speckled with flour, cocoa powder, and sprinkles, jumped up and down, her excitement palpable. "Oh my gosh! You're going to have a baby girl!"

She clapped her hands enthusiastically, her eyes shining with anticipation. "You guys are gonna be girl brothers!"

Miguel and Robby, both equally thrilled, joined in the celebration, their earlier concerns momentarily forgotten. Jieun continued to bounce with excitement, her words spilling out in a stream of joyful babble. "I can't wait to meet her! She's going to be the cutest baby ever. I hope she gets Carmen's looks because Johnny..."

Carmen laughed, wiping a tear of happiness from her eye. "You're going to be the best auntie ever, Jiji."

The atmosphere in the room was electric with joy and anticipation. The earlier chaos of the kitchen seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the warm, infectious happiness of the moment.

As the celebration continued, Jieun couldn't help but revel in the sense of belonging and excitement that filled the room. It was a stark contrast to the weight she had felt earlier, a reminder of the simple joys and the new beginnings that awaited.

With the baby's arrival imminent, the focus shifted to the future, and the room was filled with the promise of new beginnings and cherished moments. The mess in the kitchen, the laughter and the playful chaos, had led to this beautiful revelation, and for Jieun, it was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

The jubilant celebration swirled around Jieun, a vibrant tapestry of colors and emotions. She stood amidst the revelry, her heart swelling with a blend of elation and tenderness. The chaos of the kitchen, with its flour and frosting, seemed like a distant echo compared to the profound happiness that now enveloped her.

As she watched Carmen and Johnny's faces light up with the news of their baby girl, Jieun felt a deep, resonant joy that seemed to reverberate through her entire being. The anticipation in the room was almost palpable, a tangible force that wrapped itself around her like a warm, comforting embrace. Her own excitement was a living thing, a fluttering bird that took flight with each beat of her heart.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

another filler ch but the sleepover is next LOL !!!

its so hard writing happy scenes when i just want to write angst and fighting ones HAAHHAH

jiji saying sorry to yujin and thinking everything is her fault when it should be yujin apologizing for following ben's orders and killing her dad >:c

shout out to glee season 1 episode 9 for that cute baking scene with quinn and puck!

much love,