The doorbell rang just as Love was finishing tying the last ribbon around the jar of cookies she'd baked earlier. She dropped everything and rushed downstairs, heart fluttering. She knew that ring. It had rhythm—soft, then sharp. Only one person ever rang the bell like that.
She yanked open the door and beamed.
There she was. P'Milk stood on the porch with a teasing smile and a large bouquet of pink lilies cradled in her arms. She wore a loose white shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans, her hair pulled back into a clean ponytail, and that calm, assured energy that always made Love feel steady.
"Sawadee ja, ter," Milk said simply.
Love didn't answer at first. Her eyes widened at the flowers. "Oh my God, you didn't."
"I did." Milk held them out like a peace offering.
Love stepped forward and took the bouquet delicately, cradling it like it was made of glass. "Pink lilies? You remembered?"
"I always remember what you love." Milk's voice was soft as she leaned down to press a kiss to N'Love's forehead. Then, she added a few more kisses for good measure—one on each cheek.
Love giggled, hugging the bouquet to her chest. "You're spoiling me."
"That's kind of the plan."
Just as Love was about to step forward and kiss her properly, Milk pulled away and peeked into the house.
"Wait, where's your family?" she asked casually, but her gaze was more investigative than light.
Love's smile vanished like a popped bubble. "Ugh, don't get me started." She walked into the house, setting the bouquet on the side table, then turned back around with a huff. "All three of my idiot brothers took off to Phuket with their boyfriends."
Milk followed her inside, eyebrows raised. "Seriously?"
"They didn't even ask me if I wanted to go," Love muttered. "Just texted me this afternoon saying, 'We're off for the weekend! Don't burn the house down!' Like I'm some babysitter."
Milk closed the door behind her, taking her time to slide off her sneakers. "That's harsh. So they just left you here?"
"Yep. Like a forgotten sock."
Milk walked over and cupped Love's face gently. "You are not a forgotten sock."
Love laughed despite herself. "Okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic, but still. I feel like they did it on purpose."
Milk gave her a thoughtful look. "Maybe they thought you'd enjoy the house to yourself?"
Love snorted. "Or maybe they just didn't want a third wheel. Or fourth. Or seventh, if we count all the boyfriends."
Milk leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "Well, lucky me, then."
"Why?"
"Because now I get you all to myself."
Love tossed a throw pillow at her, her cheeks flaming. P'Milk caught it mid-air and threw it back with perfect aim. It smacked Love's stomach, and she squealed, laughing.
They settled on the couch, side by side, their knees brushing.
"Did you eat already?" Love asked, curling her feet under her.
"Nope. I was kind of hoping you'd feed me."
Love's eyes sparkled. "Good. I made creamy pasta and garlic bread."
Milk groaned dramatically. "You're trying to marry me, aren't you?"
"Caught me," Love said with a wink. "I lure you in with food and flowers, and then boom—you're mine forever."
"Works on me," Milk replied, stretching her arms behind her head. "This place feels different when it's just you here."
Love glanced around the room. It did feel a little quieter, a little less chaotic without her brothers and their constant bickering over the TV remote.
"I kind of like the silence," she admitted. "But only because you're here. Otherwise, I'd be throwing this pasta against the wall."
Milk laughed. "Such a picture of emotional stability."
They moved into the kitchen, and Love plated the food while Milk opened a can of cold soda and poured it into two tall glasses. They ate slowly, savoring the food and the time together, exchanging stories about their week. P'Milk told her about the cat that kept sneaking into her campus studio and Love ranted about how her twin brother, Fourth, broke her favorite coffee mug and replaced it with a "World's Okayest Sister" one.
After dinner, Love brought out the cookies she'd made earlier.
"I made these out of spite," she declared. "Because Fourth said I couldn't bake."
Milk bit into one and closed her eyes dramatically. "You should bake more often. These are amazing."
"Don't tell him," Love whispered, like it was a secret. "Let him live with the guilt."
Milk leaned on the kitchen counter, chewing slowly. "You know, I kind of like this. Just us. No background yelling. No one is stealing my seat when I go to the bathroom."
Love smiled. "Maybe I should kick them out more often."
"I vote yes."
They returned to the living room, and Love curled up in P'Milk's lap, playing with a tub of ice cream on their lap. Milk stroked her hair absentmindedly, occasionally pressing small kisses into her temple or hairline.
"I'm a bit disappointed that my brothers ditched me," Love told her. "But it turned out for the best."
Milk cooed gently as she brushed Love's hair from her forehead. "I'm here now, Love. You don't have to feel disappointed anymore." She pressed a soft kiss to Love's temple, her warmth filling Love with comfort.
Love sighed and nestled into Milk's shoulder. She closed her eyes, ready to finally breathe easily. "You're just what I needed," she whispered. The ache of being left behind seemed to fade for a moment.
Then, from behind the couch, came a voice—deep and unexpected—cutting through the softness like a knife.
"What's there to be disappointed about?"
Milk and Love jumped apart, startled, when they turned—and saw two figures framed in the dim entryway light.
Off—tall, broad-shouldered, with slightly disheveled hair and tired eyes—stood with his arms crossed. Beside him, Gun—leaner, gentle-featured and serious-faced, pushed a pair of glasses higher on his forehead. Their expressions were rigid with surprise that quickly shifted into something sharper: worry and confusion.
Love's breath caught. "Dad? You're—here?"
Milk's grip tightened around Love's hand. She leaned in, bracing for what might come next.
Off's jaw tightened. "I rang the bell twice, heard no answer. So we let ourselves in." His voice was calm, but each word was heavy, laced with disappointment. "Why's the place so quiet?"
Gun said nothing at first. He just looked around the living room—no red cups, no open closet doors, no signs of the usual mess their sons always left behind. Just two women seated on the couch, one clutching a half-empty ice cream tub.
Love's legs shook. "Dad… they're gone. They…went out."
Off's brow shot up. "Gone where?"
"They…said they were going out with friends."
Gun's brows furrowed in confusion, the lines deepening as he looked between Off and Love. "Wait," he said slowly, his voice lower now, more searching. "They didn't mention anything about going out last night. Not a word. I was texting Joong about his university schedule… he said he'd be home all weekend."
Love hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek.
Off narrowed his eyes. He loved his daughter, but he needed to know that his sons weren't getting in trouble somewhere. "Love. Did you know about this?"
"I… only found out this afternoon," Love mumbled, glancing at Milk, who squeezed her hand reassuringly.
"Afternoon?" Off repeated. "Why would they suddenly make plans to go out without informing us? Did they say where they were going, at least?"
"Wait…"
She stood abruptly and walked to the fridge, her slippers brushing the floor. With a sigh, she reached up and grabbed a folded note taped to the top of the freezer door. It was written in rushed handwriting, smudged slightly from the condensation.
She returned and held it out to her father's with shaking fingers. "They left this."