Chapter 94: Forehead Seals and Supermarket Schemes

The wedding was, as expected, extravagantly grand. At Grandfather’s request, I stayed until the bride and groom’s entrance to avoid any criticism, but once the photo session began and crowds swarmed like clouds, I figured skipping the face-in-every-shot part wouldn’t matter. I’d already greeted the couple and handed over the monetary gift—mission accomplished.

Slipping away from the bustling crowd, Doyoon and I headed to the band performance. It was fun and lively, but honestly, the only thing I remember clearly is Doyoon’s radiant smile after the show when he asked, “Was it helpful?” His face was so beautiful it outshone the music. At this point, I felt guilty enough for lying about liking the band that I resolved to hunt down some band-related movies later.

By the time the wedding and performance ended, the sky had darkened considerably. We reached my place quickly, but Doyoon, claiming he was full, suggested a walk. Neither of us had eaten much, yet I pretended to be stuffed too. Walking side by side felt a bit awkward, the silence comfortable until Doyoon suddenly spoke.

“Hyung, don’t you ever think about marriage? You were watching the ceremony so intently.”

Startled, I played it cool. “The bride’s dress was interesting, that’s all. I’m not really into it.”

A brief silence followed. Doyoon’s fingertips brushed lightly against the back of my hand as we walked.

“Because of that noona? The one you were engaged to…”

I looked at him, surprised. This was the first time Doyoon mentioned Julia. I shook my head immediately. “Ria? No, nothing like that.”

Ria and I had become friends who occasionally checked in on each other—same as before, really. But Doyoon’s darkened expression suggested he thought I was lying. “Seunghee noona said you were really hurt back then. And the reason… well, you know.”

I had nothing to say about why the engagement ended. To Doyoon, who didn’t know Ria and I had planned it, it must’ve seemed like she’d played me. Acting overly chill would only raise suspicion. Doyoon sighed. “I’m grateful to her for one thing.”

“Why?”

“Because it made you give up on marriage. I was honestly a bit worried when you said you were going to the wedding.”

“No, it’s really not…”

It truly wasn’t about her. Why was he being so serious about this? I said without thinking, “My marriage isn’t important at all.”

What matters is your marriage. This was the perfect moment to ask, “So when are you getting married?” But my tongue stuck like glue; no words came. Instead of sounding like a nosy relative at a holiday gathering, I took a deep breath and managed, “…Worry about yourself.”

He answered instantly. “I always worry about myself. But I won’t marry until you do.”

I forced a loud “Haha!” Knowing he didn’t mean much by it, I still felt my heart wobble like a shaky bridge. I teased back, “Weird. I’m not marrying until you do either.”

Doyoon, who’d been staring ahead, stopped abruptly and looked at me, serious. “Wanna bet? First to marry loses. Winner gets one wish from the loser—anything.”

“…Sure.”

It was a bet I was guaranteed to win, yet it didn’t feel as good as it should.

Doyoon didn’t smile, and an ambiguous tension hung between us. Silence was awkward, but speaking seemed riskier.

Unable to handle the rising pressure, I turned toward home. Doyoon followed naturally. We didn’t speak until we reached the apartment entrance. Staring at the ground, I felt every inch of my skin tingling, pulled toward him.

At the first floor, Doyoon suddenly followed me to the elevator—unlike our usual goodbyes outside. I looked at him, startled, as he grinned. “We can part at the door, right?”

My lips trembled slightly. No…

But why not?

Before I could process, the elevator doors slid open. Doyoon stepped in first, and I followed, entranced, as if transported six years back. The doors closed, and suddenly he grabbed my right hand tightly. Our eyes met for a split second; I hurriedly stared at my shoes, barely breathing. I managed to press the 20th-floor button, and in the brief ride, I felt trapped in a vacuum.

Ding! The spell broke. I stumbled slightly but steadied myself, stepping out. Forcing a smile at Doyoon, I leaned against my door. “Thanks. Had fun.”

“…What’re you doing tomorrow?”

His deep eyes pierced my soul. I met his burning gaze. “Just resting.”

“Then rest at my place?”

“What, why…?”

“Or…”

Still holding my hand, he stepped closer, whispering, “Can you let me in?”

It was nothing special, yet my face flushed. I bit my lip nervously. “Today… no. I’m tired, want to rest alone.”

I added unnecessarily, “If you wanna come when I’m not here, anytime. Password’s the same.”

Doyoon shook his head firmly. “Not like that. I want you to let me in. Open the door for me with your own hands.”

I could barely breathe. Swallowing hard, I mumbled another weak excuse. “…Haven’t cleaned.”

Doyoon chuckled, as if he’d predicted it, then lowered his voice. “I know you’re being lenient with me, so why do I still feel so nervous?”

His low voice growled like a lion. He stepped closer; my back hit the cold metal door. One arm rose, hand by my ear, trapping me between him and the door. I flinched visibly. Our chests nearly touched. I feared he’d hear my pounding heart. Looking down at me, he said, “…Is it because I’m still too young?”

His warm breath grazed my lips. The overstimulation made my vision flash white. Keeping my eyes open was all I could manage. Doyoon steadied my swaying waist with his other hand, smiling softly. “I’ve been practicing a new dish. I’d love for you to try it—tell me if it’s good.”

Hypnotized, I stared into his brown eyes. My mouth moved on its own. “What… are you making?”

His eyes sparkled. “We’ll decide while shopping together at the market.”

“Market…?”

“Oh, you only go to department stores, right?”

“…That’s not the issue.”

How did shopping together become part of the plan? But Doyoon gently hugged me, running a hand through my hair from bottom to top—exactly like that time in his bed. My words choked. In the sudden silence, he continued, “I’ll take you to my usual market. Need ingredients to cook. I’ll pick you up at ten. Stay awake till then, okay?”

“What… why are you deciding…”

I barely heard him. Stammering, I stared as he gazed into my eyes, face inching closer.

The air froze.

Then, Doyoon pressed his soft lips to my forehead like a stamp and released me. I stiffened like a statue.

Dazed, as if a Dementor had sucked out my soul, I watched him flash a grin and take the elevator down. My legs gave out; I braced against the wall with my palms.

No time to yell, What was that?!

It was so brief, but I’d thought his lips were aiming elsewhere. The mix-up was so mortifying I couldn’t even scream.

That night, buried under my blanket, I searched “how old is too old for sibling kisses,” “grown younger brother kissing,” and more, sleepless. Results flooded with “hilarious videos of purposely kissing little brothers to annoy them (volume warning)” and “cute yearly-age-gap brothers kissing.” I silently tore at my hair.

The next day, Doyoon arrived exactly at ten to pick me up. Unlike me—eyes bloodshot from searching “French kiss,” “bijou,” “forehead kiss,” “sibling kiss,” “guys kissing”—he looked refreshingly bright.

Hiding my haggard face under a black cap, I snapped irritably, “That excited to grocery shop?”

“No, I’m happy you’re opening up to me a bit.”

His sudden words silenced me again. Please stop with the confusing lines—my head’s going to explode.