Chapter 73

They'd reserved the entire back room.

Technically, Felix had done it—called the restaurant himself, charming his way past a velvet-voiced hostess and a stonewall manager with the careful application of a few high-profile names and just enough accent to sound expensive. No press. No wandering eyes. No fans trying to hide behind floor-length curtains or snap photos between the folds of their napkins. Just them.

Four people. One crescent-shaped booth. Candlelight glinting off crystal stemware and silver utensils that probably cost more than Beth's entire knife block at home. The air smelled like roasted garlic and saffron and something faintly sweet she couldn't name. Their menus had no prices—just embossed lettering on cardstock so thick it felt like velvet between her fingers.

Beth still wasn't sure what kind of food this was supposed to be. The waiter had murmured something about "elevated modern fusion" in a tone usually reserved for sacred rituals or full-symphony overtures. All Beth knew was that every bite so far had melted in her mouth, and nothing had been aggressively foamed or served in a shot glass. So, really, a win.

"You like it?" Felix asked, his foot nudging hers gently beneath the table.

Beth smiled, swirling the dark red wine in her glass before taking a sip. "You picked a place with three kinds of truffle on the menu. I'd eat the napkins if they were infused with this much luxury."

Across from her, Changbin tipped his head back in open laughter, shoulders shaking as Elliot finished miming what looked like an electrical explosion. Judging by context, it involved Chan, an espresso machine, and a catastrophic misunderstanding of voltage.

Elliot leaned back, smug and flushed with amusement. "All I'm saying is, you shouldn't let a man with that many abs anywhere near live wires."

Felix gave a dramatic gasp, hand to his chest. "Excuse you. My man has both abs and brain cells. Multitasking king."

Beth raised her glass and held it out. "To rare combinations."

Changbin met her toast with a clink and a soft smile, his fingers warm against the base of his wine glass. "To actually sitting down for dinner with the people we love."

It was a good point. A true one. None of them had had much of that lately—not real meals, not time that wasn't packed to the rafters with logistics and headlines and stress. The live broadcast had been chaos. The media fallout even worse. And with Golden Stag's relaunch ramping up on top of everything else, tonight felt less like a night out and more like something stolen. Borrowed from a better world.

Sacred, in its own quiet way.

Beth let herself breathe. Let the tension in her shoulders fall away, slowly, inch by inch. Let herself enjoy the soft hum of instrumental jazz overhead, the flicker of candlelight catching the angles of Felix's cheekbones, the gleam of Changbin's ring where it rested on the table beside his plate. She watched the way Elliot looked at Felix like the rest of the world didn't exist. Like he was mapping him. Memorizing.

It made her heart ache a little—but in the good way. The way that said: look at what we made it through.

"So," Beth said after a moment, propping her chin against her good hand. "Felix. Be honest. Did you two plan this because you think I need a break?"

Felix didn't even blink. "Obviously."

"I told you," Changbin added, glancing at her sideways with the ghost of a smile.

Beth exhaled through her nose, lips twitching. "I don't need to be babied."

Elliot leaned in, forearms resting on the white linen tablecloth. "No, you don't. But you do deserve to be spoiled. Taken out. Dressed up. Fed by candlelight. I mean, for fuck's sake—Beth, you tackled a man at Gate 17 with one arm."

Felix gave a solemn nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Icon behavior."

Beth groaned and pressed her palm to her forehead, laughing despite herself. "Please don't let that be my legacy."

"Too late," Elliot said, picking up his wine. "You've got a fandom now. Someone made an edit of you in the Atomic Blonde costume."

Changbin's brows rose with dangerous interest. "Do we have that saved?"

"Kinky," Felix murmured into his glass, barely audible.

Beth nearly choked on her sip of wine, coughing into her elbow as Felix grinned, wholly unrepentant.

Across the table, Changbin leaned back in the booth, eyes gleaming like he was thinking about it just a little too hard. "Wait—are we talking the white coat and blonde bob, or the black strappy thing with the thigh holsters?"

Beth shot him a look, all narrowed eyes and raised brows. "You're not helping."

"What?" Changbin's smile was slow, teasing. "You'd look hot."

Felix wagged his brows. "You'd look deadly. Like... I'd let you stab me. Just to be part of the moment."

Elliot blinked at him, stunned into laughter. "Baby."

Felix turned to him with theatrical innocence. "Yes?"

"Do I need to confiscate your wine?"

Beth covered her face with a groan and shook her head. "I hate all of you."

From beside her, Changbin gently bumped her ankle under the table, voice low and warm. "You love us."

And God help her—she did. Every inappropriate, ridiculous, heart-holding one of them.

They let the banter linger like the last notes of a song—light, absurd, comforting in its familiarity. The kind of back-and-forth that didn't require effort anymore. Just instinct. Rhythm. The conversation meandered between inside jokes, misremembered lyrics, and wild theories about why crème brûlée existed in the first place. Meanwhile, the food kept coming—plate after plate, each dish a miniature sculpture of something strange and elegant. It was the sort of menu that read like poetry and arrived like modern art, but to everyone's surprise, the flavors were rich and grounding, deeply satisfying in a way none of them had expected.

By the time dessert arrived, Beth realized her shoulders had dropped at least two inches. Her sling didn't ache quite as sharply, her breath came easier, and the tension that had haunted her posture for months had—just for this one night—eased its grip.

They shared two crème brûlées, the crack of burnt sugar echoing faintly each time someone broke through the caramel crust. Felix insisted the third dessert was a mango-lavender mousse, but the taste was far too delicate, too ephemeral—it felt like spooning expensive whipped air into her mouth. She didn't complain. Not when Changbin kept feeding her forkfuls of sugar and cream like it was a game, his smile wide and boyish every time she swatted him away with her good hand, cheeks flushed and laughter slipping past her defenses. Across the table, Elliot fed Felix a bite directly from his own fork and earned a quick, smirking kiss on the cheek in return—one that clearly left him short of breath, eyes darting down in flustered affection.

When the final dish was cleared and the waiter returned with the quiet offer of coffee, tea, or "something stronger," the four of them answered in perfect harmony: no, thank you. Not tonight.

Felix leaned back in his seat with a luxurious stretch, arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned skin and the shimmer of a glittering belt buckle. "Do you guys wanna walk a bit?" he asked, voice loose and syrup-slow. "There's a garden out back. They do lights this time of year."

Elliot took the last sip of his wine and lowered the glass, a quiet smile playing on his lips. "Romantic," he murmured, already reaching for Felix's hand.

Changbin nodded, brushing his fingers lightly against Beth's thigh beneath the table. "Yeah. Let's."

They settled the bill—well, Elliot did, ignoring Beth's half-hearted protest with a wave and a dry, "Don't make me hack your bank account"—then drifted from the candlelit dining room into a narrow hallway lined with tall mirrors and soft sconces. At the end of the corridor, double glass doors opened with a gentle click.

What lay beyond didn't look real.

It wasn't a garden so much as a dream made manifest. A private courtyard stretched wide and quiet, framed in glass and stone, the hedges manicured to sculptural precision. Every edge was softened by the golden shimmer of fairy lights threaded through branches, woven into trellises, and suspended from ornate lanterns overhead. A delicate stream curved through the center, its surface catching the light like strands of liquid silver, and in the middle of it all stood a circular bench nestled beneath an open-air arbor draped in flowering vines.

Beth stopped just past the threshold, her breath catching. "Okay, this place is fake," she whispered, like admitting it aloud might break the illusion.

Felix grinned, eyes catching the glow. "You're welcome."

They wandered slowly, the four of them weaving through lamplight and shadow, their footfalls muffled by stone paths and soft night air. No crowds. No flash of cameras. Just the scent of jasmine and lemon verbena curling gently around them like a lullaby. For a little while, they were just people again. Not headlines. Not clients or caretakers or survivors. Just friends. Just four hearts finding quiet.

Eventually, they found their way to the bench beneath the arbor. Felix and Elliot slid into place without hesitation, legs tangling as they whispered back and forth, their laughter quiet and private, a world of their own.

Beth eased herself down beside Changbin, careful of the weight on her shoulder. As soon as she settled, he moved without thinking—his arm sliding around her waist, anchoring her to his side. His warmth bled into her skin, familiar and grounding.

"Thank you," she said quietly, the words soft as the wind rustling through the trees.

He tilted his head down, brow furrowing. "For what?"

She turned her face toward him, eyes full. "This. All of it. Letting me feel normal for a night. Letting her feel safe. Letting me feel safe."

He didn't hesitate. He pressed a kiss to her temple, slow and reverent. "You don't owe me anything."

"I know," she murmured. "But I'm grateful anyway."

When she looked up again, her breath caught. In the low garden light, his features looked softer. More open. The firm edge of his jaw cast in bronze and shadow, the delicate curve of his mouth still kissed by lamplight. His dimple barely visible. He looked like something out of a dream. Like everything she never thought she'd get to have. And yet—here he was.

"I love you," she whispered.

His breath hitched. Just slightly.

Not because it was the first time—it wasn't. They'd said it before. In the middle of storms. Through hospital tears and hallway whispers. In the quiet after violence and the relief after courts and custody and blood. But this time... it settled different.

This time, the words weren't survival.

They were choice.

"I love you," she said again, stronger now. Steadier. "And not because you showed up when I was falling apart. Not because you caught me. Not even because Cassie called you Daddy. I love you because... you stayed."

His eyes glistened, and for a moment, he didn't speak. He just kissed her.

Not frantic. Not desperate. Just full—slow and deep, like he meant for her to feel it in every scar, every nerve, every thread that had once unraveled and now began to weave itself back together. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing tenderly beneath her eye, their foreheads resting together in the stillness afterward.

"I love you too," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "You have no idea how much."

Beth swallowed, her throat tight. Her good hand curled into the lapel of his jacket, fingers tugging gently—like she couldn't bear to leave even an inch between them.

"I think I do," she said, her voice shaking just a little. "I see it every time you hold her. Every time you look at me like I'm not broken. Every time you let me be tired. Or scared. Or angry. And you don't pull away. You just... stay."

"I see you," he said, the words thick in his throat. "Not the version the world talks about. Not the headlines. Not the fight. Not the trauma. I don't see a project. Or a case. Or a victim. I see you. And I fucking love every inch of what I see."

Beth exhaled like she was letting go of something heavy.

Behind them, a soft laugh floated through the garden—low, warm, unmistakably Felix. He murmured something into Elliot's ear that made both of them smile in tandem, the kind of private joy that bloomed quietly but brightly. Their faces were bathed in the golden haze of fairy lights strung above the arbor, their outlines crisp and tender against the encroaching velvet shadows of early night. It was the kind of tableau that felt both ordinary and sacred, like a painting you didn't realize had been etched into your memory until later.

Beth turned her head slightly, gaze lingering on the glow around them. The quiet intimacy of it tugged something deep in her chest. She didn't speak at first, just watched.

Then, softly, "I feel like we should be clinking champagne flutes or something."

Changbin's mouth quirked. "I could probably dig something out of the hedges."

Beth huffed a quiet laugh, her voice wry. "Tempting."

He leaned in and kissed her again—just once, feather-light and reverent, the corner of her mouth catching the curve of his smile. When he pulled back, his nose lingered close. "You wanna sit for a minute?"

"Only if you don't mind me falling asleep on your chest."

"Deal," he murmured, already coaxing her gently down onto the bench nestled beneath the arbor.

She curled into him like she belonged there—no hesitation, no stiffness, just the soft, practiced ease of two bodies that had memorized each other in small, meaningful ways. Her head settled against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt slightly damp from the heat of the evening. One of her hands found its way to his chest, and beneath it, his heartbeat thudded slow and sure. His arm curved securely around her waist, holding her close with quiet insistence. He pressed his lips into her hair, just above her temple, and breathed her in like he needed to confirm she was still real.

"You smell like oranges," he mumbled, his voice thick with affection. "And hotel shampoo."

Beth smiled faintly against him, the corners of her mouth lifting. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The garden was hushed but not silent—crickets somewhere off in the grass, the occasional rustle of wind through nearby branches, the far-off sound of laughter from inside the house. And still, that light. That warm, golden light that made everything feel softer than it should.

"You think she's okay?" Beth asked quietly, her voice barely more than a breath. "Cass."

Changbin didn't hesitate. "She's better than okay," he said. "She's got Gomi. Ocean school. A thousand plushies. And a mom who fought like hell for her."

Beth's eyes welled unexpectedly, even as she chuckled. "And a dad who took a punch for her."

"I didn't even get hit," he protested, feigning offense.

"Yet," she said, dry as ever.

He grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. "She's totally gonna punch me first chance she gets when she's older, huh?"

"Oh, definitely," Beth replied, snuggling in closer. "Especially if you try to take her snacks."

"Noted," he said solemnly.

The quiet that followed wasn't awkward. It wasn't even empty. It felt lived-in—like a favorite sweater or a shared blanket. It wrapped around them gently, a hush filled with breath and belonging.

After a while, Changbin spoke again, this time more carefully. "Hey."

"Mm?"

"You ever think about... what's next?"

Beth blinked slowly, her lashes brushing his shoulder. "Like... tomorrow?"

He was quiet, just for a beat. Then, with a slightly rougher edge: "Like forever."

Her breath caught. Just a little. Enough to feel the edges of her ribs press in. She pulled back slightly so she could see his face, but didn't move from his arms.

"I don't want to rush you," he said quickly, eyes searching hers. "You've already given me everything I could ever want. You've let me into your life. Your daughter's life. I'd wait another year before putting a ring on you if it meant you could breathe easy."

Beth's heart twisted in her chest, a slow unfurling ache that felt more like gratitude than fear. She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips, brushing along the curve of his jaw.

"That a hypothetical?" she asked, voice low.

He exhaled through his nose, half a smile curling. "Only sort of."

She nodded slowly, then whispered, "Don't wait a year."

It hit him like a gut punch. His breath left in a whoosh, his eyes wide with something halfway between disbelief and awe.

"Not yet," she added, her thumb grazing his cheek. "Not now. But don't wait too long."

His arms tightened around her. "I won't."

"Good," she murmured.

They sat like that for a moment longer, until Beth tilted her head just enough to glance back over toward the fairy lights again. "You think Felix and Elliot are watching us?"

"Without a doubt," Changbin said, no hesitation.

Beth didn't even look. "Should we give them a show?"

Changbin snorted, then buried his face in her hair. "God, I love you."

"Yeah," she whispered, her smile pressed into his chest. "Me too."

And under the canopy of light and leaves, with the garden humming softly around them and love stitched into the very air they breathed, they stayed—hearts mended, wounds still healing, but whole in the ways that mattered most. Together. Finally. And without fear.