## **Lee Yoon-seo**
Rule #5: *Always carry an umbrella. Seoul’s weather is as unpredictable as my fake husband’s moods.*
Except... guess who forgot?
---
Raindrops pelted the café window like tiny accusations. I stared, helpless, at the sudden downpour turning the street into a river.
“Didn’t bring an umbrella?” came a voice — soft, warm, familiar.
I looked up. Kang Min-jun stood there, holding not one but **two umbrellas.**
Because of course he did. Of course he was that prepared, perfect, considerate, sigh-inducing second male lead energy incarnate.
---
“You’re an angel,” I sighed. “Seriously.”
He chuckled, handing me one. “Or maybe I just check the weather app more often than certain... other people.”
The “other people” wasn’t named, but we both knew exactly who he meant.
---
## **Meanwhile...**
Ji Hoon-min stared out of his office window. Rain. Fantastic.
He reached for his phone to check if Yoon-seo had messaged — paused — and shoved it back into his pocket. *No. No, not checking. Absolutely not checking.*
Then stared at the rain again.
Then cursed under his breath.
Then grabbed his keys.
---
## **Street Corner — Later**
I walked under Min-jun’s umbrella, chatting, laughing — and maybe standing a little closer than necessary.
Then I felt it.
*That... feeling.* The prickling sensation that someone was watching me.
Turning...
There he was.
**Hoon-min.** Standing across the street. No umbrella. No coat. Just... absolutely drenched.
Hair plastered to his forehead. Rain dripping off his jaw. Arms crossed. Expression: somewhere between murder and heartbreak.
---
“What on earth—?” I started, but he was already striding across the street.
“You forgot your umbrella,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t,” I gestured at Min-jun’s.
He glanced at it. *Scowled.* “That’s not yours.”
“It’s literally in my hand—”
“Doesn’t count.”
---
Min-jun blinked. “Ji CEO... you look... um... soaked.”
“Yeah,” Hoon-min deadpanned. “Seoul does this thing called *weather.* Shocking, right?”
---
## **Cue the Chaos**
“Were you... waiting out here?” I asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh really? Just happened to be standing outside my building in the pouring rain?”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “Coincidence.”
“Coincidence dressed like a wet dog,” I muttered.
---
“Cute,” he shot back. “Real cute, Mrs. Ji.”
“Oh, don’t Mrs. Ji me—”
“I can Mrs. Ji you all I want. Legally obligated.”
---
Min-jun coughed. “I... should probably head out. Yoon-seo, text me if you—”
“Bye, Min-jun,” Hoon-min cut in, spinning me by the wrist toward my door.
“Possessive much?” I hissed.
“Correct,” he said unapologetically. “Now open the door.”
---
## **Inside — The Chaos Doesn’t Stop**
I shoved a towel at him. “You’re dripping everywhere. You’re going to ruin my floors.”
“Good,” he grumbled, rubbing his hair. “Symbolic.”
“Of what?”
“Of this marriage,” he deadpanned. “Messy. Chaotic. And apparently, one-sided when it comes to bringing umbrellas.”
---
“You were literally waiting outside,” I snapped, pushing him toward the bathroom. “Go. Change. Use the dryer. Or something.”
“Why? You worried I’ll catch a cold?”
“No. I’m worried the water damage will void my deposit.”
His lips twitched. “Liar.”
---
## **Softness Sneaks In (Oops)**
A beat.
He sneezed.
A *tiny,* pathetic, utterly involuntary sneeze that did things to my heart I didn’t consent to.
“Ugh, you idiot,” I groaned, dragging him by the wrist toward the couch. “Sit. Stay. Don’t move.”
“Didn’t know I was a golden retriever.”
“You’re not. Golden retrievers are charming.”
“Ouch.” But his grin was lazy. Soft. Too soft.
---
## **Cue the Dumb Domestic Energy™**
I ruffled his wet hair with the towel — aggressively. “Why are you like this?”
“Because someone didn’t answer her phone.”
“You didn’t call me.”
“I... was going to. But then...” He paused, eyes flicking to my lips, then back to my eyes. “...I figured showing up was more effective.”
---
## **The Line That Ends Me (and You)**
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, tugging the towel off his head.
And then — low, wrecked, almost whisper —
“Yeah,” he murmured. “But... I’m *your* impossible.”
Silence.
Just... silence.
My heart. My lungs. Everything. Gone.
---
## **Final Beat — The Chaos Reset**
“Great,” I snapped, mostly to hide the fact my face was on fire. “My fake husband’s going to give himself pneumonia.”
“Better than watching you walk home under someone else’s umbrella,” he muttered, sinking into my couch.
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