I woke up to my phone vibrating in my pocket.

Not ringing—buzzing, aggressively, like it was offended I’d ignored it for this long.

My brain felt thick. Heavy. I had no memory of deciding to sleep.

I blinked once.

Twice.

The ceiling looked wrong.

Too bright.

…Shit.

I groaned and fished my phone out blindly, answering without checking the caller.

“What happened now,” I muttered, voice rough, half-buried in sleep.

There was a pause on the other end.

Then Juwon’s very controlled, very alarmed voice.

“Your meeting,” he said carefully. “It’s 4 p.m., boss. I’ve been trying to call you since 8.”

My eyes snapped open.

“…What.”

“Eight. In the morning.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Fuck the meeting,” I murmured.

There was silence.

Then—

“Fu—fuck?”

My blood froze.

I turned my head slowly.

Too slowly.

Because I already knew.

She was lying right next to me.

Not asleep.

Wide awake.

Propped slightly on one elbow, hair messy, eyes bright—locked on my face like I’d just performed magic.

I shouldn’t have said that word.

I definitely shouldn’t have said it around a creature who treated language like stars—rare, shiny, meant to be collected and repeated forever.

She mouthed it first.

Carefully.

“F…uck.”

“No,” I said instantly. “Don’t say it, Jieun.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “But you said it.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

From the phone—very faintly—Juwon coughed.

I turned away slightly. “Juwon. I’ll come in two hours. I haven’t showered. I’ll reach the company.”

“…Understood,” he said, tone neutral but suspicious. “Should I move the meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes,” I said, eyes still on her. “Pray.”

“…Excuse me?”

I hung up.

Silence.

Then—

“Fuck.”

She said it again.

Perfect pronunciation.

Perfect timing.

I closed my eyes.

“Jieun,” I warned.

She tilted her head. “Is it bad.”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“It’s a… grown-up word.”

Her eyes lit up immediately. “I am growing.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I ate. I slept. I learned morning.”

“That’s not how it works.”

She frowned. “Then why do you say it.”

“Because I’m stressed.”

She considered this deeply.

“So when I am stressed, I say fuck?”

“No.”

She nodded slowly. “…Okay.”

I relaxed—just a little.

Then she added, proudly, “I will save it.”

I groaned and rolled onto my back. “That’s worse.”

She crawled closer, sitting cross-legged beside me, watching my face like she was studying weather.

“You were asleep,” she said. “For very long.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t disappear.”

“Still here.”

She smiled softly. “Good.”

I rubbed my face again. “Did you… behave?”

She nodded immediately. Too immediately.

“Yes.”

“That pause was suspicious.”

“I only touched things that didn’t scream.”

“…Define scream.”

“The loud box screamed.”

“The microwave?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you turn it on.”

“I was cold.”

“That makes zero sense.”

She shrugged. “The fridge glows. The box screams. Your house is dramatic.”

I sat up, fully awake now. “Did you eat anything else.”

“No,” she said proudly. “Only strawberry.”

“…How many.”

She held up three fingers.

Then added two more.

“…Five.”

“That’s it?”

She hesitated. “…And bread. But it was boring.”

I swung my legs off the bed. “Next time, wake me up.”

She blinked. “You looked peaceful.”

That stopped me.

I glanced back at her.

She wasn’t teasing. Or joking. Or being strange on purpose.

Just honest.

“…Still,” I said quietly, “wake me up.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

She looked down at the bed, then back up at me. “You talk when you sleep.”

I stiffened. “What.”

“Not words,” she clarified. “Sounds. Like you’re fighting.”

“…Great.”

“You said my name once.”

I froze.

“…What.”

She smiled, small and pleased. “It sounded safe.”

My chest did something I didn’t appreciate.

I stood up abruptly. “I need a shower.”

“Indoor rain?”

“Yes.”

“Can I—”

“No.”

She pouted instantly. “Rude.”

“I’ll be ten minutes.”

She brightened. “I will wait.”

“Don’t microwave anything.”

She saluted. “I learned.”

I paused at the door, glanced back.

She was sitting on the bed, swinging her legs, humming softly—same tune from the morning.

I shook my head.

“Also,” I added, “don’t say that word.”

She nodded solemnly.

I stepped out.

The door clicked shut.

Half a second later—

“Fuck.”

I stopped in the hallway.

Closed my eyes.

“…We’re doomed.”

I stayed in the hallway for a full three seconds.

Just stood there.

Staring at the door.

Then I dragged a hand down my face and muttered, “I’m actually going insane.”

From inside the room, I heard a soft, very thoughtful—

“Am I using it wrong?”

I turned back immediately and opened the door. “Yes.”

She looked up at me, cross-legged on the bed, hair sticking up on one side, genuinely concerned. “You said it when you were upset. I am not upset.”

“Exactly.”

She frowned. “Then when do I say it.”

“You don’t.”

Her face fell. “Never?”

“Never.”

She stared at me like I’d just told her strawberries were illegal.

“But it feels… strong,” she said. “Like thunder.”

“That’s because it is. And you don’t throw thunder around.”

She nodded slowly. “…Okay. I will keep thunder inside.”

“Good.”

I pointed at her. “Promise.”

“I promise,” she said immediately, placing her hand over her chest. Then, quieter, “But if I’m in danger?”

“…Still no.”

She sighed dramatically and flopped backward onto the bed. “Humans are unfair.”

I snorted despite myself. “Welcome to the club.”

I turned toward the bathroom again.

“Jungkook,” she called.

“What now.”

“If I forget—will you be angry.”

I paused.

“No,” I said. “I’ll just correct you.”

She smiled, relieved. “Okay.”

I shut the door properly this time and went into the bathroom.

The mirror reflected a mess—wrinkled shirt, stubble, dark circles under my eyes.

I looked like hell.

I turned on the shower, letting the water heat, and leaned my hands against the sink.

What the hell are you doing.

A ghost in my bed.
A missed meeting.
A life that had apparently decided rules were optional now.

From outside, her voice floated faintly through the door.

“Jungkook?”

I groaned. “What.”

“Are you washing your sins.”

“…I’m showering.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

Then: “Does water forgive.”

I closed my eyes. “Sometimes.”

“That’s nice,” she said softly.

I stepped under the water, letting it hit my face, hard enough to clear my head.

Ten minutes.

That’s all I needed.

I finished quickly, changed into clean clothes, towel around my neck.

When I stepped out—

She was standing right outside the bathroom door.

I jumped. “Jesus—”

She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry!”

“What did I say about waiting.”

“I waited,” she insisted. “Here.”

“That’s not waiting.”

She tilted her head. “Then where is waiting.”

I exhaled slowly. “In your room.”

She nodded seriously. “I will go back to waiting.”

She turned, took three steps, then stopped and turned back.

“Jungkook.”

“What.”

“You smell like rain again.”

“…Good.”

She smiled like that mattered.

I grabbed my keys and phone. “I’m going out.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

“For how long.”

“Two hours.”

She thought about that. “That’s long.”

“It’s not.”

“For me it is.”

I crouched slightly to her level. “You’ll be fine.”

She searched my face. “You’ll come back.”

“Yes.”

She nodded, reassured. “Okay.”

I stood up, heading toward the door.

Behind me—

“Jungkook.”

I stopped again. “What.”

She hesitated, then said softly, carefully—

“Good… afternoon?”

I smiled despite myself.

“Good afternoon, Jieun.”

I left before she could say anything else.

The drive to the company was a blur.

Meetings. Voices. Arguments. Numbers.

But my head wasn’t there.

It was back in my house.

With a ghost who saved swear words like thunder.

The meeting dragged.

Not because it was difficult—those were never the problem—but because my attention kept slipping. Numbers blurred. Voices turned into background noise. Every time someone said deadline or risk, my brain supplied something else entirely.

Don’t microwave anything.
Thunder words stay inside.
You smell like rain.

I rubbed my jaw and leaned back in my chair.

“Boss?”

I looked up. Juwon was watching me carefully now. Too carefully.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for three minutes.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About.”

“…Logistics.”

He didn’t believe me. But he nodded anyway.

“Two hours,” he said. “Like you promised.”

“Good.”

The meeting ended shortly after. I didn’t wait around. Didn’t linger. Didn’t socialize.

I drove home faster than I should have.

The house came into view—still standing, still quiet, still very much real.

I parked and went inside.

“Jieun,” I called, keys hitting the counter. “I’m back.”

No answer.

My chest tightened.

I moved faster through the hallway. “Jieun?”

Then—

“I am here!”

Her voice echoed from the living room.

I turned the corner.

She was sitting on the floor.

Surrounded by chaos.

Cushions pulled off the couch. A blanket tent draped between two chairs. Books stacked into uneven towers. One of my jackets laid carefully over something like it was tucking it in.

I stopped dead.

“…What,” I said slowly, “happened.”

She looked up at me, smiling brightly. Too brightly.

“I made a nest.”

“A what.”

“A waiting place,” she corrected. “You said wait. This is waiting.”

I glanced around. “Why is my jacket on the lamp.”

“It was lonely.”

I closed my eyes.

“Did anything break.”

“No,” she said proudly. “I was gentle.”

“Did anything scream.”

“Yes.”

My eyes snapped open. “What screamed.”

“The shiny rectangle screamed,” she said, pointing at my tablet. “But then it stopped.”

“…You turned it on?”

“It asked me things.”

“What things.”

She thought. “If I agree.”

“…To what.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t agree.”

I exhaled sharply. “Good.”

She stood and walked toward me, stopping just a step away.

“You came back,” she said softly.

“I told you I would.”

She nodded. “Still good.”

I looked at her properly then.

She was different.

Calmer. More… settled. Like the house had wrapped around her and decided to keep her.

“You hungry,” I asked.

She brightened instantly. “Yes.”

“Strawberry?”

Her eyes lit up like stars. “Yes.”

I walked toward the kitchen. “One.”

She followed me. “Two?”

“One.”

“Two small ones.”

“…Fine.”

She beamed like she’d won a war.

I handed her the strawberries and leaned against the counter while she ate—carefully this time, slower, like she was savoring them instead of devouring them.

She licked her fingers, then looked at me.

“I didn’t say thunder,” she announced.

“I noticed.”

She waited.

“…Good job,” I added.

Her smile was immediate and bright and completely unfair.

Then she asked, casually—

“When do I learn your bad words.”

I choked on my water.

“No.”

She tilted her head. “Later.”

“Never.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Humans say never when they mean later.”

I stared at her.

She smiled.

I sighed.

Yeah.

She was learning too fast.

And I had a feeling—

This was only the beginning.

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I want you guys to vote atleast. I'm lossing motivation. I put a lot of efforts to write it perfectly in his pov.

Love you all.