As suspected, your mother is seated next to your father, eyebrows drawn into a tense line as she watches you walk into the living room.
Doyoung sits beside them on the sofa, an empty gap between him and your parents. He looks tired, eyes blinking away sleep, shoulders hunched. He twiddles his thumbs, resting his forearms on his knees. Hearing your footsteps, he looks up and smiles despite his exhaustion.
"Y/n," he says wearily.
"Mum, Dad. Doyoung," you nod in greeting, taking a seat between him and your parents.
"Mum, I'm sorry about earlier–"
"Is this who you had dinner with? Instead of your family? You didn't even have the decency to introduce your boyfriend to us. How long have you two been dating? How long have you been keeping secrets from us?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, exasperated. "I had dinner with him, and we've only started dating today, okay? I've never kept secrets from you. Why do you always have to do this?" you add bitterly.
"Do what?"
"Interrogate me about everything in my life. I know you care about me, but I'm an adult now. It's okay to take a step back, you know? It gets suffocating at times, trying to live up to your expectations of a perfect relationship and balance between a job and university. And I'm tired of it all."
Your mother inhales deeply, then stands up and takes a good look at you.
"I'm giving you one chance to take that back."
For a moment, you're almost inclined to take up her offer—but the moment passes, and you shake your head firmly. She stares at you, mouth agape, and you glare back at her defiantly. "I said what I said."
She throws her hands up in the air. "You know what? Fine. I give up. I'll stop caring if that will make you any happier. If you'd rather be neglected than have parents that are concerned for your wellbeing."
She turns away and walks into your room without any further statements. Your father lets out a sigh, and turns towards you, avoiding your gaze. He rests one hand on your shoulder, jerking his chin towards the closed door. "You should say sorry to your mother."
You shake your head. "No, I won't. Not until she's willing to have a proper conversation about this. It's been building up for way too long, and I'm sick of always being the first to reach out."
"I'm trying to protect you," your father pleads. "Just say sorry to her, and it'll all be okay."
You scoff. "And then, what? We'll all be happy? No, I'll just keep holding on to these grudges, and they'll continue to build up in my chest, and all this resentment is bound to bubble over at some point. What are you going to do when that happens? Keep asking me to apologise? No. I'm done doing that. I don't need your 'protection' anymore. I just need the two of you to start treating me like an adult."
"Do you have no respect for–"
"Sir, please." Your father fixes Doyoung with a glare for the uncalled-for interruption. Doyoung bows his head meekly, but he doesn't take back what he's said.
"I'm sorry for interrupting. I know it's not my place–"
"Since you know it's not your place, then keep quiet and stay out of it."
"–but I can't just sit and watch you argue. I believe that the three of you will be able to settle this, but I don't think this is the best time to do so. Y/n's had a long day, and I'm sure you and Y/n's mum are tired from your ride here as well. How about all three of you sleep on it, then discuss it again in the morning, when you're feeling more refreshed?"
Your father is practically seething, but Doyoung keeps his gaze low and his head bowed. He speaks softly, with a measured tone, and it works. Your father takes a deep breath, and as he exhales, the muscles in his face relax, and his frown disappears.
"You have a point. Let's do that." Your father looks at you, and you nod. "Good night, Y/n. Sleep well. We'll talk about this tomorrow."
As you watch him leave, it feels like the bindings around your chest have been loosened, and you breathe a sigh of relief. "Good night, Dad," you whisper.
You drag the air mattress out from the depths of your closet, popping the plug on it and waiting for it to inflate. Doyoung sits on the floor, back pressed against your bed, watching you silently.
"What're you watching me for?"
"I'm waiting for my bed," he answers. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
"Aren't I sleeping on the air mattress?"
You slowly unknot your features, shaking your head slightly, replying. "No, I am. You're sleeping on the bed."
"There's no need to be so courteous–"
"Doyoung, you're a guest. I'm not going to make you sleep on the air mattress."
Doyoung pouts, looking at the bed sulkily. He slowly rises to his feet, landing on his back on the bed. He stretches out his arms, as if making a snow angel, lifting his neck to look at you. You tug at the air mattress, pushing it into the space between the wall and the bed, gathering one of the spare blankets from your closet in your arms.
"Move your legs," you mumble tiredly, struggling to move your mattress with Doyoung's feet in the way. He lifts his feet, resting his heels on the bed, and you heave the mattress, causing it to slide across the floor, right into the space where you want it.
"Gonna turn off the lights," you say, words slurred by sleep. Doyoung vaguely nods, and you switch off the light before finally getting to collapse on the mattress in a heap of tangled limbs and fabric. You pull the blanket over your legs, getting into a comfortable position before shutting your eyes and preparing to sleep.
You've only had your eyes closed for a few moments when you feel something nudging against your biceps, and you blink your eyes open, greeted with the sight of Doyoung's hand dangling over the side of the bed.
"Feels awfully lonely on this big bed with just one person," he comments. Lying on the mattress and staring up at the plain white ceiling, obscured by the darkness, you have to agree. Despite the numerous times you've slept alone, you don't think your room has ever felt this big before.
You reach up, sliding your hand into Doyoung's, and the pounding of your heart slowly grows softer, your breathing easing. "Usually it doesn't feel too bad," you tell him.
Doyoung pats the bed with his free hand. "Do you want to lie here with me? There's enough space for both of us." It's true; you would know better than anyone, because it's your bed, and you've lain in it next to Phoebe countless times.
Still, you hesitate, squeezing Doyoung's hand. "Are you sure you won't be uncomfortable?"
Doyoung shakes his head, then remembers that you can't see it. "Positive."
You sit up and look over at him, and he meets your unsure eyes with a smile, sitting up and patting the empty space beside him. You climb onto the bed and snuggle under the blanket, and he ruffles your hair.
In his head, Doyoung reminds himself to add this to his ever-growing list of times that you made him smile without realising it.
The fact that it's only been one day since Doyoung's become your boyfriend is still a little jarring to him. He's not completely over it yet, but he hasn't really had any time to process it.
Waking up in your bed—with you by his side—feels too surreal to be true. Your fingers are interlaced with his, arms resting next to each other, the blanket crumpled at your feet: one of you must have kicked it off in the night. He shifts onto his side so he can admire your serene expression, only truly at rest in sleep.
He places a kiss on your cheek, causing you to wake. You turn to face him, and your lips meet his.
"Good morning, gorgeous." You smile lazily, moving forward to kiss Doyoung again. He backs away, forcing you to open your eyes so you can find his face. "I said, good morning."
"Morning, I guess," you reply, visibly unhappy that he didn't let you get a second kiss.
He laughs, flicking your forehead. "Don't forget, you still have to make up with your parents after last night."
You groan, rolling over to your other side. "Don't wanna," you mumble. "'M tired."
Doyoung sits up, playing with a strand of your hair. You snuggle into his lap, and he looks at you fondly. "I don't want to drive a wedge between you and your parents, yeah? So let's get this all cleared up, and then we can be together without complications."
You frown, nose wrinkling up adorably. "I don't think any relationship is without complications."
"Well, we can deal with that later. For now, get up and make breakfast for your parents. I want to make a good impression on them."
You get to your feet, movements slow like you're plowing through mud. You and Doyoung get dressed separately, gathering in the kitchen.
"I can make really good French toast," you pipe up.
"I can make killer pancakes," Doyoung counters.
He stares you down, gaze locked, until you give in, shrugging and pointing at the pan hanging from the wall-hook. "Help yourself."
Doyoung wasn't lying when he said he makes killer pancakes. He's only been in your kitchen for half an hour, and it already smells like heaven. There's a growing stack of pancakes on a plate, each pancake golden-brown and insanely fluffy.
You reach out to try one, and he smacks your hand away. You glare at him, then take two of your nicer plates out from the cupboard and stack three pancakes on each of them..
You look around the kitchen, eyes landing on the—fortunately—ripe bananas, and you pluck one banana from the bunch.
You take the plates and banana out into the dining area, pancakes balancing precariously on the plates. Somehow, you manage to set them down on the table without incident, and you get to peeling and slicing the bananas to put them on the pancakes.
When you're done, you drizzle a little honey over them, and Doyoung brings the rest of the pancakes—the ones that aren't as nicely shaped—into the dining area. He wipes his flour-covered hands on the seat of his pants while you distribute the cutlery.
"Et violà!" You declare proudly. As Doyoung hugs you from the back, you hear the sound of a door opening. You whip your head around, startled, and your mother steps into the living room with a disinterested expression. You pull Doyoung's hands away from you, stepping to the side as your father appears.
You meet Doyoung's eyes, raising your eyebrows, lips pinched together. "I'll... try to talk to them?"
Doyoung nods. "I'll try not to annoy them."
You're not unused to dealing with your mother's constant disagreements with your life decisions, but this time is slightly different. This is the first time you've outright rejected her opinion instead of trying to placate her first. That means that it's more difficult to talk to her now, especially since your mother has always been stubborn.
Your father sits at the table with a pinched smile. "Good morning, Y/n and Doyoung."
"Morning, Uncle."
"Please, call me Stephen."
Doyoung shakes his head. "That's too impolite. I'll call you Uncle Stephen, if that's alright?"
Your father shrugs. "Sure." But even with his nonchalance, you can tell that he's impressed by Doyoung's manners, even if they're not what he's accustomed to.
Your mother pulls out a chair and takes a seat, not touching the food. The two of you stare at each other, both waiting for the other to crack first. Finally, she sighs, not wanting to fight this battle. She picks up the knife and cuts off a piece of the pancake, lifting the fork to her mouth and swallowing.
"Mum, I'm sorry about last night."
Your mother sets her fork down, folding her hands in her lap, waiting for you to continue.
"I didn't mean to make you upset, or to hide secrets from you. I only wanted to introduce Doyoung to you, and I didn't expect your reaction."
"It's fine," she says curtly. It's not forgiveness, but it's how she usually responds to your apologies. It means she won't be holding a grudge, but she needs more time for her anger to fade.
"But," you press on, "I meant what I said. All of it. I'd appreciate it if you guys stopped pestering me so much to live my life the way you want me to live it. I have my own plans. If they match up with yours, good! But if they don't, you can't expect me to change it for you all the time."
"I understand where you're coming from. I can't make this change in attitude overnight. You have to give me time, and I still expect you to consider my opinion. I'm older than you, after all, and I have more experience. We only want what's best for you, and disregarding us completely is going to make life very difficult for yourself," your mother says.
You nod. "Okay."
Your mother opens her arms out, and you walk over to her seat, enveloping her in a hug.
"Come! Let's enjoy this breakfast before it goes cold," your mother says.
Your mother takes another bite of the pancake, eyes widening in amazement. "Did you make this?" she asks.
Mouth full, you shake your head. You point at Doyoung, who blushes furiously. "It's just pancakes," he says shyly.
"No, but they're really good!"
You smile at your mother's compliments, happy that she's satisfied with Doyoung's culinary skills. Like they say, food is the way to one's heart. When it comes to your parents, you definitely agree with this phrase.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
happy new year! hello my loves and welcome to 2024 <3 i wrote this back in december, but i'm so glad to be able to bring some closure to this scene at last. we're coming to an end and i'm honestly so shocked that this story has come this far. i hope you stick with me (and these lovely characters) to the end!