Placate

Placate

by Jaewon

Summary:

I messed up badly by forgetting our special anniversary dinner plans, leaving Ahn Hayoung waiting alone at the restaurant. Now my sweet but rightfully angry girlfriend is giving me the cold shoulder, and I’ll do whatever it takes — flowers, terrible cooking, silly apologies, and all my heart — to placate her and make things right again in this fluffy, funny, comforting story.

---

The silence in the apartment was louder than any argument. Hayoung had been home for two hours, and she still hadn’t said more than three words to me. She sat on the couch in her favorite oversized sweater, legs tucked under her, scrolling through her phone with that particular expression she got when she was hurt but trying not to show it — lips pressed together, eyebrows slightly furrowed, eyes not really focused on the screen.

I knew I deserved it. Last night was our two-year anniversary. I had promised her a nice dinner at the place we went on our first real date. Instead, I got caught up in back-to-back meetings, completely lost track of time, and only realized when she texted me at 9 PM asking if I was okay. She had waited at the restaurant for over an hour before going home alone.

I felt like the worst boyfriend alive.

“Hayoung-ah…” I started carefully from the kitchen doorway, holding the slightly burnt cookies I had attempted to bake as a peace offering. “I know I screwed up. Badly. Can we talk?”

She glanced up, gave me a look that was equal parts sad and annoyed, then went back to her phone. “I’m not really in the mood to talk right now.”

Ouch. That one stung. Hayoung was never the type to stay mad for long, but when she did get upset, it was quiet and heavy. The kind of anger that made me want to fix everything immediately.

I set the cookies down and knelt in front of the couch like an idiot, trying to catch her eyes. “I’m really sorry. I have no excuse. I got stressed with work and completely forgot to check the time. You waited for me, and I left you there alone. I hate that I did that to you.”

She finally put her phone down and looked at me. Her eyes were a little red, like she had cried earlier. That hurt worse than anything. “I wasn’t even mad about the dinner at first. I was worried something happened to you. Then I realized you just… forgot. On our anniversary. It made me feel like I’m not important enough to remember.”

Her voice cracked on the last part, and I felt my chest tighten. I reached out slowly and took her hand. She didn’t pull away, which felt like a small victory.

“You are the most important person in my life,” I said earnestly. “I messed up. Big time. And I’m going to spend however long it takes making it up to you. Starting right now.”

She raised an eyebrow, still guarded but listening. “Right now?”

I nodded and stood up, pulling her gently to her feet. “Yes. Operation Placate Hayoung is officially in progress.”

That earned me the tiniest twitch of a smile, which I took as encouragement.

---

First attempt: Flowers. I had bought a big bouquet of her favorite lilies on the way home earlier, but in my panic I’d left them in the car. I ran downstairs and brought them up, presenting them with an exaggerated bow.

“For the most patient, beautiful, and understanding girlfriend in the world,” I declared dramatically.

Hayoung took the flowers, smelling them despite herself. “They’re pretty,” she admitted quietly. “But flowers don’t fix forgetting.”

“I know,” I said. “This is just the opening act. The main show is coming.”

Next, I dragged her to the kitchen. I had prepped ingredients for her favorite pasta earlier as part of my apology plan. Unfortunately, cooking while nervous is not my strong suit. I burned the garlic, over-salted the sauce, and somehow managed to drop half the pasta on the floor.

Hayoung watched from the counter, arms crossed, but I caught her fighting a smile when I cursed at the boiling water that splashed me.

“You’re terrible at this,” she said, but there was amusement in her voice now.

“I’m trying my best,” I replied, scraping what I could salvage onto plates. “This is my ‘I’m an idiot but I love you’ special.”

She took one bite and immediately made a face. “It’s… salty. Really salty.”

I tasted it and nearly choked. “Okay, Plan B. Takeout?”

She finally laughed — a small, reluctant sound, but real. “You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make you eat the whole thing.”

That laugh felt like winning the lottery. I quickly ordered her favorite chicken and sides, then sat next to her on the couch while we waited.

“I really am sorry,” I said again, more seriously this time. “Not just for forgetting the dinner. For making you feel unimportant. You’re my priority, Hayoung. Always. Work got in the way, and I let it. I won’t let that happen again.”

She leaned against my shoulder, the anger slowly melting. “I know you didn’t mean to. But it still hurt. I got dressed up, sat there waiting, and kept checking my phone thinking maybe something bad happened. Then I realized you just forgot. It made me question if we’re okay.”

“We are okay,” I promised, wrapping an arm around her. “Better than okay. I’m going to do better at showing you that every day.”

The food arrived, and we ate together on the couch, her legs draped over mine. She stole my fries like always, and I pretended to be annoyed. Little by little, the tension eased. She started telling me about her day on set — the funny director who kept mixing up names, the co-star who tripped during a serious scene. I listened like it was the most important story in the world, asking questions and laughing at the right parts.

When we finished eating, I pulled out my secret weapon: the photo album I had secretly made months ago but never gave her. It was filled with pictures of us — blurry selfies from secret dates, her sleeping peacefully on my chest, silly couple photos we took during vacations.

“I made this for our anniversary,” I explained, handing it to her. “I was going to give it to you at dinner last night. There are notes on the back of each photo.”

Hayoung opened it slowly, flipping through the pages. Her expression softened more with every turn. She read the handwritten notes — stupid jokes, sincere memories, little things I loved about her. By the middle, tears were slipping down her cheeks again, but this time they were different.

“You remembered all this?” she whispered, tracing a photo of us at the beach last summer.

“Every single moment,” I said. “I might forget reservations, but I never forget how lucky I am to have you.”

She closed the album and tackled me into a hug, burying her face in my neck. “I was so mad at you. But you’re making it really hard to stay mad.”

“Good,” I murmured, holding her tight. “Because I hate when you’re mad at me. I’ll do anything to make my girl smile again.”

We stayed like that for a while, just hugging. Then she pulled back and kissed me — soft at first, then deeper, full of forgiveness and love. When we broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine.

“You’re forgiven,” she said quietly. “Mostly. But you still owe me a proper anniversary dinner. No forgetting this time.”

“Deal,” I promised. “Tomorrow night. I already made the reservation again. And I put it in my calendar with three reminders.”

She laughed, the sound light and beautiful. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” I corrected, kissing her nose.

---

The rest of the night was pure comfort. We watched one of her favorite movies, the one she always cried at even though she pretended she didn’t. I held her through the sad parts, teasing her gently when she sniffled. She retaliated by stealing my blanket and poking my sides until I laughed.

At one point she turned to me during a quiet scene. “Thank you for trying so hard tonight. I know I can be stubborn when I’m hurt.”

“I’d try a thousand times harder if it meant making you happy again,” I said honestly. “You deserve someone who remembers the important things. I’m going to be better at that.”

She kissed me softly. “You already are. Most of the time.”

We fell asleep on the couch together, her head on my chest, my arms around her. The anger was gone, replaced by the warm, familiar comfort we always found in each other.

The next morning, I woke up first and made breakfast — successfully this time, with her favorite strawberry pancakes. When she shuffled into the kitchen, sleepy and cute in my t-shirt, she smiled at the sight.

“You’re really going all out with the placating, huh?” she teased, wrapping her arms around me from behind.

“Only the best for my favorite girl,” I replied, turning to kiss her properly. “Happy belated anniversary, Hayoung.”

She hugged me tighter, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Happy anniversary. Next year, you’re not allowed to forget.”

“Never again,” I promised.

And as we ate breakfast together, laughing over nothing and planning our makeup date, I felt grateful for moments like this. For the ability to mess up, own it, and still be loved anyway. Hayoung wasn’t just my girlfriend — she was the person who made me want to be better every single day.

Even when I was an idiot who forgot important dates.

(From my drafts. - Jaewon)