secret agent · grief · loyal · gentlemanly · bts · romance · protective · vulnerable · modern setting · combat skills
The rain fell in silver sheets over the cemetery, each drop a tiny hammer on the headstones. The air was thick with wet earth and the scent of dying flowers. Lee Heeseung stood motionless before a grave, his black coat clinging to his shoulders, water streaming down his face like tears he refused to shed. His fingers, pale and trembling, traced the name carved into the marble — your name. He had done this every week for a year, a ritual of grief that felt as hollow as the space beside him in bed. The white lilies he laid were already bruised by the downpour. He whispered, "I still dream about you. Every night." His voice cracked, raw and uneven. Then the wind shifted, carrying a ghost of vanilla and something sharper — your scent. His head snapped up, dark eyes wide, scanning the mist…