Chapter Text
**CHAPTER 1: Domestic Bliss and Fitted Sheets**
The first days of marriage were quieter than either of them expected. After the whirlwind of the wedding and the endless congratulations, Gu Won and Cheon Sa-rang found themselves waking up in their new home together, just two people, no grand titles, no reporters, no boardrooms.
The apartment was modern but warm, a place they had chosen for their new beginning. Not his family mansion and not her tiny apartment of course, but something in between, something that belonged to them.
Sa-rang thought back to their home search. As promised to Halmeoni, Won had put money regularly into the housing subscription fund she opened for him at the bank. Obviously not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. It was his way of honoring her grandmother, a gesture filled with respect and love, and Sa-rang cherished him for it.
So they searched for a new home. Together.
After weeks of peeking into glass-walled high-rises and wandering narrow side streets, they finally found it. A light-filled apartment soaring high above the city. The ceilings stretched endlessly upward, with floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto the Han River. At night, the skyline glittered like spilled jewels; by day, the view stretched so wide it almost felt like freedom.
It was undeniably grand. The kind of place only a chaebol could afford, with a private elevator and a balcony big enough for dinner with the “six siblings”. But inside, there was warmth: pale wood floors, sunlight that softened every edge, and space that begged to be filled with love and laughter. When Sa-rang stepped onto the balcony, she swore she could almost smell the sea.
“This one feels like us,” she whispered, fingertips resting lightly on the glass railing.
Won looked at her, not the view, and nodded without hesitation. His eyes filled with love and admiration.
***
Unpacking was its own adventure. Boxes lined the hallway, stacked unevenly, each one a blend of their past lives about to merge into something new.
Sa-rang carefully unwrapped frames from their Jeju trip, setting them along the console table. Beside them, Won placed the frame with the broken pieces of the King Carp, not hidden away, but displayed like treasure.
“You’re really keeping this?” she teased, brushing her fingers over the glass.
He straightened proudly. “Of course. It’s proof of our victory.”
“In a street market game.” She huffed.
“In our street market game. From our first date,” he corrected smoothly, and she laughed, letting him have his win.
Later, while tucking linens into the hall closet, she opened one of Won’s desk drawers and froze. There, folded neatly and preserved like a prized document, was a printout of his psychological test “How Do You Truly Feel About Them ?”.
Sa-rang picked it up, biting back a smile. “Really, Won? You framed science now?”
He glanced up from where he was unboxing wine glasses, his ears turning faintly pink. “I needed evidence. I was scientifically diagnosed early on.”
“Diagnosed with what?” Sa-rang sang out with a warm smile.
“A hopeless crush, unrequited love”, he said, grinning unashamedly.
Her laugh echoed through the apartment, bright and delighted, and she set the test back inside his desk. Their story, told through odd little artifacts.
When Won wandered into the bedroom, he found one of her boxes half-open. Pulling out a stack of slim books, he thumbed through them curiously: well-worn language study guides with neat notes scribbled in the margins, and a pocket-sized food and culture guide for nearly every district in Seoul.
“You were planning the whole city,” he murmured.
She hurried over, cheeks warming, snatching one gently from his hands. “I had to know where to direct our guests when I worked in the hotel lobby. Plus, someone had to know where to take you when you finally learned how to smile.”
His answering laugh filled the room, and she saw the look in his eyes, soft, proud, the kind of look that reminded her how extraordinary it felt to be loved by him.
***
So, on this particular morning, sunlight poured across the pale wood floors and caught on little domestic details: two toothbrushes in the same cup, matching slippers at the door, the photo from their Jeju trip in the hall, keepsakes from Thailand, the broken pieces of the King Carp framed like a work of art on the wall.
Won was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair messy from sleep as he moved with surprising confidence over a pan of eggs. Sa-rang padded in quietly, barefoot and wearing one of his shirts, oversized and soft. She paused in the doorway, her breath caught for a moment. She leaned against the counter, smiling as she watched him work.
There he was, her husband. All lean lines and quiet strength, sunlight catching the edges of his jaw, his back flexing as he lifted the pan with easy grace. Strong arms, broad shoulders, the kind of body that made her knees feel unsteady if she stared too long.
He was beautiful in a way that was almost unfair, but it wasn’t just the outside. It was him. The gentleness that lived beneath all that sharpness, the way he was always careful with her, always thanking her for being in his life. Nowadays, his smile came easily and it looked real and vibrant when turned in her direction.
Sometimes, the goodness of him was overwhelming. How could a man carry that much tenderness in hands that looked like they were built for power? How could someone raised in cold privilege be the one who warmed her heart everyday?
A quiet smile tugged at her mouth, even as her heart beat faster. He had no idea what he looked like to her in this moment: domestic, disheveled, devastatingly handsome, and entirely hers.
He turned, spoon raised. “Taste test?”
The eggs were light and fluffy, better than she expected, though she refused to admit it. “Mm,” she teased, eyes sparkling. “Decent cook, confirmed.”
“Decent?” His voice lifted in mock offense.
“I’ll promote you after probation. Particularly since you haven’t started any fires lately”. She smirked, giggling at his feigned hurt expression.
He put a hand to his heart, before swiftly caging her against the counter before she could laugh too much, his face dipping close. She stole a quick kiss, but he caught her mouth again, deepening it. Eggs were forgotten, giggles swallowed between kisses until she pulled back breathless.
“Breakfast, President Gu,” she murmured.
“Breakfast, Mrs. Gu,” he countered, eyes warm enough to melt butter.
***
Later, when they brushed their teeth side by side, foam dripping and elbows bumping, they couldn’t stop giggling. Even the most ordinary tasks became extraordinary with him. Laundry, however, was not one of Won’s strengths. She found him in the bedroom, locked in combat with a fitted sheet as though it were some wild beast refusing to be tamed.
“You know,” he muttered, tugging at one corner, “this isn’t as easy as tablecloths.”
Sa-rang’s lips curved despite herself. The comparison made her think of all the times he’d slipped seamlessly into helping her set tables at the hotel, his hands precise and steady, his focus sharp. Well, ‘sharp’ whenever his gaze wasn’t fixed on her, almost making her melt where she stood. Her husband was a quick study, once he learned something, he never forgot it. He often liked to remind her of that fact, and she loved him all the more for the pride in his voice when he did.
In the end she flopped onto the sheet in protest, starfishing across its surface like a victorious conqueror. Won let out a helpless groan before collapsing beside her. Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls, until it softened into something quieter.
Sa-rang turned her head, finding him already watching her intently. She couldn’t help but fall deep into the depths of his eyes. His hair was mussed, his chest rising with each laugh that lingered in the silence between them. For a moment, the world shrank to the warmth of his shoulder pressed against hers and the way his smile faded into something deeper, more reverent.
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “You make even losing feel good,” he murmured.
Her breath caught, the playfulness dissolving into a tenderness that made her heart ache. She shifted closer. Her nose brushed his. The sheet was already a forgotten mess somewhere. Their mouths met slowly, melting into a kiss that began with warmth and devotion.
Then his lips moved with more intent, deepening, coaxing, until she parted for him. Sa-rang gasped softly as his tongue slipped against hers, a sudden rush of heat spreading through her, igniting her from the inside out. The kiss wasn’t hurried. It was consuming, deliberate, like he was memorizing every sigh she gave him.
Won’s hands roamed from the fitted sheet beneath them to the edges of the shirt she wore—his shirt—his palms grazing the bare skin of her thighs. Each pass left her trembling, caught between the security of his touch and the thrilling pull of desire.
“I think we should remove this shirt, Mrs. Gu. It’s in the way,” he whispered into her mouth, his voice low and breathless. The sound alone made her shiver.
She laughed, though the sound was shaky, her lips brushing his as she answered, “Then maybe you should do something about it, President Gu.”
His grin was against her mouth before he kissed her again, deeper, more urgent, hands sliding higher as though he intended to make good on her challenge. The sheet beneath them twisted and bunched, their bodies pressed close, their breaths dissolving into quiet gasps and the kind of kisses that left them both dizzy.
By the time they remembered the laundry, it was far too late. The fitted sheet lay hopelessly tangled at their feet, but neither of them cared.
They ended up sprawled across the bed anyway, limbs tangled, her cheek tucked against the steady rise of his chest. His arm curled protectively around her, palm stroking circles against her back.
“Domestic chores are dangerous,” Won said finally, voice low and playful.
Sa-rang smiled into his skin. “Only when you’re involved.”
His laughter rumbled beneath her ear, soft and full of adoration. He tilted her chin until she looked up at him again, and for the briefest moment, she thought: This is it. This is forever.
It was bliss. Imperfect, messy, full of kisses and stolen moments. Bliss.
