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EVENTUALLY.

FOREVER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)

MASTERLIST

Synopsis: You and Chris chose future over love once, and it cost you everything you didn’t know how to name. Years later, you wonder if the right person ever truly becomes the wrong time. (18k words)

Author's note: This is the final part of Eventually. Hope you enjoy the journey (and the angst as well 🫣). Congratulations and thank you for making it this far. ❣️

That night, after Chris leaves, the house feels too still.

You stand by the window longer than you should, staring at the empty space where his car had been just minutes ago. The porch light hums softly above you, and for a second you almost expect him to come back, say he forgot something, say he changed his mind. But he doesn’t.

You lock the door, climb the stairs, and slip into your old bedroom. You sit at the edge of your bed and let the quiet settle in.

Chris is here. Of all the places in the world, of all the cities you could have run into each other, he found you here—at your childhood home, on a random night when you weren’t even supposed to be in town.

You lie back slowly, staring at the ceiling.

He said he’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. To hangout? Or is it a date?

Your heart does something reckless in your chest. You roll onto your side and bury your face into your pillow, groaning softly at yourself. You’re not eighteen anymore. You run a company. You’ve handled billion worth of business deals and meetings. And yet one look from him tonight had you stammering like a teenager again.

You replay the moment he said, “It’s really you.” The way his eyes softened. The way he looked… relieved.

You press your palm over your chest and ask yourself. Is this a good thing?

The last time your lives collided like this, it hurt. It was beautiful and terrifying and full of almosts. You were the one who told him to chase his dream. You were the one who walked away because you thought you were doing the right thing. And years later, you’re still not sure if you were.

You slowly exhale air and close your eyes. You’ve rebuilt yourself carefully since then—brick by brick. After the broken engagement. After the canceled wedding. After the whispers. After convincing yourself that maybe love just wasn’t meant for you.

Chris feels like something that could unravel all of that. Or maybe… something that could make it make sense.

If this is going to happen again, you don’t want it to be half-hearted. You don’t want it to be fueled by nostalgia or loneliness. You want it to be real. You walk to the mirror, studying yourself—the woman you’ve become. Stronger. Smarter. Guarded in ways you weren’t back then.

And still… when he smiled at you tonight, you felt like the girl who waited on the bleachers with a lunchbox in her lap.

Maybe this isn’t about whether crossing paths again is good or bad. Maybe it’s about whether you’re brave enough now to choose differently.

So you climb into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin, staring at the ceiling in the dark. You fall asleep not thinking about what went wrong, but wondering what might finally go right.

-

The car ride settles into something that feels like nostalgia.

Chris drives slow with music plays low in the background, just enough to fill the space between you. The car gliding through the streets you know a little too well. It feels natural in a way that almost startles you, like slipping into a memory you didn’t realize your body still remembered.

And yet, something is different.

Not just that you’re older now. Not just that time has layered itself onto both of you. Somehow, you’re even more nervous than you were at eighteen. Back then, everything felt possible in a reckless, fearless way. Now, every glance, every pause feels weighted.

The car stops at a red light and Chris rests one hand on the center console, turning his head toward you. “How’s your mom?”

“I guess she’s doing great,” you answer. “She’s on a cruise. The one I got her for her birthday.”

He raises his brows, impressed. “Wow.”

You shrug. “She’s probably enjoying the bottomless margaritas as we speak.”

He laughs and then teasingly says, “Look at you! Being a good daughter and all.”

You turn your head his way, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’ve always been a good daughter.”

“Alright,” he says, amused. “I stand corrected.”

The light is still red, and now that you’ve started talking, it feels easier to keep going. “So… why are you here?”

He exhales softly, eyes back on the road. “It’s still my hometown.”

“Right. But you’re not—” You hesitate for a second and end up letting out a dry, humorless laugh. “I mean, are you not coaching right now?”

“My contract has just ended,” he simply explains. “They offered to extend it, but I’ve also got another offer. Somewhere else.”

You glance at him. “So you’re… taking time off?”

“Yeah. Thinking things through.”

You poke fun without thinking. “Wow. Didn’t think you’d be a hot commodity.”

He grins, unmistakably pleased. “I am hot.”

Somehow, your cheeks heating at his immediate answer. But you manage to let out a scoff. “Oh, please.”

The light turns green. He eases the car forward, smile lingering as he focuses on driving.

You can wait, patiently following the streets he takes to know where he’s taking you. But after a minute, you ask anyway, “So… where are we going?”

He keeps his eyes on the road for a few seconds longer than necessary. Then he glances at you, a playful, dimpled grin plastered his face.

“First,” he says, “we need to update our stats.”

A moment later, the car pulls into a bowling alley parking lot. You stare at the glowing sign for a second, then look over at him. “This is what you meant by updating our stats?”

He grins as he parks. “Absolutely.”

You snort. “So you can prove you’re still the same loser who can’t bowl?”

His mouth falls open in exaggerated offense. “Excuse you?”

You unbuckle slowly, unfazed. “Historically speaking, your average was… tragic.”

“I have improved,” he insists, already stepping out of the car. “I’m way better now. Possibly the best.”

You follow him inside, shrugging coyly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder, competitive fire lighting his eyes. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

You smile to yourself because some things really don’t change at all.

-

The game turns competitive almost immediately. You tighten the shoelaces on your bowling shoes before getting up and picking a ball to throw. Honestly, you feel a little nervous because the last time you played bowling was years ago. You’re not sure if you’re still good but you think you can rely on muscle memory. And luck.

You take the the ball, feeling the weight in your hand as you walk up toward the lane and exhale air to calm yourself. As you figure how hard, how fast you should throw the ball, you feel a presence behind you. Then, a pair of hands on each side of your waist.

“You aim and throw the ball that way,” Chris says, his warm breath brushing your ears as he speaks.

One hand moves to your elbow as he teaches you how to bowl like you’re new to this. “And try to knock down as much pins as you can,” he further explains.

You try not to focus much on the way his body lingering close behind you or the heat of his body slowly seeping into yours. Or the way his thumb lightly rubbing over the skin on your arm. You scoff and surprise him with an elbow to this stomach.

“Ow!” Chris yelps rather dramatically.

Before he can distract you again, you throw the ball down the lane with practiced ease. You watch as the ball knocks down a few pins. It doesn’t strike, but it’s solid. You turn around and find Chris has his tongue poking his cheek, unimpressed.

“So you’ve been secretly training, huh?” he says as he takes a step back.

You coyly shrug and confidently say, “Maybe I’ve just always been better than you.”

That seems to rile him up in the best way. He scoffs, grabs his ball, and lines up. “Watch and learn.”

The ball veers just slightly off, clipping pins instead of knocking them clean. Not terrible—but not impressive either.

You raise your hands and feigning tremor. “Wow. I’m shaking.”

“Relax,” he says, waving you off. “I’m warming up.”

Between turns, he gets bold. He leans forward as he’s selecting a ball with more focus than when he throws it. His eyes flicking up to yours as he smirks and says, “My form’s gotten really good over the years, you know. Endurance, control—”

You cut in with a snort. “And you think that would help?”

His hand stops on a ball. “Yeah.”

“Help you with what?” you ask while daringly staring into his eyes.

Chris smirks. He looks down at the ball he chooses, slowly slipping his fingers into the holes and lifts it— muscles flexed, veins strained across his arms. “With my bowling performance, of course,” he says innocently.

You look away, facing the lane to not entertain him further.

He positions himself on the lane, ready to take his turn. But before that, he looks over his shoulder and says, “Get your head out of the gutter.”

You roll your eyes but your cheeks warm anyway.

He throws the ball and it glides straight toward the pins but somehow, by some unexplained phenomenon, the ball turns sideway and into the gutter. When he turns around with his hands on his head, wincing.

You get up from your seat and say his words back to him. “I think you’re the one who should get your head out of the gutter.”

Chris only grins as he watches you take your turn. You step up—only for him to suddenly hold up a hand. “Wait.”

You turn, annoyed. “If you’re trying to sabotage me—”

He crouches down instead and reaches for your sneaker. Your protest dies as he ties your open shoelace. When he looks up at you, your eyes meet for a brief moment but enough for you to notice the way his expression softens, playful confidence melting into something deeper. Your heart stumbles but you school your face to keep neutral.

“Can’t have you blaming me when you trip,” he says lightly, standing.

You clear your throat and joke, “I’d still strike even when I tripped.”

Chris huffs an offended sigh. “Yeah, sure.”

You throw the ball in confidence and to your surprise, you bowl a strike. You don’t even look back, but put on a triumphant smile and lift your arms in victory.

By the final frame, the score is undeniable.

Chris studies the screen, then sighs. “Okay. Fine. I lost.”

“Admitting defeat? Wow, maturity looks good on you,” you tease with a grin.

He holds back a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dinner’s on me.”

-

The diner feels exactly the same.

Same cracked vinyl booths. Same faint smell of grease and coffee. Same low hum of conversation layered with clinking plates. You slide into the booth across from Chris, and before the food even arrives, you’re already bickering.

“I still think the lane was crooked,” he says, stealing a fry from your plate.

“You just can’t accept that I beat you fair and square,” you reply, swatting his hand away.

“You distracted me.”

“You distracted yourself.”

By the time your burgers arrive, the awkwardness has completely dissolved. Bowling did its job—it cracked something open, loosened the years between you. You laugh easier now, tease without second-guessing, talk like the silence never stretched as long as it did.

The bell above the diner door jingles and a group of high schoolers pours in, loud and energetic, a few of them wearing the same blue-and-black varsity jackets from your old school. You lean back in your seat with a soft sigh as the memories rush in all at once.

Chris notices it too. You’re both watching the same thing—the way they crowd into a booth, talking over each other, laughing like time is endless.

“Things were easier back then,” you murmur.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Then he glances at you. “Well, not all things.”

You smirk. “Your math struggles, for one.”

He groans. “That will never get easier.”

You laugh, the sound light and warm.

Chris looks back at the group, expression thoughtful now. “They don’t know it yet,” he says quietly, “but this is probably the best time of their lives.”

You nod, feeling it settles in your chest. Youth. Blissful ignorance. The way everything feels big and small at the same time. Not caring about anything but the present.

There are so many questions hovering on your tongue—about him, about that night on the boulder, about the years in between—but you swallow them down. At least, not here. Not yet.

Instead, you smile at him over your fries. “Want to take a trip down memory lane?”

His grin spreads slowly, knowing exactly what you mean. “I’d love a trip down memory lane.”

-

Chris keeps one hand on the wheel as he drives while you talk about running into Aaron at the tech expo, about how surreal it felt to see someone from high school in a place so far removed from where you all started. You mention Celia’s baby shower and meeting more people you know from school, the reminder that some people grow in entirely new directions—and some stay achingly the same.

He listens quietly, attentive in that way he’s always had. “So,” he says suddenly, glancing over at you, “what’s changed about me?”

You almost laugh. Internally, the answers come too fast—broader shoulders, stronger build, the way age has settled into him in a way that only made him more attractive. The confidence. The steadiness.

But you don’t say any of that. Not when you know it’s going to make him cocky. Instead, you shrug. “You’re less annoying.”

“That’s a lie.”

“You asked,” you say innocently.

Then you turn the question back on him. “What about me?”

He hums, thoughtful, eyes back on the road. For a moment, you think he might dodge it. “I think you’re the same,” he answers.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “The same, huh?”

He smirks, finally looking your way. “I mean—you’re still as beautiful.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. But inside, your heart flutters.

He laughs, clearly pleased with himself.

The car slows, then turns into the parking lot of the elementary school. The building looms ahead, quiet and dark, windows reflecting nothing but night. You get out of the car first, the quiet, slightly eerie atmosphere sending a faint shiver down your spine. You’re still staring at it when you feel hands settle on your shoulders.

Chris drapes his jacket over you carefully, holding it open so you can slip your arms into the sleeves. His hands linger on your shoulders after, then sliding down your arms, smoothing the fabric. Whether it’s practicality or an excuse to touch you, you’re not sure, but you shiver anyway.

“Thanks,” you murmur, turning your head slightly.

He smiles, then turns on the flashlight on his phone and leads the way. Together, you move past the playground, through the fence, into the woods behind the school.

-

The night is quiet. The trees whisper softly overhead. Shadows stretch longer, branches creak softly overhead, and the path you once knew by heart now feels uneven beneath your feet. You squint, stepping carefully, trying to remember where the ground dips and where the rocks hide.

Chris glances back at you, amused. “You know, maybe your eyesight’s getting worse. Old age and all.”

You scowl at him. “I’m not old.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums. “You just sound like it.”

You open your mouth to retort but your foot catches on a rock. You stumble forward, already bracing yourself for the fall, but Chris’s hand is there instantly, reaching back for you. You don’t hesitate to take his hand, fingers curling around his without thinking.

“Careful,” he murmurs, tightening his hold and guiding you forward now, slowing his pace to match yours.

You’re following the pull of his hand through the dark, every step made easier by the warmth grounding you. The woods don’t seem so intimidating anymore. The night feels softer, held at bay by the simple fact that he’s here.

The boulder finally comes into view, just as rough, as big and as stubborn as you remember.

You shine the light over its surface and there, carved into the stone, are two sets of initials. Yours. And his. Uneven, shallow in places, worn by time but it’s there. From the day you graduated. From the day everything felt both ending and just beginning.

You step closer, fingertips brushing over the grooves. The rock is cold beneath your touch, but the memory is warm and immediate. You trace the letters slowly, like recalling a moment from the past.

You smile as you let go and walk around to the other side. The city stretches out below you, lights scattered like constellations fallen to earth. It’s still breathtaking. Still mesmerizing. Still exactly the same in the ways that matter.

You barely have time to take it in before you feel hands grip your waist. “Chris—!”

You softly gasp as he lifts you off the ground, carries you like it’s nothing, and sets you on top of the boulder. You grab onto his shoulders instinctively, laughing breathlessly as you steady yourself.

He exhales dramatically when he lets go. “You’re heavier now.”

You fix the hem of your dress. “…Thanks?”

He grins, completely unapologetic, then hops up after you without any trouble at all, settling beside you and dusting his hands together like he didn’t just manhandle you.

You eye his right leg and carefully ask. “Is your knee okay? You made that look way too easy.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he says simply.

You nod, accepting his answer as it is and look ahead, to the view of the city. The quiet feels comfortable as the two of you sit there, feet dangling, city lights glowing below.

After a while, you sigh. “You were right,” you say softly. “Even after all these years, it’s still beautiful.”

You glance at him and his eyes already on you, smiling. “I know I’m right,” he says.

You hesitate, then inhale air to finally ask, “Was it hard?”

He looks at you. “What?”

“The injury,” you clarify and hesitate when you continue the sentence. “And retiring early.”

He nods once and twice, like he’s forming and calculating words in his head first before speaking. “Yeah. At first. Physical therapy sucked. Losing what I thought my future would be sucked more.”

He softly exhales air and then shrugs lightly. “But I realized I was lucky. I can still walk. I can still use my body. I still get to be on the field—even if it’s not the same way.”

He looks at you and offers a faint smile even though he’s the one who’s needing the consolation. “I’m glad I’m still here.”

You can’t imagine yourself in that position, getting forced to give up your dream when you’ve barely begun. But you smile anyway because Chris doesn’t give up on himself. Because that’s who he is. He doesn’t stay broken. He adapts. He finds a way forward.

Then he looks at you and asks gently, “What about you?”

You quietly swallow air. “What about me?”

“I heard about the broken engagement.”

You always knew you’re fooling yourself when you convince yourself that he wouldn’t know. Everyone knows. Why wouldn’t he?

“I think it wasn’t meant to be,” you say quietly and decide not give too much details about it. “I’m… way past it now.”

He studies you, seeing the cracks beneath the words. “That must’ve been hard.”

Your throat tightens. You close your eyes for a second, then nod. “It was. I trusted him with everything.”

It’s just something about Chris that makes you vulnerable without you intend to. Your voice wavers as you honestly share, “At one point, it made me think I don’t deserve love at all.”

His hand comes to the small of your back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. “That’s not true.”

You shake your head, eyes burning and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

“You should’ve come to me,” he says softly.

You lift your head just slightly. Your voice strained as you tell him, “I did. A few times.”

His brows knit together. “You did?”

“I came to your matches,” you whisper as you look at him. “But I just—I just couldn’t do it.”

“Why?”

The lump now feels like a hot coal in your throat. The tears come then, unstoppable. He doesn’t rush you. Just pulls you closer, keeps rubbing your back as you cry.

“Because I was the one who convinced you to take the offer,” you sob.

It hurts to admit the guilt that’s been haunting you for years now. “And you got injured. You had to retire. It’s all my fault.”

“No—”

You cut him off, voice broken and trembling. “I should’ve trusted you. You knew what you wanted. I should’ve let you choose.”

Your chest aches as tears keep streaming down your face, hot and full of sadness. “I can’t forgive myself for it.”

You cry harder that your body starts shaking, and he wraps his arms around you tightly, like he can’t stand the distance between you and him anymore.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” he says firmly, over and over.

“You might had been the one suggested it but I was the one making the decision. I chose it. I lived it. I’m okay. You didn’t ruin anything.”

When you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes swollen and wet, you whisper, “That’s why I couldn’t reach out. I just thought that I… I didn’t deserve you anymore.”

He smiles softly, heartbreakingly gentle, and wipes your tears away with his knuckles. “What makes you think that?”

He gently pushes you away just enough to allow him to look at you and make you look back at him. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Look at you, you’re brilliant. You’re smart, you’re successful, you’re doing what you’re passionate about.”

Your heart shakes at his genuine praises and words because you know he meant it. But you shake your head away.

“I’m so afraid of stepping back into your life because I’m just… me,” he says as he’s wiping fresh tears rolling down your cheek. “And it’s hard no to because the truth is… I can’t stop loving you.”

He smiles as he cradles the side of your face, eyes locked in a soft gaze with yours as he continues. “So what I’ve been doing all these times is just waiting.”

You shake your head lightly while swallowing your cries.

“Waiting for you,” he says with warmth and certainty in his eyes. “To run back to me.”

All these years. He waited. For you.When you thought you caused him this great loss. When you thought there’s no second chance for you. When you thought that you don’t deserve love at all.

Your heart cracks open all over again as more tears flowing in both happiness and sadness. And everything in between. You clear your throat to set the record straight.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not really… running back to you,” you say while laughing weakly through tears.

Chris breaks into a grin and then chuckles. “Let’s not ruin the moment, yeah?”

Then he cups your jaw, his thumb warm against your skin. “And just kiss already.”

You laugh in both relief and joy. And you nod. “Okay”

You don’t know who leans in first. You just know that when your lips meet, everything finally makes sense—the years, the distance, the longing. It all collapses into this one earned, full, loving kiss. And it feels like coming home.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, breaths still uneven. Something inside you feels… lighter.

For years, guilt wrapped itself around your ribs, tightening every time you thought of him. It kept you at a distance. Told you to stay away. Convinced you that loving him meant ruining him, that reaching for him meant taking something you didn’t deserve and now… it’s gone.

Cracked open, dismantled by his arms around you, by his voice telling you he’s been here all along—waiting, steady, choosing you every time even when you weren’t brave enough to choose yourself.

You don’t know what beginning looks like. You only know that this time, you’re not walking away.

This time, you’re ready to start again—with him.

-

You unlock the door, step inside and before it can even close behind you, you turn, grab Chris’s hand, and pull him with you.

He laughs softly, surprised but not resisting, letting you drag him through the house and up the stairs, your footsteps hurried, hearts racing. You don’t stop until you’re in your bedroom, don’t bother closing the door.

Then you turn on your feet and meet his eyes. The air shifts almost immediately.

You face each other, standing still now, and your eyes lock in a soft, heated gaze. A smile slowly booms on his face and you feel your chest swell in response. Everything about him feels close. Wanted. Home.

He places his hands on each side of your waist, pulling you in until there’s no space left between your bodies. One hand lifts, cupping your cheek, thumb tenderly caressing your skin, and you lean into his touch without thinking.

You don’t speak but quietly savoring the way he tenderly holds you, touches you, looks into your eyes like he’d find every answer to life in them. Then his gaze drops to your lips and it only lasts for a second until he can’t help himself anymore to lean in and kisses you.

He kisses you slowly, gently like you’d break if does too hard. But the restraint doesn’t last. The kiss deepens, heat blooming between you as his arms tighten, as the moment finally gives in to everything you’ve been holding back.

He guides you backward, step by step, until you laugh breathlessly and stop him, pulling away just enough to catch your breath.

“You remember the rules,” you murmur with a faint smirk.

He blinks with mouth still parted open, lips wet and red. “Rules?”

“No outside clothes on the bed.”

He grins the second he catches the real meaning of it. “Then I’ll just take them off.”

Chris’ grin turns wicked as he leans in once more for a rough, open-mouthed kiss like his intention is to steal all of the air out of your lungs.

Without letting go of the kiss, you run your hands down his front. Your movement are frantic and impatient as you’re feeling his body through the layers of fabric. You need more so you’re tugging at the hem of his sweater, breaking the kiss to take it off of him, only to see the white tank he’s wearing underneath. But God, the bulging biceps, the pecs and the way his skin reddening around the neck — have you biting your lips in want. So much want.

It’s obvious that Chris can see it and senses that you need to see more. He removes his white tank, baring his upper body, muscles in all the right places wrapped in soft, pale skin. In confidence, he takes your hands and puts them on the flat of his stomach.

You don’t move at first until a beat later, you can’t resist but trail the outline of abs with your fingers, feel the ridges, the hardness under your fingertips. You sigh in awe and admiration because you just can't comprehend how beautiful he is, it’s almost godly.

An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you close until you’re pressed against his body. He leans in, bringing his mouth close to your ear.

“Let me take your dress off for you,” he whispers, voice low and sultry.

Air caught in your throat but you give him the permission with a slow nod. You keep yourself pressed to him as he reaches for the zipper on the back of your dress. You feel the tug and then— the sound of the zipper opening feels so loud against the heavy silence and mounting tension in the room.

Chris hooks his fingers under the fabric and slowly tear the dress off of you, pulling it down to your waist. He lets it fall until it’s pooling around your ankle and when you look up, you find his eyes looking down at you, staring at you with a mix of lust and affection, want and need and everything in between.

He puts both arms around you once more until your bodies pressed tight against each other. He crashes his lips against yours as his hands roaming around your back, one hand tracing down your spine before it goes lower, finding the softness of your ass cheek. He spread his fingers, palm scooping the flesh before gently squeezing on it.

You gasp into the kiss and retaliate by reaching for the waistband of his jeans, working them open without looking, without letting go of the kiss. But you only get as far as opening the fly as he begins to steers you until your back meet the edge of the desk.

Chris slips his hands into your panties, hooking his fingers under the waistband and pulling them down your legs. At the same time, he’s lowering himself until his knees are on the floor. You lift your feet one by one, letting him to finally get rid of it.

Then, you see it. The way his eyes widen and can’t stop staring at what’s in front of him. You notice him swallows air, Adam’s apple bobbing slowly in his throat at the sight of your bare sex merely inches away from his mouth. He tilts his head, looking you through his lashes, a look that seeks permission from you. You look into his eyes and give him the subtlest of nod in response.

However, Chris doesn’t rush. He begins by leaning in, placing light yet searing kisses that trails up your thighs. A hand gently grabs your leg by the calf and lifts it. Then he holds it there as he places more kisses on your inner. Your breath catches as his mouth inching closer to where you want him the most.

The second his mouth finally makes contact with your arousal — you gasp and grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. First, his hot tongue slides in between your folds. His lips on your clit next, softly kissing at it. Then, you feel the tip of his tongue circling, pressing on it — making you grip the desk tighter.

He doesn’t hesitate to dive into your wetness, planting his mouth deeper into you and slowly, he raises your leg and puts it over his shoulder, allowing him more space to please you.

You gasp, one hand flies to his hair, feeling the way he opens his mouth wider to take more of you. You feel everything all at once — the slick tongue, the wet mouth, the full lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves.

“Chris—” you shriek, hand tugging at his hair harder as he sucks too hard.

Soon enough, you begin to follow the rhythm, rolling your hips against his mouth to seek more of him on you. You’re lowly moaning in reaction, feeling so aroused at how good he makes you feel that you start touching yourself. One hand reaches to your back, unclasping your bra until it snaps open.

You recklessly toss the bra aside. You waste not time but cupping your breast in your hand, fingers teasing the hardening nipple that adds to the building pleasure inside you. You glance down — Chris is tirelessly pleasing you with his mouth, eyes closed and mouth humming against your sensitive skin in delight. Your eyes flick lower only to notice that his other hand disappeared into his jeans, moving in up and down motions.

The sight arouses you more, the knot inside you tightens, your body is hot all over. Before you can process everything that is happening at the moment, he decides to surprise you by sucking hard on your clit.

“Oh, my… Chris…” you moan between your whines and whimpers of pain, of pleasure. You don’t know anymore.

He refuses to let go until your legs are shaking around him, your noises no longer coherent and your essence floods his mouth. When he finally does, you let out a whine from the loss of contact. He quickly compensates by kissing your inner thigh and continues the trail of kisses upward, to your abdomen, to the valley between your breasts and sideway, to take your breast into his mouth. His lips wrapped around your nipple, mouth latches on it for quite a moment before finally let go, leaving it wet his saliva.

Slowly, he rises and back on his feet. His body towering over you now, covering you with his heat. An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you until you’re pressed against him, breasts squashed between chest and yet, when he's about to steer you to bed, you stop.

“Wait,” you say, still panting.

His hand stays there on the dip of your waist. “What is it?”

“I don’t think I packed condoms with me,” you mutter, an eyebrow raised in slight panic.

Chris only grins and tenderly brushes your hair away from your face. “I’ve got it,” he says.

He reaches to the back pocket of his jeans, taking out a condom tucked in the compartment of his wallet, holding it between his fingers as he shows it to you.

“Only one?” you ask, eyebrow raised yet again.

He takes a step forward, closing the last few inches between your bodies. “And we're going to make good use of it,” he confidently says.

He hastily kisses your open mouth and grins when he pulls away. He takes a step back to remove his jeans, fingers hooked on the waistband as he tugs them down his legs.

You just stand there, slightly leaning against the desk as you watch him revealing himself until it’s just him — bare, solid, real. He’s got muscles in the right places, abs that looks like it’s sculpted by the finest sculptor, the veins coiled around his arms and legs — all of it wrapped in miles and miles of soft, pale skin. You don’t even try to hide the way your eyes sweep over him in admiration and lust.

But what got you biting your lower lip in want is the thing between his legs, the way it’s erected toward you, inviting you to touch, to feel how stiff it is in your hand.

“Like what you see?” he asks, confidence and amusement entwined in that dimpled grin of his.

“Very,” you shortly answer, not taking your eyes away from his swollen member.

Chris only chuckles and plops onto the edge of the bed, a hand reaches for you. once he gets a hold of your waist, he gently pulls you until you’re standing between his legs. He doesn’t wait to plant his mouth on your abdomen, kissing the skin there.

You giggle when he begins rubbing his nose and lips against your belly. You’re uselessly trying to stop him by gripping his shoulder. “Chris, that tickles. Stop!” you weakly protest, still giggling.

He eventually stops with a chuckle and this time, when he pulls you in, he helps you get onto his lap. Once you’re settled, he wraps his arms around you, drawing you close until your faces are merely inches away. He brushes your hair to the side and holds it there as if he needs to see your whole face without any distraction.

A beat later, his hand moves to your chin. He turns your head to the side and then to the other. When he turns you back to face him, he solemnly hums and then says, “You’re not that bad.”

You break into laughter and put your arms around his shoulders. You look down at him as you say, “And you think you’re that good, huh?”

He tightens his hold and confidently says, “I know I’m good.”

“Better put on that condom quick,” you say, eyes briefly glancing down at his hardening cock under you. “Cause I need a proof.”

That seems to trigger him as he moves right away, bringing the packet to his mouth to tear the foil. You scoot a little to the back, giving him space to properly roll the rubber down his length. His movement easy, unhurried like he’s done this plenty of times already. And maybe he did.

In that moment, a thought forms in your head, an envy filled thought: You don’t want anyone to feel his lips, his warmth, his body ever again. Except you.

-

Outside, the world stays quiet. Inside, everything finally aligns.

Chris steadily holds you by the waist as he helps you easing yourself down on him. His grip firm, brows knitted in utter focus, eyes centered on the way you’re taking him in little by little.

“Oh, so good…” he breathless says, a vein on his forehead is evident as he concentrates hard.

You grip his shoulders, whimpering as you feel the blunt tip of his cock stretching you, penetrating deeper and deeper into you. You close your eyes like it would help you feel him better and, in a way, it did. He feels good, overwhelmingly so.

He rubs the side of your thigh as he sighs and softly murmurs, “I know you can take more of me, yeah?”

Your brain is too foggy to compute words so you nod instead. And you will take more of him without him needing to ask for it. You want more of him, more of that hot and pulsating hardness inside you.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, looking up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes.

The second he’s fully buried inside you, you melt into him and he’s more than eager to take you, wrapping you in his solid, warm hold. Just the slightest movement is enough to make you feel his whole size inside you. You feel it as you draw yourself closer to him.

“Oh, you feel so perfect,” he whispers as he presses a rough kiss on your neck.

His hand glides to the back of your neck, taking a fistful of your hair and gently tugging at it to tilt your head, making you facing him.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you can see him staring at you in both lust and affection, his other hand frames your face with thumb caressing your heating cheek. Then he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he murmurs, breathy and sultry. His lips curl in a faint smile.

Heat curls low in your stomach and at the same time, your heart flutters hearing those words coming out of his beautiful mouth. It feels wrong to not kiss him for that so you do. It feels even better when he returns the kiss just as eagerly.

For a moment, the two of you stay like that. Lips locked in a kiss, arms around each other, skin rubs against skin, bodies connected as one. None of you move yet but the sparks turn brighter and hotter.

When you’re ready, you begin rolling your hips back and forth at first, alternating it with slow, circular motions. You gasp as you feel more of him inside of you, engorging the more you stimulating it.

You lean back just lightly to chase that right angle, just so his tip can nudge the right spot and continue moving in that position. You set a steady rhythm with one hand holding his shoulder for support.

“So perfect,” Chris murmurs against the skin on your shoulder.

He drags his mouth lower until he finds your soft mounds, tongue darting out to tease your nipple. He doesn’t hesitate to take a mouthful of your flesh in his mouth, sucking hard on it just enough to leave a blooming mark on it.

His hands move to palm both of your breasts, kneading on them before pushing them to the middle. He leans in, sucking both nipples at once with his greedy mouth. At one point, he decides to latch on one breast and sucks on it a little too hard. He ignores your whimper and tugging at it, only letting go as he slowly pulling away.

“Chris—” you breathlessly scold, gripping tightly at his shoulders.

But he only smirks in response. His arms pulling you close until there’s no an inch of gap left between your bodies. He tilts his head, looking up at you, letting you see the searing desire flickering in his eyes.

You rest your forehead against him as you continue moving, bouncing on his lap, his cock slipping in and out of you in a way that makes you aware the fullness he provides with his size.

“I’m surprised you know how to fuck,” he teases, a crooked grin decorated his face.

“Excuse you?” you say in disbelief.

Chris chuckles at that as he glides his hands lower to the curve of your asscheeks, palming and grabbing at the flesh.

“I know how to fuck,” you continue with a sly smile. “I’ve read books.”

He scoffs an amused laugh and surprises you by landing slaps on your ass. “Do it right then,” he playfully says.

The slaps sting for a brief moment but somehow it encourages you to keep moving, bouncing on him more. You kiss him as you add speed and intensity to your movements. You know you’re doing it right as he starts groaning into your mouth.

However, it’s you who’s tethering on the edge first. You stop thinking about what works and just following what your body wants — chasing that heat that makes the knot inside you tighten and tighten until it snaps.

A high-pitched moan escapes your mouth and Chris catches you as you free fall into the depth of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Your head nestled in the crook of his neck as he holds you close and tight. You’re still catching your breath when you hear him softly smiling into your ear.

“So perfect…” he murmurs, followed with a press of kiss to your jaw. “…Coming for me like that.”

-

The bed takes you in gently as he lays you down.

Chirs gives you time for you to relish your high and gather your senses, allowing your body to recalibrate from the intensity of what just happened. He hovers above you, burying his mouth in your neck to kiss you there. He lifts his head just enough to look at you, hand tenderly puts away the strands of hair covering your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises with adoring eyes.

Even with your mind still hazy, your heart flutters anyway. You smile and lift your head to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

He continues to admire you by placing little, searing kisses on you. On the collarbone, your sternum, the soft skin under your breast, your left ribcage, your hip, on the navel, on the patch of hair covering your sensitive bit, on your inner thigh, your knee, the side of your calf, your ankle and finishes it with a longer kiss on the sole of your foot.

You breathe a soft giggle at the feel of his soft, plush lips. Soft, warm and a little ticklish. Yet you feel so admired, worshipped by him. And when he rises on the bed to take a look at you, he looks at you like you’re a wonder of the world. You smile, a smile so wide that your cheeks hurt.

When he positions himself on you, you part your legs for him, eagerly welcoming him. He smiles at that, an appreciative kiss placed on your abdomen. You’re still quivering, still wet that he has no problem slipping his cock into you again. You gasp as he hums in delight. This time, groan spills out of his mouth as he pushes himself deep into you.

He glances down and groans again at the sight of your entrance stuck tightly around his delicious girth, wetness lathering his hot, stiff length. His hardness enveloped in your warm, velvety walls.

When his eyes meet yours again, they’re dark and full of want. His hands reaching for yours, slipping his fingers and laces them together, pining them above your head as he settles himself on top of you. He stills for a moment, adjusting himself to the feel of you that overwhelms him.

A moment later, he starts moving. He’s thrusting into you slowly, steadily. Like adding a little speed would have him losing it right away. His forehead pressed against you, warm breath brushing your lips as he lowly groans in pleasure.

You lift your legs, allowing him more depth and hook them around his hips. You don’t hold back from muttering how you feel to him. How good he feels, how beautiful he is, how this whole thing makes you feel. But they turn incoherent the moment he quickens his thrusting.

Eventually, you move together like you already know how—like your bodies remember what your minds spent years trying to forget. There’s no rush. Just hands finding skin, mouths latched, breaths mingling until it’s hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

Chris groans and grunts, they turn louder as he tirelessly chasing his high. His hold tightens. You hold onto him just as tightly, fingers curling into his back, into his shoulders, needing something to hold on to as he takes you right to the edge again. It’s passionate but it’s also tender.

At time, he watches you, checks in with you without words, and you realize how deeply you trust him. How easily your body yields because your heart already has. Loving again feels terrifying, standing on the edge of something that once broke you but with him, it doesn’t feel reckless. It feels chosen.

As you move together, chasing for that highs together, it’s like falling in love all over again—slow and fast at once, familiar yet new. Years of longing collapse into this shared heat, this understanding that neither of you is leaving this time.

When you come around him and he follows right after, the world softens around you. You stay wrapped in each other, reveling in this tender moment that is belong only to you and him. Then he kisses you, rough and deep and knowing. And you kiss him back just as passionately. When you pull back, you rest against him, safe and open, knowing with a certainty that steadies you to your core:

Chris would never hurt you and loving him doesn’t feel like a risk.

It feels like coming home.

-

The room is quiet in the way only late nights can be.

Chris lies on his back with one arm wrapped around you, holding you close, your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear. His other hand drifts idly through the ends of your hair, gentle and grounding. Your eyes fluttering close when he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

He sighs, the sound warm and almost amused. “I can’t believe I’m back in this room.”

You’re too comfortable to open your eyes, too snug against him to form words, so you just hum in response.

“You know this bedroom used to give me PTSD, right?”

That makes you lift your head immediately. You glare at him. “Excuse me?”

He laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “Because this is where you taught me. Scolded me when I didn’t get it. Smacked me when I got answers wrong.”

“In my defense, you deserved all of that,” you say firmly with a smirk tugging at your lips.

He clicks his tongue. “Nah. You were just violent.”

You don’t think but land a gentle slap on his chest in protest.

He yelps dramatically, clutching the spot like he’s mortally wounded. “See? Still the same.”

Despite his complaining, he pulls you back in tighter when you settle against him again, like he never intended to let you go. Your leg tangles with his, and that’s when you feel the faint indentation around his knee, the scars left behind by surgeries and healing.

Your fingers trace it gently. “Does it hurt?” you ask softly.

He puts his hand over yours. “Not anymore,” he simply answers.

Then he guides your hand upward, bringing it close to his mouth to kiss it before placing it over his heart, holding it there. You feel the steady rhythm beneath your palm and swallow, emotion tightening your throat.

Looking at him like this, you realize the truth with startling clarity. No one has ever come close. No one has ever made you feel this seen, this safe, this certain.

He’s the one you’ve been looking for all along and you don’t know why you’ve wasted years on looking what’s already in front of you.

Slowly, you lift yourself onto one elbow, turning to face him. “You know, before I came home, I had a fight with my ex,” you quietly share.

He listens as he places a hand on the side of your head, eyes never leaving yours.

“He was making all these excuses to justify his wrongdoing,” you continue, letting out a humorless laugh. “And one of the excuses is because he knows I was never certain of him.”

You shake your head as you recall the moment in your head. “And as much as I hate it… he was right. I wasn’t fully in it.”

Chris reaches up, running his fingers through your hair, keeping it from falling into your face.

“I know that for sure,” you admit softly, “that my heart was never really his.”

Your gaze, your voice, your heart — they barely waver when you say it. “It’s always been yours.”

His smile is slow, tender, overwhelming in its affection. He leans up and kisses you in a long and lingering kiss, like he’s trying to capture this moment with a kiss. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“And you know my heart will always be yours too,” he softly mutters with a smile that is just as bright as his eyes.

“And I know it’s too late but I’d like to take that offer,” you say, eyes affectionate and hopeful.

He looks at you, his stare deepens as he frames the side of your face with his hand. His thumb lazily rubbing your cheek. “To stay close to each other?”

You nod, putting your hand on his and lean into his touch. You close your eyes to savor the warmth, the tenderness in his touch. After a while, you open your eyes and add, “If you’ll still have me.”

His hand moves to your jaw, his thumb now swiping across your lips. “You’re the only one I want,” he says so certainly like it’s his purpose in life.

Hearing him saying that made the years of wait insignificant. Hearing him saying that assured you that he long this as much as you. The smile that blooms on your face is immediate and warm. Your heart squeezes in the softest way inside your chest.

He smiles as he lifts his head to give you a quick, gentle kiss on the lips. When he pulls away with his lips still lingering inches away from yours, he says it.

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air for what feels like eternity. No, it’s not because you don’t love him back but because you’ve been waiting years to hear it again with that voice, that gaze, the intensity of his feelings projected through those three words.

You echo those words back to him, breathless and sure. “I love you.”

This time, you lean in first, kissing him with everything you have—love, promise, certainty woven into the press of your lips.

And you know, without doubt, that you won’t waste this chance again.

-

Morning comes softly.

You’re in the kitchen, barefoot on cool tiles, scrambling eggs in a pan and trying very hard not to burn them when you hear footsteps upstairs.

A moment later, Chris appears at the bottom of the stairs, tugging a sweater on as he comes down. His hair is a mess of soft curls, eyes still heavy with sleep, face bare and bright. He looks… beautiful. The kind of beautiful that sneaks up on you when you’re not trying to look and you smile without even realizing it.

He comes up behind you, wraps an arm around your side, and presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

“Morning,” you reply, eyes still on the pan.

“Need help?”

“I’m almost done,” you say and turn off the stove. “But can you grab the orange juice from the fridge?”

“On it,” he says immediately.

Soon enough, the two of you are seated at the dining table with plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon between you. You sip your orange juice, watching him eat. His mouth full of food, a hand holding a toast and the other scraping the scrambled egg with a fork, eyes half-lidded like he hasn’t fully woken up yet.

You can’t stop smiling. You have a sip of your coffee and ask, “So, what’s the plan for today?”

He swallows his food first before talking. “I’ve actually got a meeting about a job offer.”

You nod as you take a bite of your toast. “What time will you be done?”

“Not sure,” he says, then he gently places a hand on the small of your back and softly adds, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him easily.

He looks at you, reaches out, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“And you? What are you doing today?” He asks. Then, teasingly he adds, “Beside waiting for me.”

You scoff at that and simply say, “I have a company to run.”

He narrows his eyes, mock-offended. “You’re bragging.”

You shrug coyly and return to your breakfast.

He takes another bite of his toast, then sighs. “No offense, but I kind of miss your mom’s bread.”

“None taken,” you say as you lean back and sigh. “I miss her bread too.”

“When will she come home?”

“Not sure,” you honestly answer. “But I hope it’s soon.”

The two of you fall quiet after that, just chewing, looking at each other. No rush. No need to fill the space. When your eyes meet again, Chris is the first to smile. He reaches across the table, lifts your chin gently, and kisses you. When he pulls back, his grin is soft and familiar.

In that moment, you can’t believe that he’s here, with you, together. And that your lives will be forever intertwined from this moment on. You smile back at him, heart full.

Today couldn’t have started better.

-

The house quiets after Chris leaves with a kiss and a dimpled grin that you know a little too well.

You curl up on the sofa with your laptop balanced on your lap, just checking emails to stay updated but once the screen lights up, the weight settles back onto your shoulders. Nothing is on fire. Nothing is urgent.

Still, you call Lucy to make sure that the company is still running smoothly. She answers on the second right and launches right away, talking about important things happened in the company.

“…And since Herman has that meeting with Palindrome, he has to cancel attending that Blue Wings conference.”

“Oh, no,” you say, feeling bad because you know how much Herman has been anticipating to be a part of that conference. “Herman really wants to go to that.”

“Yeah,” Lucy hesitantly says. “But we’d rescheduled that meeting before so we can’t reschedule it again.”

You nod at that. Rescheduling not only means having no respect for the other company but also messing with the company’s timeframe. You think of a solution fast.

“When is the meeting again?” You ask.

“It’s this Thursday,” Lucy says immediately.

This will be not your first time sacrificing your time and rest for your company. So without further consideration, you tell Lucy, “I’ll go. I’ll attend the meeting.”

Lucy exhales softly. “Does that mean you’re coming back to work sooner?”

“Yeah,” you say, even though part of you resists the word. “I can’t let Herman skipped the conference again.”

She doesn’t argue but you hear the clacking sound of her typing onto the keyboard. “Alright. I’ll move things around and let Herman know.”

“Make sure he calls me before he leaves for the conference,” you add.

“Sure, will do,” Lucy responds and then, softly she offers, “Want me to arrange your trip back?”

You shake your head even though she can’t see it. “No, thank you. I’ll handle it myself.”

“Okay,” she says gently. “And—take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” you reply, sincere. “See you soon.”

“See you soon.”

You hang up and close the laptop, letting it rest untouched on your lap. You still want to stay here. In this house. In this quiet. In the ease of mornings that don’t ask anything of you and nights that end with warmth instead of exhaustion. You want more time with Chris, more moments that feel like healing instead of surviving.

However, the truth sits with you just as stubbornly that you can’t keep abandoning your job. Not when people depend on you. Not when the company you built is still something you care deeply about.

You sigh, leaning back against the cushions, torn between two things you love. And for the first time, you realize the hard part isn’t choosing one over the other.

It’s figuring out how to hold both.

-

Since you don’t have anything to do, nowhere to go. You end up doing chores around the house. You vacuum the living room, made lunch, do the laundry. By afternoon, you’re taking out the laundry out of the dryer. You put them into the basket and carry it upstairs to your room.

You’re halfway through hanging clothes back into the closet, when you hear a car pulling out front. A smile spreads across your face before you can stop it. You cross the room and peek through the window just as he turns off the engine, stepping out of the car.

Chris looks up and catches you watching from your bedroom window. His grin comes instantly, dimple and all, like he’s been waiting for that exact moment.

A second later, your phone rings and you don’t even check who’s calling.

“Hey,” you softly say.

“Come down,” he says without preamble, amusement clear in his voice. “I’m taking you on a date.”

You laugh quietly. “You don’t even know if I’m ready.”

“I’ll give you five minutes,” he replies easily.

You glance down at yourself, then back at the closet. “Ten minutes,” you bargain because you need the extra time to put a little bit of color on your face.

“Okay, I’ll wait,” he says, grin audible even through the phone.

You hang up, heart light, and reach for the dress you’d just hung back up, pulling it off the hanger with a quiet laugh at yourself. Because apparently, you do have somewhere to go.

-

The neon lights reflect faintly on the polished floors as you stand shoulder to shoulder with Chris in front of a long wall of movie posters. He crosses his arms, studying them like it’s some kind of life-altering decision.

You tilt your head at him. “You know it’s just a movie, right? Not a contract negotiation.”

He hums thoughtfully, squinting at one of the posters. “Shh. This determines the emotional tone of our evening.”

You scoff softly but let him pretend he’s deliberating something monumental which reminds you to ask him about something. While he’s “analyzing,” you nudge him lightly and ask, “So… how was the meeting?”

He doesn’t look at you right away, still staring at the posters. “It went well.”

“That’s vague.”

Now he glances down at you, one corner of his mouth lifting into an amused half-smirk. “Well, they offered better pay than my previous team. Better facilities too.”

Your eyebrows rise genuinely. “That’s great.”

“It is,” he says calmly but then he inhales air and softly sighs. Then he calmly says, “But I don’t want to rush. I’m taking my time to decide.”

You nod at that. You don’t push or question him further. You believe that Chris knows what he wants for himself. So you just look at him for a second longer and softly say, “I’m sure you’ll make the best decision for yourself.”

His expression shifts into something warm, something appreciative and he pulls you in for a quick kiss on your temple. Then he points at a pastel-colored movie poster with a title ‘Backward Love’.

“Let’s watch that one.”

You immediately wrinkle your nose, not pleased with his choice. “That?”

He shrugs and coyly explains, “It’s romcom. Perfect for date night.”

You dramatically turn and point at the horror poster beside it with the main character is splattered with blood, eyes wide in terror as a masked killer looming behind her. “I want to watch this one.”

Chris looks at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “Are you trying to give me nightmares?”

You shrug him off with an easy smile. “You’re a big guy now. I’m sure you can handle it.”

He leans closer, lowering his voice as he says, “I won’t sleep well tonight if we watch that.”

You step closer too, slipping your arms loosely around his waist, your mouth near his ear and seductively whisper, “I know ways to make you sleep well tonight.”

You add a subtle, flirtatious wink at the end of the sentence and feel the way his body reacts before you even see his face change. He tries—tries—not to grin, not to get flustered. But you can see how his ears slowly reddening.

Chris abruptly steps back, putting space between you like you’re dangerous. He doesn’t say anything but walks fast toward the ticket counter.

You gasp in mock offense and hurry after him, sliding your arm around his waist from the side just as he reaches the front.

“Two tickets for the ‘Backward Love’,” he tells the cashier.

You roll your eyes dramatically, but he just grins, pulling you closer with his arm now around your shoulders. “You’re no fun,” you mutter.

“I’m trying to survive the night,” he replies under his breath.

Before you can protest again, he steers you toward the snack counter, his hand firm at your waist as he orders right away.

“One extra-large butter popcorn, two packs of M&Ms and a sparkling cider, please?”

This time, when he looks at you, you give him a smile that tells him he’s the best thing that’s happening to you.

-

The movie theater is still empty when you enter. But the second you’re both settled on your seats, you and Chris bicker over popcorn, over candy, over who gets the last handful of M&Ms. He steals from your side of the bucket without shame and you retaliate by claiming the armrest as your own. But when the lights finally dim, you lift the armrest between you.

He looks at you, amused. “Wow. Bold move.”

You ignore him, slide closer, link your arm through his, and slip your hand into his. His fingers curl around yours immediately, warm and firm and sure. You settle in, heart calm in a way it hasn’t been in years.

When the romance on screen builds, when the characters finally kiss, you don’t drift into what-ifs this time. You don’t imagine. You don’t wonder. You already know.

You turn your head and find him looking at you, like he’s been waiting for this as well. You smile, lean in, and kiss him softly. He kisses you back just as easily, as sweetly.

When he pulls away, he murmurs, “Focus on the movie.”

You chuckle and stay tucked against him, the movie still playing but you’re barely watching it anymore.

Your attention keeps drifting back to him instead. The way his eyes stay fixed on the screen. The way he keeps shoving popcorn into his mouth like he’s competing with himself. The faint furrow in his brow when the plot gets serious. For a second, you can’t believe this man is yours. Without thinking too much about it, you lean in and press a slow, warm kiss to the side of his neck.

He stiffens immediately. “Hey,” he whispers, half-scolding, half-amused. “I’m trying to watch.”

You only smile against his skin and when he turns his attention back to the screen, you do it again. This time you make a trail of kisses down his sharp jaw. Then you lean closer, lips brushing near his ear.

“Let’s stop by the pharmacy on the way home.”

That gets his full attention as he turns to you, brows knit with concern. “Why? Are you sick?”

You smirk, eyes glinting in the dim light, and lean in again. “We need to buy condoms,” you whisper, followed with a sneaky kiss on the column of his throat.

The way he freezes is almost impressive. He clears his throat, visibly flustered, and tries very hard to pretend it didn’t affect him. In a clearly desperate attempt to regain control, he grabs a handful of popcorn and pops a piece into your mouth.

You scoff a laugh around it, cheeks warm, and settle back against him in triumph. And the movie keeps playing, but your focus stays on him. Only him.

-

The car ride is quiet but charged in that comfortable, buzzing way that makes every little movement feel intentional than it should.

True to his word, Chris pulls into the pharmacy parking lot. The engine clicks off, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then he unbuckles his seatbelt and looks at you.

“Wait here, yeah?” he says.

You nod, eyes staring at him.

“Do you want anything?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

He starts to open the door, then pauses. His gaze lingers on you and you notice the subtle shift in him as he decides to lean in. His plush lips pressed against you for a quick, gentle kiss and as he’s about to pull away, your hand grips the side of his face.

You keep him there as you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss. You part your mouth open, just enough to slip your tongue into his mouth, twirling it with his. You can taste a hint of pineapple from the juice he drank earlier. So sweet, so unmistakably him.

When you feel him beginning to crack and kissing you back just as intensely. You move your hand to the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the tendrils of hair there. You keep your mouth open as he takes his turn to taste you, tongue coaxing yours to move together. A moan slipped past your mouth as he gently tugs at your lower lip and you retaliate by playfully biting at him tongue.

By the time you break the kiss, you see Chris’s lips turn swollen and wet, flushing red like all the blood in his body is gathering there. His eyes find yours and his mouth quirks into a lazy grin.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, taking your hand from his shoulder and holds it in his lap.

You let out a low chuckle, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

He exhales, already defeated, then leans in and kisses you, this time for a real quick kiss. When he pulls back, his hand stays on your jaw for a beat longer than necessary, thumb brushing your skin. His eyes hold yours, dark with want and fondness all tangled together. You can practically see him reining himself in.

“I’ll be quick,” he says as he straightens, fixing the denim around his crotch. With that, he steps out of the car, and closes the door before he can be tempted again.

You watch him through the windshield as he walks into the pharmacy, moving easily down the aisles, scanning the shelves to find the one he’s looking for. Just watching him existing like this, so close, so real—makes your heart flutter.

A few minutes later, he comes out of the pharmacy holding something in his hand. He walks across the lot with the kind of confidence that is not arrogant, but with certainty that he knows who he is and how to carry himself. He grins as he gets back into the car, settles into his seat and then promptly rips open the wrapper of a popsicle. He hands it to you.

You awkwardly take it and stare at it, confused. “Uh…?”

He smirks as he turns the keys in the ignition. “Because you need to cool down.”

You break into laughter, shaking your head, and take a small bite of the popsicle.

He starts driving, pulling out of the parking lot with that dimpled grin still firmly in place.

And you sit there, enjoying the sweetness of the popsicle and this moment.

-

The second the lock clicks open, whatever restraint you both had snaps.

Chris doesn’t even give you time to step fully inside before he’s on you. His hands firm at your waist, mouth crashing against yours like he’s been holding back all night. The kiss is hard, deep, rough enough that it steals your breath, and it takes you a second to catch up, to kiss him back just as desperately.

God—he’s been waiting for this.

You can feel it in the way he presses into you, solid and hot, the way his hands grip like he’s afraid of letting go. He barely breaks the kiss as he steers you inside, toeing the door shut behind you, guiding you toward the living room. You don’t stop until you’re both tumbling onto the sofa.

He’s over you now, kissing you deeper, harder, all heat and hunger and full of want. Your fingers tangle in his sweater, heart pounding, the world narrowing down to this—him, you, breath and warmth and years of longing collapsing into one moment.

You reach under the sweater, feeling the hardness of his abs and—

“Honey? Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold. Impulsively, you shove Chris hard enough that he stumbles sideways, losing his balance and landing on the floor with a startled grunt. You bolt upright on the sofa, smoothing your clothes in pure panic just as footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs.

Your mom appears. She’s here. Home. Very home.

“Yes, it’s me. Hi, Mom,” you blurt out, far too fast.

Chris scrambles to his feet, running a hand through his hair, then offers a polite, slightly sheepish smile. “I’m here too. Hi.”

Her face lights up instantly at the sight of her favorite, charming guy. “Oh, Chris!” she beams, completely bypassing you as she steps closer. “Oh, my goodness. How nice it is to see you!”

You stand there, mortified, heart racing, while she treats him like the long-lost child who’s finally come home. But thankful that your mom is no longer focused on how she caught you and Chris making out in the living room.

A moment later, you and Chris end up standing side by side, stiff and awkward, like two kids caught doing something they definitely shouldn’t have been doing.

Your mom, meanwhile, is completely unfazed. She chats with Chris like nothing happened—asking how he’s been, how life’s treated him. He asks about her cruise trip, genuinely interested, and she launches into it with a fond smile, talking about the food, the views, how relaxing it was… and how she missed her bakery terribly the whole time.

Then she looks at the two of you. She chuckles, shaking her head. “You two don’t need to look so panicked. You’re not teenagers anymore,” she says while still lowly chuckling in amusement.

You close your eyes for half a second, mortified but oddly relieved. And despite what she said, you indeed still feel like a teenager in front of her.

“I’m still exhausted from the trip home,” your mom says as she takes the first couple of steps. “I’m going to bed early tonight.”

“Yeah, Mom. You must be tired,” you manage to say without stammering.

“Yeah, you’d better rest,” Chris adds but it only adds to the awkwardness of this moment.

Your mom smiles as she takes a look at you and Chris again. Her eyes linger on him as she says, “We’ll catch up properly another time, Chris.”

“I’d like that,” he says warmly.

“Goodnight,” your mom says as she begins climbing the stairs.

You both wait until you hear the bedroom door closes upstairs before collapsing onto the sofa with identical sighs. A beat passes in silence and then you both burst out laughing at the exact same time.

You cover your face with your hands. “Oh my God. That was so embarrassing.”

Chris groans as he looks at you. “You shoved me so hard.”

“I’m sorry!” you say, still laughing. “Did it hurt?”

He rubs his knee dramatically. “I think I need to check my injured knee.”

You gently slap his knee. “Stop being dramatic.”

“You’re making it worse,” he complains, grinning.

You scoot closer, cup his jaw gently. “Let me kiss it better, then.”

You capture his full lips in a soft kiss and he immediately pulls you closer, one arm tightening around you. Before you realize it, he’s lifted you effortlessly so you’re sitting on his lap.

You break the kiss, breathless as you remind him. “Chris—my mom is upstairs.”

He tilts his head, smug. “Didn’t you hear what she says? We’re not teenagers anymore.”

You cave far too easily as he kisses you again. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, lips locking with his in a deep, heated kiss that slowly coaxing you to melt into him. You eventually let yourself get lost in the safety, in the warmth, in the comfort of his arms.

Chris pulls away with a low, sultry groan but he doesn’t let his mouth rest for a second as he buries his mouth on the low neckline of your dress, right there between your breasts. You feel the sharp inhale of air he takes, humming as he rubs his nose against your softness like he can’t get enough of your scent. He pulls back just enough to place a kiss on each of your breast before making a trail of kisses upward, to your chest and neck, and back on your lips.

When you break the kiss to catch a breath, you look down at him and catch the glints in his eyes under the dim light like he sees you as this ethereal being, like you’re a star that somehow lands on his lap. You gently cup his jaw and fondly smile as you stare into the dark brown of his eyes. God, he’s just so beautiful and yours.

He puts his arms around your waist, tightening them to draw you closer against him. He smiles back at you as he lowly mutters in disbelief, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your smile grows wider and the smile doesn’t fade as he pulls you in for another kiss. A hand gently holds the back of your head, tilting it the way he pleases just so he can kiss you deeper, harder, the way he’s desired it to be. Until you feel nothing but the endless softness of his lips brushing against yours.

The two of you stay like that, enveloped in heat and affection, in the dim of the living room. Your shared breath and the occasional low sighs that escaped your lips are the only thing filling the silence.

After a moment, you slowly back away and hurriedly place a hand on his chest, ready to stop him if he goes in for another kiss. You use the chance to catch your breath and to talk about something you’ve been meaning to share

“Chris,” you softly call, brushing his curls out of his forehead. “I need to tell you something.”

He rests his hands on each side of your waist, all attention on you now. “What is it?”

“I have to attend this meeting that I can’t reschedule,” you calmly explain. “And it means… I have to go back to work soon.”

His expression shifts just slightly. A hand moves to the small of your back, fingers splayed on your clothed skin. “When do you plan to leave?”

“This Tuesday.”

He nods, processing, understanding. “Okay.”

You place a hand on his chest, index finger playing with the button on his shirt. “Do you want to come with me?”

He’s clearly not expecting that but he answers without the slightest of hesitation. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

You smile, relief blooming in your chest. You cradle his face in both hands, pressing your forehead against him and then lean, kissing him with such loving.

He pulls back just enough to smirk and jokingly says. “You invite me to come so you can brag about your company, mmh?”

You grin as you nod. “That’s the one and only goal.”

He laughs as he tightens his hold around you again until there’s no gap left between your bodies and kisses you again.

Honestly, you feel nervous about him getting to see another part of you but at the same time, you’re happy you get to share that part with him. And for the first time, it really feels like you’re moving forward together.

-

Tomorrow feels too soon, but it’s coming anyway. You’re in your bedroom, suitcase open on the bed, folding clothes with a care you don’t usually give them.

Your mom wanders in quietly and sits at the edge of the bed without asking. She starts helping immediately by folding your clothes neatly, the way she always has.

“So,” she says lightly, “you’re leaving just as I get back.”

You chuckle softly. “Yeah. Bad timing.”

You feel bad for not having much time to spend with your mom because that’s one of the reasons you came home in the first place. “If it wasn’t urgent, I wouldn’t want to go back so soon,” you explain, hoping she’d understand.

“I know, honey.” She says as she looks up and fondly smiles at you. “And it’s okay.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the zipper of your suitcase. She hands you another folded shirt, and you tuck it away.

A bit later, she scoots closer to you and carefully begins, “So, about you and Chris…”

“Mom…” you say, already expecting all kind of questions that’ll follow.

Your mom subtly shrugs and sweetly coaxes you. “I just want to know. Come on. Tell me all about it.”

You huff a laugh and pause, hands stilling for a moment. “We’re… just starting so I can’t say much except that we’re trying to make it work. He’s in between job offers. I’m tied to the company.”

She intently listens while nodding. She helps you fits the stack of clothes into your suitcase. “The most important thing is that you’re certain about how you feel,” she says.

“I am,” you shortly answer.

She looks at you, turning a little serious now. “And how do you feel?”

The question cracks something open in you. You haven’t had the chance to share what you truly feel about this with anyone or about anything about your love life for that matter. It seems like the right time to just be honest about it and talking to your mother always helps because she knows you the best.

“I’m happy. I really am,” you honestly share with a sincere smile. “I’m happy that Chris and I, we finally found our way back to each other.”

You take a second to organize your thoughts but your heart squeezes before you can even talk it out loud. With a slightly trembling voice, you share. “But I can’t ignore that my past relationship still haunts me.”

Your eyes sting but you manage to hold yourself back from crying. “Chris is the right one for me. I know that. I just—”

Your breath catches. “What if I’m not the right one for him?”

The tears come before you can stop them. You quickly wipe them before they can even fall. “I love him so much but I’m— What if I… messed it up?”

Your Mom gently pushes the suitcase aside and gets to your side, wrapping her arms around you and holding you while you cry. She gives you time to process your emotions, offering her comfort as she lands soothing rubs on your back.

“You have nothing to be afraid of, honey,” she says softly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Long before you ever realized it yourself.”

You sniffle, listening to her while wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“He loves you very, very much,” she assures you as she puts her hand on the back of your head in fondness. “And you deserve that love.”

It’s nice to finally hear it that yeah, you deserve it just as much as he deserves to be loved by you. You wanted this for so long and now you got it. There’s no wasting it away. You have to hold on tightly to it.

She brushes your hair back tenderly, eyes full of warmth, like you’re still her little girl who needs reassurance. Then she playfully adds, “And if he ever hurts you, I’ll break his other knee.”

You choke out a laugh through your tears. Your body shakes in both laughter and tears now.

She pulls you into another hug and wraps you in that familiar warmth and comfort. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve this. You really do,” she assures you once more.

In your mom’s embrace, you decide to believe it. and you can almost feel that shift. You feel lighter and steadier, you feel more confident in your choices, in your heart, and in the love you’re finally allowing yourself to keep.

-

When you unlock the door to your apartment and push it open, you step inside like it’s nothing. You open the door wider as he drags along your suitcase in one hand and carrying his duffel bag in the other.

Chris steps in behind you… and stops. He’s immediately in awe of the place you’re living in. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the living room, the city glowing beneath them. The marble kitchen island gleams under the soft recessed lights. The furniture is minimal yet finely curated, expensive without screaming about it.

You drop your bag on the console table casually. “Come on in,” you softly say.

He takes slow steps, slowly pulling your suitcase behind like he’s afraid that the wheels would scrape the shiny surface of the floor. He stops in the living room and then he lets out a low whistle. “Okay.”

You turn, leaning back against the back of the sofa. “Okay what?”

He gestures vaguely at… everything. “You really made it.”

You try not to smile too proudly and take off your jacket. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” he says, walking around the living room, looking around like he’s in a showroom. “Maybe… slightly less intimidating?”

You chuckle, folding your jacket in your arm. “Intimidating?”

He turns to you, grin spreading. “I now officially believe you when you say you run a company.”

“Oh, so you didn’t before?”

“I thought you were exaggerating.” He squints at a framed award on the wall. “But this? This is ‘CEO who schedules meetings at 7 a.m.’ energy.”

You laugh, walking past him toward the kitchen. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He wanders a little more before putting the suitcase and bag to your bedroom. He returns a moment later, settling his hands on his hips and turning to you. “So… are you hungry?”

You hold the glass of water you’ve sipped and nod. “Yeah.”

“Do you have anything to cook?” he asks as he approaches you.

Not that you don’t have anything to cook which you’re sure you have. Or not. Your hesitation alone makes him suspicious.

He narrows his eyes slightly and heads straight for the fridge. You trail after him, already preparing your defense. He opens it and just stands there.

There’s almond milk. Half a bottle of sparkling water. A questionable container of something you ordered three days ago. A jar of pickles. One sad lemon.

He slowly closes the fridge and looks at you. “Do you… cook at all?”

You give him a small, sheepish smile. “I mostly order.”

He forces a thin smile as he asks again. “Do you… eat at all?”

“Yes,” you answer a little too fast.

He just stares at you and you sigh under the weight of that stare. “Well… Sometimes I skip a meal or two.”

His jaw tightens in both disbelief and disappointment. “A meal or two?”

“Occasionally,” you mumble.

He rubs his face with one hand, exhaling deeply like he’s re-evaluating your entire lifestyle. “You run a whole company but don’t have any food in your fridge.”

You quickly turn to the cabinet and swing it open triumphantly. You grab a pack of noodles, holding it with both hands with a proud smile. “I have instant noodles.”

He cranes his neck to see that there are at least six packs of them. He sighs heavier this time but reaches in and grabs two anyway.

“This is not a balanced diet.”

“It’s classic and comforting,” you defend weakly.

“It’s sodium.”

You pout slightly and mumble, “But I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head but there’s a fondness in it now. “I know. Which is why I’m saving us from your CEO survival meals.”

He moves around your kitchen like he belongs there, filling a pot with water, turning on the stove.

You lean against the counter, watching him. “Let me help you.”

“You can help me by sit there and look pretty,” he says, placing a hand on the small of your back to steer you toward the stool across the kitchen island.

There’s something gentle in the way he says it. you obey right away and watch him as he cooks something as simple as instant noodles like it’s a five-star meal, adding whatever he can find — an egg from the back of the fridge you forgot existed, some leftover green onions from takeout.

He looks comfortable like he’s already settled into your life without asking for permission and when he hands you a bowl, chopsticks balanced on top, he gives you that little grin.

“We have to grocery shop properly soon.”

You hold the warm bowl between your hands and smile at him. “I’ll put it on my schedule,” you say with a playful smile.

You don’t waste time to hold your chopsticks and when you take the first bite, you close your eyes dramatically. “Oh my God.”

Chris looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “It’s just noodles.”

“These are the best noodles I’ve ever had.”

He snorts as he picks up his chopstick. “I boiled water.”

“You boiled it exceptionally well.”

“And added a seasoning packet.”

“And you did it perfectly.”

He shakes his head, amused, but he’s smiling that warm, dimpled smile that makes your chest ache in the best way.

You take another bite, humming in satisfaction, and he doesn’t eat right away. He just watches you. You notice it after a second.

“What?” you ask, noodles halfway to your mouth.

“Nothing,” he says softly, but his expression says everything.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face before his palm settles gently at the side of your head. Admiring. Loving.

Your movements slow under his gaze. You swallow and smile at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” he says quietly, thumb brushing just slightly against your temple, “you look happy.”

You hadn’t realized it but you are. You’re smiling without you’re telling yourself to. It just… happens.

He finally takes a bite of his own noodles, still smiling faintly. “Next time,” he adds casually, “I’ll cook you something better. Proper dinner. With vegetables. Protein. All that adult stuff.”

Next time.

You like the sound of that more than you expect to. Not because of the food. But because it means there will be more nights like this. More of eating together side by side. More teasing. More him standing at your stove like he belongs there. More of him and you.

This moment is already tender but you tilt your head and decide to tease him anyway. “But all that adult stuff doesn’t sound that appetizing.”

“But it’ll be good for you,” he persists with a gentle smile.

And as you sit there finishing instant noodles in your luxurious apartment with someone you love, you realize something quietly and completely:

This is what feels like making it.

-

Having someone in your bedroom feels… strange.

You’re used to your bedroom being silent, untouched, perfectly arranged. Now Chris is there, pulling back the duvet, fluffing a pillow like he’s done it a hundred times before. But it doesn’t feel intrusive as you thought. It feels natural like he’s always belonged here.

You stand on your side of the bed and point firmly. “This is my side.”

He pauses mid-pillow adjustment. “Noted.”

“The right side. It’s mine. You can’t cross it.”

He sighs dramatically. “Territorial, huh?”

“Very.”

He walks around to the other side without argument, but before climbing in, he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

And obviously, you stare. The soft lamplight stretches across his shoulders, the defined lines of his back, the subtle flex of muscle as he runs a hand through his hair. He stretches his arms overhead, dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Your eyes trace the outline of his abs and lower to where his pelvic bones formed the V shape that narrows down to—

You swallow air and then let it out in a scoff. “Show off,” you mutter under your breath.

He definitely heard you and that’s why he’s smirking. But he asks anyway, “What?”

“Nothing.”

He slides into bed, settling against the pillows like this is his place too while you turn off the lamp and climb in on your side, pulling the blanket up. For a moment, you both just lie there.

The bed feels different. Fuller. Warmer. It’s incredible how a single presence can change the entire atmosphere of a room.

You turn your head to the side and find him lying on his back, eyes closed. Even his facial features look just as beautiful in the dark. The side profile, the slope of his nose, the shape of his plush lips, the sharp jaw.

Oh, you just can’t stand being so far from him when he’s lying next to you like this so you scoot closer and closer until you’re pressed against his side, seeking his warmth instinctively.

He lets out a soft protest and groans with eyes closed. “Hey. This is my side. You declared borders.”

You murmur against his shoulder, “It’s my apartment, my bed. I can do whatever I want.”

He sighs like he’s exhausted by you, but his arm lifts anyway, opening for you. You slip under it immediately, resting your head on his bicep. He adjusts, pulling you closer until you’re tucked against him properly.

The silence that settles after is comfortable and nice. The kind that doesn’t conjure questions and just… there.

After a while, he speaks softly into the dark. “This apartment is… big. For one person.”

You hum, already feeling sleep tug at you.

A beat passes and then, he quietly asks, “Have you ever felt lonely?”

You don’t hesitate when you answer, “All the time.”

You feel the way his arm tightens around you at that like it would help him ward away the thought of you being in this big space and feeling lonely. You lift your head slightly so you can see him in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

“But now, not anymore,” you say, fingers trace lightly over the pale skin on his chest. “Because you’re here with me.”

A smile slowly blooms on his face, slow and bright. He leans in and kisses you on the lips, a kiss so gentle and lingering that your heart shakes in your chest.

When you settle back against him, he clears his throat lightly. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not paying the rent.”

You laugh quietly and press your mouth close to his ear. Then, you seductively whisper, “You can pay the rent another way.”

To tease him further, your hand slips under the duvet, fingers brushing toward the waistband of his sweatpants — but he catches your wrist immediately.

With exaggerated exhaustion, he sighs. “I’m very tired.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

He takes your hand and places it flat against his chest instead, holding it there firmly.

“You must be tired too,” he murmurs.

You nod softly because by some inexplicable reason, you always feel safer when you’re with him. Sleepier. Like your body knows it can finally rest.

He brushes his thumb slowly and tenderly over your cheek. Then he leans down and gives you one more long, lingering kiss.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

“Goodnight,” you whisper back.

You close your eyes as you’re wrapped in his warmth. You’re breathing eventually in sync.

And for the first time in a very long time, you fall asleep without heaviness in your chest because you know that when you wake up, it won’t feel like the start of another battle.

It’ll feel like the beginning of something beautiful.

-

You’ve just wrapped up the important meeting with Palindrome and you’re already halfway down the hallway toward your office, heels clicking a little faster than usual because you have someone waiting for you there. You only nod and wave your hand whenever your employee greets you as you walk past their desks.

The second you push through the door of your office, you find Chris sitting on the sofa, relaxed like he belongs there, but the moment he sees you, he’s on his feet.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out immediately, making your way toward him. “I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“It’s okay,” he says easily.

You drop your things on the nearest table and then turn around, throwing yourself at him for a hug. You can feel the way your body relaxed even for the briefest moment as you rest your head against his chest and softly exhale.

You slowly pull away and look up, “Lucy showed you around, right? How was the tour?”

“She did a very good job. I think she bragged about you more than the company.”

You crack an amused laugh. “That sounds like her.”

“You should give her a raise for that,” he adds, completely serious.

You chuckle again, checking the time on your watch and frowning when you see that you don’t have much time left until the next meeting. “We don’t have much time, but we could grab an early lunch before my next meeting—”

“Actually,” he interrupts gently, “I have to go somewhere.”

Your brows knitted in confusion. “Go? Where?”

“Just a meeting,” he vaguely answers.

“Meeting who?” you ask, trying to sound casual but failed.

“It’s for work. You have nothing to be worried about,” he convinces as he runs his hand through your hair.

You put anyway, wanting to spend the little free time you have with him.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” he promises, coaxing you with a quick kiss to the top of your head.

That softens you instantly as you break into a smile. “Okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later,” he echoes and then slowly, he takes a step away.

You grab his arm and pout. “You’re really leaving without kissing me?”

He glances around the office, visibly flustered. “Is… is that allowed here?”

You lift a brow and coyly shrug. “It’s my company.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He steps closer, hands settling on your waist, eyes flicking to your lips before meeting yours again. Then he leans in and kisses you. The kiss is slow yet deep. The kind of kiss that loosens every knot in your shoulders, that makes the rest of the day fade into background noise.

When he pulls back just slightly, his mouth brushes your ear. “If I bent you over that desk and fucked you there,” he murmurs, low and wicked, “Is that allowed too?”

You feel heat rushing straight to your cheeks. You quickly straighten your posture, daringly stare into his eyes, and answer sweetly, “As long as we put on a good show.”

He smirks, absolutely pleased with himself and kisses you again, quick and devastating. This time, when he pulls away, he actually steps back. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” he says.

“Later,” you manage, still smiling like a fool.

He leaves with that dimpled grin still on his face.

The second the door clicks shut, your legs give out. You plop onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

Lucy appears not a minute later and stops short when she sees your face.

“Oh my God,” she squeals like a schoolgirl. “He is hot. I approve.”

You laugh, breathless, heart full, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt, “I love him. I love him so much.”

Lucy softens instantly as she smiles with you, eyes brimming with joy. “I’ve never seen you this happy,” she says.

And it’s true.

You’ve never been happier.

-

Work feels so long when you’re looking forward to come home. Well, to someone to be exact.

You’re in the middle of assessing some files when your phone rings. The second you see Chris’s name lights up the screen and your smile comes instantly like your body already knows him before your brain catches up.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm.

“Hey,” you reply, already smiling wider. “You’re home already?”

“Yes,” he answers. “How about you?”

“Almost. I’m wrapping things up as we speak.”

“That’s good,” he says with a soft sigh. “Because I already started preparing dinner.”

You stop moving and lean back on your chair to focus on him. “Already?”

“Yeah,” he says casually, like this isn’t the most domestic, heart-melting sentence you’ve heard all day.

Your heart swells, threatening to burst right there in your chest. “Can’t wait to for it.”

“Don’t expect much,” he says with a chuckle.

“Nah, I’ll expect much,” you say, cheeks hurt from the non-stop smiling.

“I didn’t say I cook well. Just… edible.”

You hum skeptically. “It better be. Cause I’m starving.”

“I’ve got you. Just come home soon, okay?”

“I will,” you promise.

“Be safe.”

“I will,” you repeat softly.

Everything after that is a blur—you finish signing off emails, grab your coat, shove the rest of your things into your bag. You press a button on your landline phone to summon Lucy and she appears almost instantly.

“Do I have anything else on my schedule?” you ask.

She checks her tablet, scrolling for a bit. “Nope. You’re clear.”

“I’m heading home, then.”

Lucy lowers her tablet and clutches it to her chest. Her face is of disbelief as she says, “I can’t believe you’re leaving work before me.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and grin. “I have to. My boyfriend’s cooking dinner.”

Her eyes widen in envy but her smile is of joy. “Wow. I’m jealous.”

You nod smugly. “Well, jealousy looks good on you.”

Laughter spills free from Lucy’s heart-shaped lips. “Go. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

“Goodnight,” she says, smiling.

And for once, you leave the office early not because you’re running from something, but because you’re heading toward someone.

-

Chris is already there when you come home, setting plates on the dining table, the sleeves of his light blue shirts rolled up to the elbows. The smell of food hits you all at once and your stomach betrays you with a soft grumble.

He looks up when he hears your slow footsteps. “Hey, welcome home,” he says, smiling.

You cross the room without thinking, slipping your arms around him. He bends easily into you, one arm around your waist, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head as you kiss him.

“How was work?” he asks softly when you pull back.

You softly exhale. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

He smiles at that, thumb brushing your hip. “Go put your things away. Wash up. Dinner’s ready.”

You obey happily and turn toward the bedroom. You hang your coat, set your bag down, wash your hands and when you return, he’s already pouring wine into two glasses, the bottle sitting open between them like a promise of a slow night.

You sit together on the dining table. The food is better than you expected and you tell him so, earning a proud grin. Conversation flows easily. You talk about work, ask about his meeting, about stupid things and small things and memories that resurface naturally, laughter slipping in between bites and sips of wine.

At one point, you pause, looking at him across the table. At the way he leans back in his chair, relaxed. At how at ease you feel, how the tightness you’ve carried for years seems to loosen without effort.

You’ve lived in many places. You’ve succeeded, built things, survived heartbreak. But you’ve never quite felt like this. Like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

In that moment, you learn that home isn’t a place—it’s a moment, a shared meal, a soft laugh across the table, and the certainty settling in your chest that you don’t want to be anywhere else.

-

After dinner, you stand and reach for the plates to help with the dishes but Chris immediately shakes his head and tells you to sit and enjoy the wine instead. You open your mouth to argue, then decide you like the sound of that far too much.

You retreat to the sofa instead, curling into the corner with your glass while he moves around the kitchen, rinsing plates, stacking them neatly, soft curls falling over his forehead. You watch him shamelessly, refilling his glass when he passes by. When he finally joins you on the sofa, you hand him the wine.

“I could get used to this,” you say with a playful grin.

He chuckles before taking a sip. “Good. I’ll send you my invoice at the end of the month.”

“That won’t be a problem,” you say confidently.

He nods, amused. “I figured.”

For a moment, there’s only the quiet clink of glass against table, the low hum of the house settling around you. Then Chris sets his wine down and turns toward you, his expression still soft, but serious now.

He takes your hand in his and says, “I need to tell you something.”

You follow his lead, placing your own glass aside to give him your full attention. Your heart giving a small, nervous thud. “Okay. What is it?”

He smiles first and takes a moment to either brace himself or arrange the words he’s going to say in his head. Either way, it makes you wait in anticipation.

“I decide to turn down both offers,” he shares with a steady voice. “The extension from my old team… and the new one.”

It comes as a surprise but you don’t interrupt. You just nod, letting him speak, trusting him that he’ll explain in his own pace.

“When you invited me to come, I reached out to a few teams here,” he continues. “Just to see if there’s any suitable offers. One of them wanted to meet today—that’s where I went earlier.”

“Oh?” You manage to say and feel bad for being suspicious earlier.

“Yeah,” he nods. “They offered me the job.”

He pauses, eyes searching yours as he shares, “And I’m going to take it.”

You couldn’t be happier to know he’s getting a job but the businessman in you can’t help but ask, “Is it… the best offer you could get?”

“No. The other one was better,” he honestly answers.

Your chest tightens but then he takes your other hand too, holding both of them firmly on his lap.

“But they’re willing to provide everything I asked so it’s enough for me,” he says with a reassuring smile. His gaze softening, his hand holds you tighter as he continues, “And I’m choosing it. Because I want to stay close to you. This is what I want.”

Your throat closes in disbelief on what he’s done. Again. How certain he is of this. The trust. The faith.

“Chris…” is all you can manage to say.

He squeezes your hands gently. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it with you. I’m doing this for us.”

Tears sting your eyes anyway and this time, you don’t doubt him or his choices. You don’t doubt this. You inhale slowly and nod.

“It’s your decision. And I respect it,” you say, voice steady despite the emotion.

Then you take a breath of your own. “I have something to tell you too.”

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“I want you to move in with me.”

His eyebrows lift, surprised for only a brief moment. The grin spreads on his beautiful face, slowly, brightly. “That won’t be a problem for me.”

You laugh softly, relief and joy tangling together. “Good. Because I’m choosing this too. I’m choosing us.”

He brings your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Let’s stay close to each other,” he murmurs.

You nod, smiling through the warmth blooming in your chest. “And let’s be happy from now on.”

He agrees with a quiet nod and then he leans in and kisses you, sealing it not like a promise made in fear, but one built on choice, trust, and finally, peace.

The kiss lingers for a long moment as a promise made without words. When you pull back, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling, smiles soft and real. There’s no grand declaration, no need to map out the future tonight. Just the steady understanding that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

For so long, love felt like something you had to earn, chase, or protect at the cost of yourself. With Chris, it’s different. It’s chosen again and again in small moments and big ones, in dinners cooked at home, in meetings taken and turned down, in hands held without fear of letting go. This isn’t the kind of love that asks you to shrink or sacrifice your dreams. It grows alongside them. It waits. It stays.

You’ve both lived long enough to know that timing can be cruel, that life can pull people apart even when the feelings are real. But you’ve also learned that the right person doesn’t disappear just because the road gets hard.

This time, you choose each other not out of longing or regret, but with open eyes and steady hearts. And as you kiss him again, smiling into it, you know this isn’t a happy ending.

It’s a beginning.

One you’ll keep choosing, together.

-

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