Only You (YeonGyu)

Chapter 29: Rain and Thunder

The black sedan pulled up just outside the house, sleek and cold like the woman inside it. Mrs. Choi never stepped out unless necessary. Power didn’t walk—it summoned.

Inside the tinted vehicle, her voice cut through the stillness like a knife.

“Report.”

Across from her, Park Chanyeol sat rigidly, hands clasped, eyes forward.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he began. “Beomgyu’s been attending classes regularly. No violations. No attempts to contact Mr. Choi Yeonjun. I’ve kept him under close observation as instructed.”

Mrs. Choi’s gaze narrowed, sharp and unreadable. “You’re certain?”

Chanyeol nodded once. “I’ve positioned myself within visual range during transition periods. His routines are consistent—library, and study group with Taehyun and Huening Kai. No deviation. No suspicious behavior.”

A beat.

“And Yeonjun?” she asked, voice like ice.

Chanyeol hesitated. “He’s kept his distance. No contact that I’ve seen.”

Mrs. Choi leaned back, her nails tapping lightly against the armrest. “Good. He’s smart enough to know what’s at stake.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I’ll be seeing my son personally. Stay outside. I don’t want you hovering when I speak to him.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The knock was sharp—controlled.

Beomgyu already knew who it was.

He opened the door to find Mrs. Choi standing like a figure carved from stone, her expression unreadable beneath a flawless veneer. She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, like this wasn’t his room but just another one of her neatly filed case studies.

“You look tired,” she said, scanning him clinically. “Eyes sunken. Shoulders tense. Still not sleeping well?”

“I’m fine,” Beomgyu muttered, voice low.

“You don’t look fine.”

He stared at her, a dull ache rising in his chest.

Since when do you care how I look?

His mother had always noticed things like his posture, his tone, his attitude—but never out of concern. Only when it reflected badly on the family. When he was younger, his mistakes weren’t met with compassion—they were met with scolding, detentions, silence at dinner. Cold, calculated discipline. Never warmth.

And now suddenly she was asking about his sleep?

The shift made his skin crawl.

“You haven’t been trying to contact Yeonjun, I assume,” she said, her voice still level, still professional. “Chanyeol tells me you’ve been obedient.”

Obedient. Not okay. Not safe. Just… compliant.

“I’m following your ‘plan,’” Beomgyu said, trying not to let the sarcasm slip through.

“Good. Predictability is healthy in emotionally volatile situations.”

There it was again—the therapist tone. Not motherly, not loving. Just diagnostic. Distant.

But beneath it, something more unsettling: this illusion she was crafting of herself as a caring parent. And for a moment, it almost worked. Almost.

Because part of Beomgyu—the part that still wished for normal parents, real parents—wanted to believe her, and wanted to believe she was finally seeing him.