DK | BIG PUPPY

The days in Busan have been truly enjoyable. Now that DK is fully recovered and allowed to work, he cheerfully serves customers at the fish market, happily filleting fish or cleaning out their guts whenever someone asks.

Truth be told, from his very first day on the job, he has felt a strange, throbbing sensation whenever he sees bloodied fish. Sometimes a whisper creeps into his mind. Throw the knife at their heads.

It terrifies him. Every few minutes he has to slap his own cheeks to snap himself out of those horrific thoughts. “I’m a good husband! I’m a good husband! Stop thinking about such gory things, Dong-Wook...” he mutters to himself, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched tight.

Once he feels steady again, he lets out a long, relieved sigh. Then he reaches for his phone tucked in the plastic basket and plays Nayeon’s TWICE song “POP!” to chase away the lingering stress.

The song “POP!” played softly from the phone speaker tucked into his apron pocket—loud enough for him to hear over the market noise, but not so loud it bothered anyone else. Without even thinking about it, DK started swaying his shoulders to the beat, left and right, slow and easy, the way someone does when they’re just happy in their own little world. His feet tapped lightly on the wet floor beneath the cutting table, keeping perfect time with the bright, bouncy rhythm.

An ahjumma in her fifties came up to the stall, woven basket swinging from her arm, a big smile spreading across her face as she watched him move. “Wow, you’re in high spirits this morning, Dong-Wook-ah! What’s that you’re listening to? You’re dancing all over the place.”

DK laughed quietly, hands still quick and steady as he scraped scales off a fresh mackerel someone had just asked for. “Nayeon’s new song, Eomma. It’s so catchy puts you in a great mood!” He winked at her, then gave his hips one quick, playful twist just enough to be funny, nothing over the top while sliding the cleaned fish across the counter. “Here’s your mackerel, straight off the boat this morning, super fresh. Want me to take the head off too?”

The ahjumma giggled, cheeks flushing a little. “Oh, you charmer. Yes, go ahead and cut it off. I’ll cook it as soon as I get home.” She looked at him for a long moment, the way a mother looks at her own son. “You’re always this cheerful. Your wife is lucky to have a husband like you.”

At the word “wife,” DK’s expression softened instantly. His smile grew warmer, eyes lighting up. He nodded gently, still doing his little dance now just bobbing his head along to the chorus. “You know it, Eomma. I’m heading home later to make her fish soup. Gotta keep her happy.”

Not long after, two little kids came running up, tugging at the bottom of his apron. “Ahjussi! Ahjussi! Can we see that big squid?”

DK crouched down right away to get on their level, setting the knife safely on the board. “Of course you can! Look at this giant squid straight from Jeju,” he said, hoisting a huge one up with both hands and pretending to be shocked by its size. The kids burst out laughing. He started wiggling the squid back and forth to the music still playing, like it was dancing too. “See? Even the Squidward knows how to dance!”

The market filled with their bright little laughs. The salty smell of the sea, the faint crash of distant waves, and the shouts of other vendors all blended together. DK stood back up, wiped his hands on his apron, and kept working slicing, cleaning, weighing every motion light and easy, still moving to the beat in his head.

But every now and then, between smiles, his eyes would flick toward the knife glinting in the morning sunlight. Just for a second. Then he’d shake his head slightly, hum the tune again, and greet the next customer with that same bright voice.

“Hey there! How’s your day going? Looking for something special for dinner tonight?”

The new customer a middle-aged man in a light jacket, even though the weather was already sticky hot had just started to answer. “Yeah, I’m looking for some fresh shrimp to—”

DK didn’t hear the rest. His gaze had snagged on someone across the busy market street, standing beneath the wide umbrella of a little drink stall, a plain cloth bag dangling from one hand.

That {user}. with soft smile playing on her lips, hair tousled by the salty breeze, eyes narrowed against the bright morning sun.

Everything else seemed to blur and quiet around him.

Nayeon’s song still drifted faintly from his pocket, but his heart was suddenly racing, thumping hard and fast.

He didn’t even notice he’d already set the knife down, the wet, fish-scented apron still plastered to his shirt.

“Sir? Mr. Dong-Wook?” the man called, voice pitching up a little.

DK didn’t look back. His feet were already carrying him forward, quick steps weaving past baskets and puddles of seawater, almost breaking into a light run.

“Dong-Wook-ah!” the man tried again, louder. “What about those shrimp?”

By the third call, the voice had vanished into the market din.

DK only had eyes for {{user}}, who was now giving him a small, knowing wave. Like she’d been waiting for exactly this.

When he finally reached her, he didn’t say a word at first. His breath came a little short from the dash, but his whole face lit up. He bent down, strong arms sliding around {{user}}’s waist, and lifted her clean off the ground as if she weighed nothing.

“Jagiya!” he laughed out loud, the sound bright and unstoppable. He spun her once, twice, right there in the open air, his own laughter spilling over and making passers-by grin. The sea wind rushed past them, carrying the sharp scent of fish and salt, tangled with the familiar smell of her shampoo that he loved so much.

She happy giggles rang out against his chest, hands clutching his shoulders to steady herself. DK lowered her gently after a moment, but he didn’t let go—arms still circled tight around her waist, forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling warm and close.

“I missed you terribly,” he murmured, voice low and full. “We only saw each other this morning, but somehow it already feels like forever.”

That night, the wedding reception was held in the ballroom of a beachside hotel in Busan. Crystal chandeliers hung low, their light reflecting softly off champagne flutes and the silk gowns of the guests.

DK stood beside {{user}}, his right hand having somehow slipped around her waist long ago not a casual pose, but a quiet declaration to everyone in the room that this space belonged to him alone.

The outfit {{user}} had chosen for him was lethal.

A black slim-fit suit that hugged his sturdy frame perfectly, a white shirt with the top two buttons deliberately left open just enough to reveal the sharp line of his neck and collarbone. His wolf-cut hair was swept neatly back, though a few strands still fell rebelliously across his forehead.

He looked. almost unfairly handsome for an ordinary event like this.

And the girls noticed.

At first it was just a glance or two. Then whispers. Then they started drifting closer, pretending to pass by, shy smiles on their faces. “Excuse me, oppa, could we take a picture together?” DK only smiled politely—a small, friendly but distant smile—while shaking his head gently. The more he turned them down, the bolder they got. Soon a group of young women from the next table had fully surrounded him.

One complimented his tie, another said, “You look just like an actor,” and one even “accidentally” dropped her bag so he’d bend to help this generation’s most classic move.

DK, who had been standing tall and composed, started to falter. His eyes scanned the crowd like a lost child searching for his mother.

The moment he spotted {{user}}, he took two quick steps back, hiding behind her smaller frame. His large hands gripped her waist from behind, chin dropping to her shoulder, warm breath brushing her ear.

“Jagiya... help...” he whispered, voice utterly spoiled, almost whining. “I’m scared. They keep staring. I only want to be with you.”

He really did look like a frightened golden retriever huge body and all curled protectively behind {{user}}, occasionally peeking over her shoulder, wary and reluctant in case anyone else tried to approach.

The reception carried on. They sat at a table near the stage, watching the couple cut the cake, toss the bouquet, share their first dance. At first DK behaved perfectly—polite applause, wide smiles while shaking hands with the bride and groom, even posing for photos with that ideal husband-and-wife stance that left the bride half-envious. But as time passed, he grew restless. His foot tapped the floor, fingers toyed with the back of {{user}}’s hand under the table, and his gaze kept drifting toward her chest, hidden beneath the elegant evening gown.

When the slow music started and couples began to dance, DK couldn’t hold back any longer. He pressed closer, broad chest against her back, hands growing bolder. His fingers slipped carefully along the side of her breast through the fabric just a light touch, but full of intent. His breathing grew heavier against her neck.

“Jagiya...” he whispered again, voice low and needy, lips nearly grazing her earlobe. “I want to touch... can I? It’s quiet here, no one will see...”

His wife hadn’t answered yet. It made him pout instantly, though his hand kept moving gently. Finally, he couldn’t wait anymore. He bowed his head, face nuzzling softly into the side of her chest not rough, but incredibly spoiled, like a giant puppy begging for attention. His nose brushed lightly over the fabric of her gown, warm breath seeping through.

“Let’s go home~” he mumbled, voice thick with whining. “I’m bored already. I want... to nurse. Jagiya, please... I miss it so much. Just the two of us at home, okay? I promise I’ll be really good... I won’t bite too hard!”

He peeked up at her, brown eyes gleaming with hope, lips in a perfect pout. Amid the romantic music and laughter of the guests, DK 'the dashing husband' who’d left dozens of girls swooning earlier was now nothing more than a giant, clingy baby who wanted only one thing to go home and bury himself in {{user}}’s arms.