No Strings
Chapter 8 – No Strings
Yuna didn’t speak to him for a long time.
Not in the dramatic, storming-off way dramas liked to show.
Not with slaps or loud accusations or people yelling in hospital corridors.
Her silence was quieter.
Heavier.
It was the kind of silence that didn’t need to announce itself.
It simply existed–between them, around them, inside her eyes.
After the truth, the hospital air had changed.
Everything felt more exposed.
Like the fluorescent lights were too bright, like the walls had ears.
Joonseo stayed beside her anyway.
He didn’t touch.
He didn’t reach.
He didn’t try to explain himself again.
Because no explanation could undo the fact that he had built an entire version of himself and let her trust it.
And now she had to decide what to do with the real him.
The billionaire.
The liar.
The part-timer with hands that smelled like dish soap.
When Yuna’s mother was moved to observation, the nurse finally allowed Yuna to see her.
Joonseo followed at a distance.
He stayed near the doorway while Yuna walked to the bed.
Mrs. Han looked smaller than he expected.
Not weak.
Just… delicate.
Her skin was pale against the white sheets. A tube ran to her arm. The monitor beeped steadily like a quiet metronome.
Yuna stood over her mother for a long moment, as if she was afraid to touch her and confirm the reality.
Then she reached out and held her mother’s hand.
“Eomma,” she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
Mrs. Han’s eyelids fluttered.
She didn’t fully wake.
But her fingers squeezed back.
A weak squeeze.
Still a squeeze.
Yuna’s shoulders sagged.
A sound left her–half sob, half laugh.
“Thank you,” she murmured, not sure who she was thanking. God. The doctor. The universe. Her mother for not leaving.
Joonseo watched quietly.
His chest ached with relief.
And with guilt.
Because he had almost made this moment about him.
He had almost turned the hospital into a confession scene.
He had.
And he hated himself for it.
Yuna turned her head slightly.
She saw him standing there.
Her eyes hardened.
Not cruel.
Just guarded.
He stepped back half a step instinctively.
Not retreat.
Respect.
Yuna turned back to her mother.
She stroked Mrs. Han’s hand gently.
Then she whispered something so quiet Joonseo almost didn’t hear.
“…Please don’t make me choose wrong.”
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
Because he knew she wasn’t talking only about her mother.
She was talking about him.
In the hallway outside, Yuna leaned against the wall.
Her knees looked unsteady.
Joonseo stood a few steps away.
He didn’t dare get closer.
Not until she allowed it.
The cost sheet sat folded in her hand like a threat.
Yuna stared at it.
Then she laughed quietly.
A sound that held no humor.
“I always knew this day would come,” she murmured.
Joonseo’s chest tightened.
“The day my mom collapses and the hospital hands me a number bigger than my entire month.”
Joonseo swallowed.
“Yuna–”
She held up a hand.
“Don’t,” she said.
Joonseo went still.
Yuna looked at him.
Her eyes were red.
Her voice was calm now, which was more frightening than anger.
“You said you weren’t rich,” she said.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
“I lied,” he admitted.
Yuna’s jaw trembled.
“Why?” she asked.
He could have given her a thousand reasons.
Fear.
Privacy.
The desire to be normal.
But none of them would sound good.
Not in her world.
Not after what she’d lived.
So he gave her the one reason that mattered.
“Because you told me you didn’t want strings,” he said quietly. “And I was afraid that if you knew… you’d see me as nothing but strings.”
Yuna stared at him.
“And what do you think you are now?” she asked.
Joonseo swallowed.
“A liar,” he said.
Yuna’s breath hitched.
She looked away.
Her fingers crushed the folded paper.
Joonseo’s voice was hoarse.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve told you sooner.”
Yuna laughed again, bitter.
“Saying sorry doesn’t rewind time,” she murmured.
“I know.”
Yuna turned back to him.
Her gaze was sharp.
“Then explain something to me,” she said. “Why would a billionaire–”
The word came out like a curse.
”–work in my café?”
Joonseo’s chest tightened.
He held her gaze.
“Because you were drowning,” he said softly. “And I didn’t know how to help without making you hate me.”
Yuna’s eyes flickered.
“You already made me hate you,” she whispered.
The words hit him like a blade.
He nodded once.
“I know,” he said.
Yuna’s shoulders shook.
She pressed her palm to her eyes.
“I can’t… deal with this,” she whispered. “Not now.”
Joonseo’s voice softened.
“Then don’t,” he said. “Not now.”
Yuna looked up.
She stared at him like she didn’t expect him to let her off the hook.
Joonseo continued, carefully.
“We can talk later,” he said. “When your mom is safe. When you’re not… standing on the edge.”
Yuna’s lips parted.
She didn’t reply.
But the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
Joonseo took a breath.
Then he did something that felt like stepping into fire.
He bowed.
Not a dramatic bow.
A sincere one.
The kind you give when you’re admitting you were wrong.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “But I want to fix what I can.”
Yuna’s eyes narrowed.
“Fix?”
Joonseo nodded.
“I want to pay,” he said.
Yuna flinched.
“There,” she snapped. “Strings.”
Joonseo didn’t flinch.
He shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Not strings. Not a loan. Not an investment. Not a favor you owe.”
Yuna stared.
“That’s not how money works,” she whispered.
Joonseo’s voice was steady.
“Then we’ll make it work differently,” he said.
Yuna’s brows furrowed.
Joonseo inhaled.
He chose his words like he was building a bridge.
“Let me be your employee,” he said.
Yuna blinked.
“What?”
“Let me earn it,” he said. “You pay me. I work. The pay goes to the bill.”
Yuna stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“That’s… ridiculous,” she said.
Joonseo nodded.
“It is,” he admitted. “But it’s the only way I can give without making you feel like you owe me.”
Yuna’s mouth trembled.
“You think I’m stupid?” she asked, voice shaking. “You think I don’t understand what you’re doing?”
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
“I think you understand,” he said softly. “And I think you’re proud. And I think you’ve had enough people try to buy you.”
Yuna’s eyes filled.
“Then don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t buy me.”
Joonseo shook his head.
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m trying to keep your mom alive.”
Yuna’s breath hitched.
The words hit her defenses like a wave.
She looked away sharply.
For a long moment, she didn’t speak.
Then she whispered, broken:
“…What if I say no?”
Joonseo’s chest tightened.
“Then I’ll respect it,” he said.
Yuna turned back.
Her eyes were fierce.
“And my mom?”
Joonseo swallowed.
“I’ll still make sure she gets treated,” he said quietly. “Even if you hate me.”
Yuna stared.
Her jaw trembled.
“Then that’s still strings,” she whispered.
Joonseo’s voice softened.
“No,” he said. “That’s just… being human.”
Yuna’s eyes squeezed shut.
She nodded once.
Small.
Fragile.
Not agreement.
Not forgiveness.
Just… surrender to reality.
“…Okay,” she whispered.
Joonseo exhaled.
Yuna opened her eyes.
Her gaze was sharp again.
“But,” she said, voice shaking, “you follow my rules.”
Joonseo nodded.
“Tell me.”
Yuna swallowed.
“No publicity,” she said. “No announcements. No ‘generous sponsor.’ No suddenly making my café famous.”
Joonseo nodded.
“Okay.”
Yuna continued.
“You don’t get to decide for me,” she said. “You don’t get to ‘fix’ my life behind my back.”
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
“Okay.”
Yuna’s voice cracked.
“And you don’t get to make me feel like… your project.”
Joonseo’s chest ached.
“I won’t,” he promised.
Yuna stared at him.
Then she added the final rule, quieter.
“And you don’t get to lie to me again.”
Joonseo’s throat burned.
“I won’t,” he said.
Yuna nodded once.
Then she turned away sharply, wiping her face as if she was angry at herself for needing him.
Joonseo didn’t move.
He didn’t try to touch her.
He simply stood beside her in the white hallway, breathing.
Two people.
One truth.
And a fragile new agreement.
That evening, they returned to Second Verse.
The café felt different.
Not because anything had changed.
The chipped sign was still chipped.
The chairs still wobbled.
The vanilla candle still sat by the register.
But the air between them was heavier.
Because now Yuna knew.
Now every cup of coffee had a shadow.
Every glance carried a question.
Is he doing this because he cares?
Or because he can?
Yuna didn’t speak much.
She moved around the café like she was avoiding stepping on feelings.
Joonseo followed her lead.
He cleaned.
He stocked.
He washed dishes.
He stayed quiet.
Until, near closing, Yuna suddenly stopped by the counter.
She didn’t look at him.
She stared at the espresso machine.
Then she said, voice flat:
“You know… if you wanted, you could buy this whole street.”
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Yuna’s fingers curled.
“And you didn’t tell me,” she whispered.
Joonseo swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
Yuna exhaled sharply.
“…I’m angry,” she said.
Joonseo nodded.
“I know.”
Yuna’s voice trembled.
“And I’m… grateful,” she added, like the word tasted bitter. “And that makes me hate myself.”
Joonseo’s chest cracked.
“Don’t hate yourself,” he said quietly.
Yuna laughed bitterly.
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered.
Joonseo’s voice softened.
“Then hate me,” he said. “But don’t hate yourself for wanting your mom to live.”
Yuna went still.
The café was quiet.
The rain had stopped outside.
Yuna’s breath hitched.
Then she turned her head.
Her eyes were wet.
Her mouth trembled.
“…Why are you like this?” she whispered.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
He could have said:
Because your voice saved me.
Because you were my favorite song.
Because I loved you before you knew my name.
But he didn’t.
He gave her a truth that wouldn’t crush her.
“Because I don’t want you to be alone,” he said.
Yuna stared at him.
A long moment passed.
Then she nodded once.
Not forgiveness.
Not trust.
Just… acceptance of the moment.
“…Okay,” she whispered.
Joonseo breathed.
He picked up the rag again.
He wiped the counter.
Same spot.
Same motion.
But this time, it wasn’t a habit of desperation.
It was a routine built on a new rule.
No strings.
No chains.
Just hands.
Just staying.
And somewhere in the quiet, beneath the bitterness, the second verse kept playing.