The first thing Minho saw when he opened his eyes again was those annoying lights attached to his bedroom ceiling. Immediately closing them, he let out a faint groan and shifted his position on the bed so he could sit upon the soft mattress. The fabric of his clothes changed from the rough blazer of his suit to his smooth pajama. He could feel it by grabbing a fistful of his pants as he sat up.

Sensing movement from the bed, you looked up from your phone and immediately broke into a smile when you saw that Minho was awake. Getting up from your seat, you moved over to the edge of his bed and leaned against the side of it to look at him. "Good morning to you. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he muttered, feeling completely out of it. He was trying to remember what happened before he blacked out, mainly whether he made it through the end of his presentation or if he just fainted in the middle of it. The more he tried to use his head, the more nauseated he felt.

In the midst of his heavy thoughts, he felt your fingers gently brush against his bangs to move them out of his eyes, and he jolted back to reality in order to give you a smile.

"I know you are. Who wouldn't be, honestly?" you huffed, recalling in fast-forward motion of how you and him spent the past weeks in his office room.

Guilt slowly wrapped around your heartstrings then, making you wonder if you should have taken better care of him despite his persistent to work on the pitch proposal, or if you should have stopped him from going up the stage earlier. Yet none of those would compare to the panic you felt when he dropped to the ground.

The feeling was quick to leave as you figured out the negativity wasn't what Minho needed at the moment, and you reverted to your old, laid-back self by giving his forehead a flick of your fingers, earning a surprised yelp from him. "Also, if you are wondering, I changed you out of your clothes," you said. "Don't worry, I didn't try and see anything. I am very noble."

Minho lacked the energy to roll his eyes but he did giggle, leaning his head against the headboard with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he glanced over at you to find you staring right at him. Your brows arched questioningly at his silence, and the more he kept quiet the more you could feel a blush gushing up your cheeks.

Putting your hands on your hips, you tapped your feet against the floor to feign annoyance as you tilted your head at him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Oh, please, you knew why he was looking at you with those sparkly eyes of his, gleaming with a kind of adoration no other has held for you. In most cases, quiet moments like these would force the two main characters both looking at each other. One acting confused while the other filled to the brim with love. Since you were the oblivious one, Minho would be the latter.

You knew that. You just didn't want to admit to knowing it on your own because for one, it might make you look conceited, and for two, what if you were jumping way ahead of yourself? That would be very humiliating for you, [Name]. That was if you hadn't already done that by asking such a stupid question.

Instead of replying, all Minho did was reach his arm out so he could grab your hand. You laughed in bewilderment, trying to peel yourself away from his touch but finding yourself complying with what he wanted. Your body moved on its own, scooting closer and lowering your arm so he has easier access to your hand. The laughter died down as soon as it started, leaving its job for the blush that heated on your face.

Could you feel it? That sense of vexation rising in your chest when you realized all those times you spent criticizing characters for acting awkward in romantic situations had backfired on you dramatically because you acted just like them all. Blushing, wordless, shivers in the heart you couldn't control—completely at Minho's mercy despite him doing the bare minimum.

This tenderness was as new to you as it was to Minho. He hadn't touched anyone like this before. Surely, he was never too rough with anybody or anything, but holding you was a different kind of gentleness he has never expressed.

It wasn't just for the sake of not being bearish. It was being soft so he doesn't hurt or break, it was being soft so it isn't just a touch but a cradle and a caress, it was being soft so he becomes as sensitive as you. Touching you is like touching porcelain; he does it softly so he won't break nor crack nor crease you, and he does it softly so he won't run the risk of cutting himself with you.

This was what he missed out on all those years. When he thought back to it, only regret clouded his mind, but he has changed along with you when you did, and everything felt okay now.

Just one more thing, though.

You could feel his eyes burning at your hand, and once again you were reminded of the lack of diamond ring on your fourth finger.

"Oh! The ring! I–ahh–I was going to ask you for it but I never got around to it so." A wave of panic arose as you yelped, startling Minho. "If you will give it to me again, I will be more than happy to wear it back, Minho."

He tightened his grip on your hand, pursing his lips as he looked up at you. "Of course, it's in my–"

"Minho!"

The door burst open, causing both of you to glance over at the door. Minho's mother came rushing into the room, her face riddled with concern. When she saw Minho awake and smiling, she breathed out a sigh and walked in with a hand on her chest. "Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Minho replied quickly, "Tried but I am fine, mom. You don't have to worry."

"Are you sure? You fainted back there, it was really bad," she pressed on, moving closer. "Everybody was shocked!"

When you saw how his brow creased and his jaw clenched at her words, you cleared your throat and waved your hand to deescalate the tension. "Actually–it wasn't like, that bad, you know?"

"I am sure, mom. I promise," Minho reassured, his voice right and weaker all of a sudden. "I am gonna be back on my feet in no time."

She worriedly glanced over at you for confirmation and you nodded in return. Then she broke into a faint smile, unclenching her fist and letting it fall to her side. "Oh, good. Thank you so much for taking care of Minho for me, [Name]," she thanked, then she looked away from the both of you and stared right ahead at the window. "If there are no more problems then I should take my leave–"

"Mom," Minho cut her off. You could finally sense it now, the hidden urgency in his voice. Looking over at him, you found that his eyes were shivering widely, like he was afraid, and his grip on your hand has gotten loose as his concentration averted to his mother. "Where is dad?"

She was visibly uncomfortable now. You breathed in deeply, a revelation exploding in your head.

How the hell did you think you could get away with this trope? The man with daddy issue. Or just parental issues in general but this one was so obviously father problems! You cursed inwardly, ears perked up to listen to their conversation while your mind raced to figure out a solution as you did so.

Here is the thing about parental issues in dramas. When it is about the mother, it is often directed at the female counterpart, and often very easy to solve as long as the main lead is headstrong about what they want. When it is about the father, however, it is usually directed at the male counterpart and much harder to get over, because unfortunately he would be stuck with one father for the rest of his life. It becomes less of a marriage problem or an argument about a potential romantic interest, and more of a psychological injury in need of life-long healing.

It is work ethics, dignity, power, and money! It is about their child not having the intellect to follow in their footsteps, about their child not wanting to follow in their footsteps. It is having an open affair with someone else and not understanding why your child just wouldn't listen to your mistress. Fathers are special, and they are weird. They are stubborn and annoying. You never liked shitty father figured in fiction!

That was personal. I can feel it.

"He doesn't want to see you, Minho," she spoke comfortingly. When your words are deafening, the only thing you can possibly do is lower your voice, and even then it may not work the way you want them to. "I tried getting him out of the car but–"

You dropped your jaw. The curse words were much louder now, you could practically play a game of word chain all on your own.

"You fainted in the middle of it. He was expecting you to hang on and finish the presentation," she went on. "But you didn't."

Minho's heart dropped. So he didn't finish it after all.

"What the fuck–" you pursed your lips, never mind that you already cursed anyway, and you pulled yourself away from Minho. You were angry, possibly even beyond that. How could his father be so apathetic towards his son's health? Looking down at Minho, the tears brimming at his waterline made your inside burn, it felt like you were the one being neglected and unfairly treated.

You sucked in a breath, your eyes blinking rapidly for no reason (it's for comedic purposes). Then suddenly, you smiled and pointed your index finger towards the door. "I think I left the faucet on so I am just gonna go turn that off, okay? You two talk. I am gonna go."

Your behavior was abnormal at best, which honestly, the other two in the room would have thought they would be used to it by now. Before any of them could open their mouth, and before your cowardly mind decided to not do anything about this situation, you dashed out of the door and headed downstairs. You flung the doors open dramatic and, very angrily, growled when you saw the overly expensive car parked out at the driveway. Rushing outside, you made a stupid of appearing by the driver's seat. When the driver rolled down the window, you breathed out an annoyed sigh, feeling like your anger was about to explode in a pit of curses and tears.

What the–piece of shit! Why buy an expensive car if you aren't going to drive it yourself? Useless, showoff, pointless, worthless, a waste of money! Nobody thinks you're cool, you hag, you can't even drive and you conform to the discriminative lifestyle of capitalism!

That was also personal, but the floor is yours.

"[Name]?"

"Y–yeah?"

Damn! You have been doing so well up until now but you really are all bark and no bite! Your anger immediately dissolved when you met eyes with the tall, old man who exited on the passenger side of the car. You gasped. He looked so much nicer than you expected he would. If you didn't know the title he holds, you would not have felt this intimidated.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, walking over to you.

"I live here. What the hell are you talking about?" you retorted. When you noticed a change of his expression, you cleared your throat, inhaled deeply, and calmed yourself down to conjure up some coherent sentences. "I am here to ask you politely to visit Minho, who is your son, which means he is your flesh and blood–" you squinted your eyes and turned your face away slightly–"because he is your child, like, he is your son?"

He furrowed his brows at you and he sighed curiously. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I will be if you can follow me and go see if Minho is doing okay," you said, smiling.

There was a knowing look on his face, then he dipped his head to look at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, he shook his head. "No. I am very disappointed in him right now and I am afraid I will say what I don't mean when I see him."

"Disappointed about what? The fact that he got sick?" you retorted.

"I gave him one job and he embarrassed me in front of a lot of people tonight," he said, "You wouldn't understand, [Name]."

"You wouldn't understand, [Name]!" Was what you imagine you replied, with a tone so ridiculously disrespectful he may pop a vein big enough to cause a heart attack, but you didn't. You opened your mouth but only air came out as you carefully analyzed what he actually meant. This man wanted to say you don't understand what it is like to be a functional member of society and work for money because you lay around at home all day, draining Minho's bank account, as if he didn't take part in that decision.

Well then, he has got another thing coming because you used to be in the workforce as well! You used to work day and night, and even then you could never achieve the kind of luxury his family has, so honestly, you've got the upper-hand in this argument. You just needed to find a way to tell him you do know how hard work is without actually telling him that you've ever worked before!

So basically you're not telling him anything at all.

Holding in an outburst, you forced a smile and clapped your hands together so you wouldn't end up strangling an elder. "Maybe I don't understand, but I do know that Minho worked really hard for this opportunity," you said, pleaded even. "The reason why he fainted was that he didn't let himself rest at all preparing for the presentation. You can't disregard his effort just like that. You are his father, where is your care?"

"You're bold to be talking to me like this," he said after a moment of silence, his tone making it impossible for you to decipher whether he meant that as a compliment or not. "But no. This is work. This is about his future and how he will handle the company when I am gone. I can't act as his father in a situation like this."

You were rendered speechless. It was either you smack some sense into him or you talk some sense into him, but it seemed like you weren't smart enough to talk to him so that left the more physical option. You shivered. You weren't ready to be put in jail yet, so the physical option was out the window too.

You bit your lower lip. But Minho—he worked so hard for this, and you were there to watch him work like hell for it. If he was bedridden and couldn't do anything about this, you thought you could at least try a little harder for his sake. But how? How could you explain it more clearly to him that he should give Minho another chance?

Time's ticking, [Name]. Try thinking a little bit faster. I'll even drop you a hint. Since you've been there with him as he prepared for the presentation, surely you would know where Minho placed his materials?

You gasped, a light-bulb going off in your eyes. Wordlessly, you spun on your heels and left the old man standing there in confusion, watching your back as you bolted back into the house. You slammed the doors shut, kicked off the shoes you did not bother to wear properly, and you rushed upstairs. Stopping abruptly before the workroom you were so used to being in, you opened the door and went straight to the desk where there was a stack of papers.

You may not have known what he worked on exactly, but you did remember complaining about the number of papers Minho was using back then. You told him something about trees dying and he only laughed, already used to ignoring you and your tendencies to ramble about anything. There has got to be some information contained in that pile of papers he printed. You didn't know what was in there but it wouldn't be your job to look through them. It would be his father's.

You grabbed the whole pile, scooping it up into your hands after scanning it quickly, and you rushed out of the door like a madman. Your steps echoed throughout the hall and you quickly walked downstairs, preparing to head outside when the housekeeper stopped you with an incredulous look on her face.

She looked you up and down, concerned, and she asked, "What are you doing running around like that?"

"I need to show Mr.Lee something," you urged, glancing out the doors.

"Mrs.Lee? I'm pretty sure they're leaving. Mrs.Lee just left the house!"

Here we go! We've all seen the running in slow motion part in dramas, it was about time your turn comes up.

You gasped out a curse, surprised at how much this shit does not make sense because you really thought you were only in the workroom for less than one minute and you never bumped into his mother when you walked back into the house! Granted, the house was huge, but you knew its map enough to know that if Minho's mom was leaving, you'd at least saw a glimpse of her! How could she possibly be out of the house already? Through the window? Through teleportation? Through—Jesus Christ, [Name], less rambling and more running!

You went for the door and yelled when you saw the taillights of the car flash red. Whatever that meant, you didn't know, you never learned how to drive! But you supposed it meant the car was being started and they were about to leave this place, so your legs paddled even quicker than before. You got down the porch of the house and sped through the long driveway, your hand clutching the papers closer to your chest.

You ran, and you tripped! On nothing! You groan at your inability to keep your feet on the ground as you scrambled up and continued running. At this point, you were just trying your best to be thankful that your tripping-during-an-emergency scene didn't involve running away from serial killers or deformed monsters.

"Wait! Wait a second! Stop driving, car driver!" you hollered as you, miraculously, moved past the car and stopped right before the tip of the vehicle.

It came to a screeching stop. The driver looking at you with wide, shocked eyes as sweat rolled down the side of his face. The headlights were blinding your eyes but you kept them open for intimidating purposes this time, and you huffed out in triumph when both his parents walked out of the car in complete awe at your action. It's not admirable, just insane.

"What the hell are you thinking?"

"Here, take this," you said as you shoved the pile of papers into Mr.Lee's hands. "It's his proposal. I don't know how much of it is in here but it's your job to look through it."

He gave you an annoyed glare. "I already said–"

"I don't care what you already said," you mocked through heavy pants. When you calmed down, you grimaced. "I am telling you this as an intellectual. You should never let any opportunity slip from your hands. Just because Minho never got to present the idea does not mean he doesn't have a good idea. You have eyes and a brain, look through it and see for yourself."

You were glaring at him, not in a hateful way but more so in hopes that you could pressure him into accepting your suggestion. To be fair, you did make a good point, as much as he didn't want to admit. Oh, and of course, you got in front of a moving car just to get him to look through Minho's proposal, which has the be the more heart-attack inducing than anything you could have said this night.

Looking down at the papers in his hands, he let out a low gruff and finally nodded. "Fine. Now get back inside, I wanna go home!"

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding—ah, yes, that breath—and clapped your hands together in a delightful beam. Finally! All those running and panicking and raging were worth this moment of acceptance, or at least the half-way point of acceptance! After bidding both of the elderlies goodbye, you quickly rushed back into the house with the two eyeing your back.

"Say," Mr.Lee began, eyes squinting, "have they always been like this?"

"Yeah," his wife nodded, "you just never pay attention."

She's right. He never does. How he became a CEO was beyond anyone, even me.