𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎

You’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as you can remember.

Not the vague kind of wanting, either—the kind that shifts shape every few years. You knew. Even when you were younger, scribbling stories in the margins of notebooks and filling entire pages with feelings you didn’t yet have words for, you knew this was what you wanted to do. You were always drawn to love stories. To the way emotions could be stretched, heightened, made beautiful on the page. You liked the idea of writing something that made people feel… things.

So you grew up and did it. You became a writer. A romance writer, of all things.

You sit in your chair now, feet tucked beneath you, laptop warm against your thighs, and watch the cursor blink at the top of a blank page. This part should be easy. It always is. You know how to write longing. You know how to pace desire, how to make a single look feel like a promise. You know how to build a love story that burns slow and ends soft.

What you don’t know—what you never quite figured out—is how to live one.

You scoff quietly and lean back, the chair creaking in the silence of your apartment. Another night, another deadline, another fictional couple about to fall into each other’s arms right on schedule. Meanwhile, the room around you is still, unromantic in a way that feels almost deliberate. You’re still in your pajama pants. The coffee on your desk has gone cold. The crumpled papers spilling out of your trash can. Dirty dishes piling on your sink.

You write bestselling romance novels under a pseudonym. Spicy ones. The kind that get passed around group chats and dog-eared on bedside tables. Readers tell you your stories feel real. They assume you must know exactly what you’re talking about—love, intimacy, being the one true love and all.

They don’t know your name. Not the real one, at least. They don’t know that the person behind the words is sitting alone in an apartment that smells faintly of stale coffee, wondering when exactly her life veered so far from the stories she’s so good at telling.

You stare at the paragraph you wrote earlier and feel something twist in your chest. You highlight it and press delete.

Your life has never looked like this. No grand gestures, no cinematic confessions. Just routines and deadlines and the dull, persistent awareness that you are very good at writing romance and very bad at finding it.

The cursor blinks, wating. You exhale slowly, fingers hovering over the keys, and try to convince yourself that this is enough. That wanting something since you were young doesn’t mean you’re entitled to all of it. That writing about love still counts, even if it doesn’t happen to you.

Still, the thought lingers, quietly and uncomfortably.

You always believed in romance. You just didn’t expect it to feel so far away.

-

Once you’ve done the dishes, you feel a lot better and ready to get back to work.

You open a new document beneath the abandoned chapter and type a name you’ll probably change later. Male Lead. Placeholder. Temporary. You crack your knuckles and try again.

He needs to exist first, you tell yourself. The rest will follow.

You close your eyes for a second, letting the image form the way it usually does. You imagines a man leaning against a doorway. Rings on his fingers. Ink curling up his forearms like secrets he doesn’t bother hiding. There’s an ease to him, a confidence that isn’t loud but feels inevitable. Someone who looks like trouble in the way that makes people lean closer instead of stepping back.

Your fingers move as you picture him. You give him a crooked smile, a voice that carries a laugh even when he’s serious. You imagine the way he’d look at the his love interest like he already knows how the story ends.

There’s a faint thrill in your chest, the familiar hum of creation, of possibility. This is the part you’re good at—building someone from nothing, shaping desire until it feels real enough to touch.

Then, your phone rings. You flinch, eyes snapping open, the image dissolving instantly. The name on the screen pulls you fully back into your apartment, your chair, your life.

Hyunjin.

You answer without thinking. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless, like he’s juggling things. You can picture him with the phone tucked between shoulder and ear, one hand on the espresso machine, the other probably reaching for a cup. “I hate to ask you last minute, but—are you busy?”

You glance at your laptop, at the half-formed man on the screen who will still be there later. “Not really.”

“Could you maybe pick up Archie from daycare?” he asks. “I got held up at the shop. Delivery issue. I’ll owe you. Again.”

You smile before you can stop yourself. “You already owe me, like, ten times.”

“I’ll make it eleven.”

You laugh softly, pushing your chair back as you stand. “Yeah, I can do that. I was going to take a break anyway.”

“That’d be amazing,” he says, relief clear in his voice. “Thank you. He’s probably been asking when you’ll show up.”

“He always does,” you say, fondness slipping in uninvited. Archie has a habit of spotting you before anyone else, face lighting up like you’re part of his routine—which, somehow, you are. “I’ll head out now.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Hyunjin says. “Seriously.”

“I know,” you teasingly reply with a sly smile.

You hang up and grab your keys, casting one last look at the screen before closing your laptop. The male lead stares back at you, unfinished, waiting.

-

The walk to the daycare is short, just a few blocks away, but you take your time anyway. The air outside feels cleaner than the stale quiet of your apartment, the city moving at a gentle, late-afternoon pace around you. You pass familiar storefronts, cracked sidewalks you’ve memorized without meaning to, and you feel your shoulders loosen with every step.

Picking up Archie is always like this—an excuse to step out of your head.

By the time you reach the daycare, you’re already smiling, and it only grows when you spot him inside. He sees you before you even open the door, face lighting up so brightly it almost feels unfair to everything you were brooding over an hour ago.

“You came!” he says again, like it’s a surprise every single time.

“Hi, Archie,” you softly greet, crouching down as he barrels into you, all elbows and enthusiasm. His laugh is loud and unfiltered, the kind that doesn’t worry about being too much.

Archie is a mini version of Hyunjin — dark shiny hair, small eyes, small face and even the whisker dimples that appears when he deeply smiles. In other words, he’s just as beautiful as his dad and you doubt that the mother had any part in it except for brought Archie to the world.

Walking home with Archie is your favorite part. He slips his small hand into yours, swinging it slightly as you head down the sidewalk together. The sun is lower now, bathing everything in a soft, forgiving light and he starts talking almost immediately.

“And today we had painting time,” he says, words tumbling over each other, “and Miss Laura said mine was very good but I got paint on my shirt but that’s okay because it was blue and blue is Daddy’s favorite color and then—oh!—and then we played dinosaurs and I was the big one and Leo was scared but not really scared—”

You hum and nod, letting him ramble, asking small questions at the right moments.

There’s something precious about the way he talks, like every detail matters because it does to him. His excitement is infectious, pure and uncomplicated, untouched by expectations or disappointment. You listen intently, smiling when he laughs at his own story, when he stops mid-sentence because he’s remembered something even more important.

Archie’s world is simple in the best way. Today was good. He painted. He played. He laughed.

That’s enough.

As he talks, something inside you quiets and all of your worries fade into the background. This easy companionship, this small joy — feels like a kind of rest you didn’t realize you needed.

A mental snooze, you think, smiling to yourself.

By the time the apartment building comes into view, Archie is still talking, still animated, still very much five years old and wholly himself. You squeeze his hand gently, grateful for the break, for the moment, for the way something so simple can make the world feel softer.

You don’t think about romance once on the walk home and maybe that’s exactly why it feels so good.

-

You let yourselves into Hyunjin’s apartment with the spare key he gave you months ago. Archie kicks off his shoes by the door without being told, backpack abandoned in the exact spot it always ends up. You follow suit, slipping out of yours and setting your bag down, already moving through the space like it’s your own apartment.

You know his routine by heart at this point. Snack first—apple slices today, because that’s what he asked for on the walk home. Wash hands. Cartoon on low volume while he settles. By the time you pull the coloring book from the drawer in the coffee table, he’s already climbing onto the rug beside you, crayons scattered between you like confetti. You stay with him like this while the afternoon drifts into evening, coloring shapes that don’t stay inside the lines and praising every choice like it’s the right one. Archie narrates as he goes, explaining why the dinosaur is purple today and why the sun has a face.

The front door opens just as you’re deciding whether the sky should be green or blue.

“Daddy’s home,” Archie announces casually, not bothering to look up.

Hyunjin steps inside, the door closing behind him with a tired sigh. His long dark hair is pulled into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, loose strands escaping around his small face. His shirt is wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms dusted with coffee grounds and the evidence of a long day. He looks exhausted in that specific way that only comes from being on your feet since dawn.

The fatigue softens instantly when he sees you and Archie, a warm smile spreading across his face as his eyes move from you to his son sprawled happily at your side. “Hey,” he says gently. “Daddy’s home.”

“Hi, Daddy,” Archie replies, still coloring, still firmly seated next to you.

Hyunjin pouts from the lack of enthusiasm. “That’s it? No running hug? No ‘Daddy!’?”

Archie hums thoughtfully, switching crayons. “I’m busy coloring, Daddy.”

You bite back a smile while picking the color of the crayons.

Hyunjin drops his keys onto the counter and makes a show of sighing. “Wow. I see how it is.”

You keep coloring, glancing up at him briefly. “Tough crowd.”

He crosses his arms, pretending to think. “Well, I guess if you’re too busy to say hi, maybe you’re also too busy to have your favorite food for dinner.”

Archie gasps, drops the crayon, and scrambles to his feet, sprinting across the room. He crashes straight into Hyunjin’s legs, arms wrapping around him without hesitation.

“No! I want it! I want it!” he insists.

Hyunjin laughs, the sound easy and unguarded, and squats down to gather his son into a proper hug, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Who wants chicken noodles for dinner?”

“Me! Me! Me!” Archie enthusiastically shouts, raising his hand in the air.

Hyunjin presses a quick kiss to his temple and then brushes the hair stuck to his forehead. “Then tell me about your day.”

Archie launches right back into his stories, just as animated as before, hands gesturing wildly as Hyunjin listens, nodding, murmuring encouragement, entirely focused.

You watch them for a moment, something warm blooming quietly in your chest but decide to interrupt.

“Hey, do I get chicken noodles for dinner too?”

Hyunjin looks up at you, still crouched, still smiling. “Of course.”

“Yay!” you and Archie cheer at the same time, voices overlapping.

-

Dinner is easy in the way only familiar things are.

Hyunjin sits across from you, shoulders slumping a little now that the day is over. He looks softer like this, hair still in its messy bun, exhaustion worn openly instead of tucked away behind customer smiles and polite conversation. He thanks Archie for waiting before taking his first bite, listens patiently as his son talks with his mouth half-full, gently reminds him to chew.

Hyunjin wasn’t always this version of himself. You know that. Two years ago, before you moved into this building, his life cracked open. A divorce that didn’t explode but still left wreckage. A toddler who suddenly became his whole world. He doesn’t talk about it often, only in small, honest pieces when it comes up naturally. You know enough to understand that it wasn’t bitter—just sad. That sometimes things don’t survive, even when people try. You fall in love and that means, you can fall out of love too.

Now he’s a single dad, doing his best, owning a coffee shop three blocks away. The place is an extension of him—warm, welcoming, unpretentious. The kind of café where people linger without being rushed, where names are remembered and regulars are greeted like friends.

That’s how you met him, actually.

Your first day in the apartment building, arms full of boxes and memories, the knock came before you’d even figured out where the mugs went. Hyunjin stood outside your door with a basket of pastries balanced on one arm and two cups of coffee in the other, Archie tucked against his leg like a shadow.

“Hi, we’re your next-door neighbors,” he’d said, smiling a little shyly.

“I’m Hyunjin and this…” he placed a hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “This is my son, Archie.”

You remembered offering a warm smile at them as you introduced yourself back to them. Then, you crouched down to his Archie’s level to greet him. “Hi, Archie. I hope we can be friends.”

Archie had taken one look at you and decided, immediately, that you were safe. He’d clung to your leg like you’d known each other forever, peeking up at you with wide eyes while Hyunjin apologized profusely. You hadn’t minded. Not even a little.

Somehow, that moment became the foundation for everything that followed. You’ve been living next to each other in quiet harmony ever since—borrowing things, sharing food, watching Archie when shifts run late. It was never something you sat down and defined. It just… happened. Slowly. Naturally.

After dinner, Archie sits patiently while you dab at the sauce smeared around his mouth with a napkin. He squirms, protesting more out of habit than anything else, and you laugh quietly as you catch the last stubborn streak on his chin.

“All clean now,” you announce.

Hyunjin is already moving around the kitchen, stacking plates, rinsing them before setting them in the sink. The space feels smaller when he’s in it—occupied in a comforting way. You stand halfway, instinctively ready to help.

“I’ve got it,” he assures you.

You hesitate, then settle back into your chair, watching as he works.

There’s something unhurried about the way he does things, even when he’s tired. He doesn’t rush through motions; he finishes them properly.

“Archie,” he says gently, glancing over his shoulder. “Wash up and change into your pajamas, yeah?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Archie replies, sliding off the chair and padding down the hallway.

The apartment goes quieter once he’s gone, the absence noticeable in the best way. Hyunjin turns back to you. “Coffee?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Actually… do you have something harder?”

He snorts, entirely unimpressed. “Decaf it is.”

You chuckle softly. “I didn’t say yes to that.”

“You didn’t say no either,” he counters, already reaching for the coffee canister.

You watch him as he scoops the beans into the grinder, measuring by instinct rather than sight. His sleeves are still rolled up, forearms relaxed as he grinds the coffee patiently, listening to the sound like it tells him when it’s ready. He pours the grounds into the filter, taps it just once to level it, then slowly starts pouring hot water over it. The coffee blooms, dark and rich, dripping steadily into the pot.

Hyunjin is handsome in a way that sneaks up on you. Not flashy. Just… solid. Familiar. His profile softened by concentration, his movements careful and practiced. You’ve watched him do this countless times, but it still feels oddly hypnotic—like witnessing a ritual.

You lean your chin into your hand. “You know,” you say lightly, “you could just give me instant coffee and save yourself the trouble.”

He looks at you like you’ve personally offended him. “Where’s the romance in that?”

You scoff and lean back on your chair. “Pfft… Romance? But that’s my job. I’m the one who writes romance books, and look at me.”

That earns his attention as if he’s just remembered something. “How’s the writing going? Did you start the new one yet?” he asks, tone casual but curious.

“Barely. I keep trying, but everything feels off. Ideas slip away before I can grab them.” You hesitate, then sigh. “I think it’s because my life lacks romance.”

Hyunjin hums, noncommittal, as he pours the coffee into two mugs.

“I’ve been single for years,” you continue, words spilling easier now. “I barely go out. I sit at home and write about love all day, and the only thing I share my bed with is my laptop. There’s nothing romantic about that.”

“What you do is romantic,” he says calmly, handing you a mug.

You roll your eyes. “My readers would think I’m a fraud if they knew who I really am. How I live.”

He smiles at that, unfazed. “So what do you expect to happen, then?”

You take a sip, thinking. “I don’t know. I just think that it’d be a good time for my dream man to walk into my life.”

He chuckles, almost teasing. “What, a knight in shining armor? A prince on a white horse?”

You glare at him. “Dead wrong.”

“Oh?” He leans against the counter, amused. His eyes are on you, giving all of his attention.

You straighten slightly, warming to the idea. “Someone different. Someone confident. I don’t mind a tattoo or two. Piercings, maybe. Creative. A little reckless. Someone who feels like he stepped out of a story.”

Hyunjin laughs. “I’ve got at least three regulars like that at the shop.”

“I am not shopping for men at your coffee shop,” you say, scandalized.

Before he can reply, small footsteps thunder down the hallway.

Archie reappears in a dinosaur onesie, arms raised proudly. “Look!”

You coo immediately, setting your mug down and kneeling. “Oh my god. You’re too cute.”

You lean back just enough to take a good look at Archie, noticing the way he’s almost outgrown the onesie — proof of how much he’s grown. “Please, stop growing up! You have to stay like this forever,” you murmur as you pull him for tight hug.

“No!” Archie protests. “I wanna be big. Bigger than Daddy.”

You shake your head firmly. “Nope. I forbid it.”

He whines dramatically. “Daddy!”

Hyunjin laughs, scooping him up. “Sorry, baby. She’s got veto power.”

You grin, then stand as you realize it’s time for you to leave so the boys can settle gently into the night. “I should head back. You’ve got bedtime duty.”

You hug Archie tightly, wishing him goodnight, then turn to Hyunjin. “Goodnight.”

You walk up to the counter, picking up the mug to take it home with you.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin says quietly. “For today.”

“No worries,” you reply while raising the mug of coffee. “I live right there.”

It really is just across the hall.

Your apartment greets you with its familiar clutter—notes, books, your open laptop waiting where you left it. You sigh, sinking back into your chair, fingers finding the keyboard again.

This time, you don’t scoff. You take a sip of your coffee and start to write.

-

Morning arrives with a dull knock cutting through the haze of sleep.

You groan, lifting your head with effort, neck stiff from the angle you fell asleep in. Your chair creaks as you shift, and the screen in front of you flickers awake when your knee nudges the desk. The cursor blinks insistently in the middle of a paragraph, proof that you were writing right up until sleep claimed you without permission.

Figures.

The knocking comes again, firmer this time. You glance at the clock on your screen and wince. Too early. Definitely too early. You scrub a hand over your face and push yourself up, legs protesting as you stand. Your reflection in the darkened laptop screen is… rough. Bed hair pointing in every direction, yesterday’s clothes wrinkled and clinging, glasses still abandoned somewhere on the desk.

“Coming,” you call out, voice hoarse with sleep.

You gather your hair into a messy bun with one hand, shove your glasses onto your nose with the other, and shuffle toward the door, bare feet dragging softly across the wooden floor. In your foggy head, the picture is already formed—Hyunjin on the other side, coffee in hand, apologetic smile ready, probably here because he needs your help to take Archie to kindergarten.

The knock comes again.

“I said—coming,” you mumble, fingers fumbling with the lock.

You twist the knob and pull the door open. You freeze because it is not… Hyunjin.

It’s someone else entirely. Someone with a gummy smile, leaning casually against the doorframe like he’s got nowhere else to be. Someone with overgrown dark, permed hair falling into his eyes, silver glinting faintly at his ears. Tattoos peek out from the sleeveless top he’s wearing, ink curling along skin like it belongs there. He looks awake in a way you decidedly are not—alert, amused, taking you in with a slow, curious glance.

For one disorienting second, you wonder if you’re still asleep at your desk.

“Uh,” he says, lips quirking. “Hi, I’m your new neighbor.”

Your brain lags behind the moment, scrambling to catch up. Glasses slightly crooked. Hair a mess. Heart doing something inconvenient.

This—this is impossible.

Because standing in front of you, framed by the hallway light, is someone who looks alarmingly like the man you were imagining just hours ago.

The dream man.

-

For a second, you just stare at him.

Your brain refuses to cooperate, still caught somewhere between sleep and the impossible coincidence unfolding in front of you. He shifts his weight slightly, waiting, the hallway light catching on the silver at his ears.

“I’m Han,” he says, like this is normal. Like he didn’t just step straight out of your half-written chapter.

“I moved in just now. Next door.” He gestures vaguely toward the apartment beside yours. “I was wondering—do you happen to have a hammer I could borrow?”

A hammer. The word floats around uselessly in your head.

“Oh—uh—yeah,” you say finally, far too late. “I think so. I mean. I think I do. Somewhere.”

Without giving him time to respond or yourself time to think, you turn and retreat back into your apartment.

The door closes behind you, and you stop in the kitchen, gripping the counter. You glance at your reflection in the microwave door and immediately regret every life choice that led you here. Messy bun threatening to collapse. Glasses slightly crooked. Old, faded T-shirt. Bare feet. Absolutely not the first impression you imagined giving your dream man. You groan softly, then remember—he’s still waiting.

Right. Hammer.

You drop to your knees and rummage through the bottom cabinet, dragging out a dusty toolbox you don’t even remember buying or having. You flip it open, hopeful for half a second. No hammer.

You sigh, push yourself up, and head back to the door. Han is still there, patient waiting with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, flustered all over again. “I don’t actually have one. But—I know someone who does.”

He smiles easily. “Lead the way.”

You cross the hall before you can overthink it, unlocking Hyunjin’s door and letting yourself in like you always do.

Hyunjin is at the counter, packing Archie’s lunch into his backpack with practiced efficiency. “Hey,” he says without looking up. “Coffee’s—”

You clear your throat. “Uh—Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin turns and pauses when he sees someone else with you.

Han steps forward slightly. “Hey. I’m Han. The new neighbor.”

Hyunjin blinks once, then smiles politely. “I’m Hyunjin. And this is Archie.”

Archie looks up from the sofa where he’s wrestling with his socks. “Hi,” he says cheerfully.

Han waves. “Hey, man.”

“I just needed to borrow a hammer,” Han adds.

“Sure, just give me a second,” Hyunjin says immediately, already heading down the hallway.

While he’s gone, you suddenly find the ceiling very interesting. The floor, too. Anywhere but Han. You drift over to Archie instead, crouching down to help him tug his sock over his heel.

“Your sock’s inside out, buddy,” you murmur.

“It’s fine,” Archie says seriously.

Hyunjin returns with the hammer, handing it over. “Bring it back whenever.”

“Thanks,” Han says. “Appreciate it.”

Then he’s gone, door closing softly behind him.

The second it clicks shut, you straighten and practically vibrate.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” you freak out, flailing your hands and pacing the room.

“Did you see him?” you whisper fiercely. “Hyunjin, that’s him. That’s exactly him. I literally described someone like that last night. Tattoos, piercings—this could be it. This could actually be it. Romance might finally be—”

Hyunjin doesn’t say much, moving around the apartment, grabbing Archie’s jacket, checking his bag. You keep talking anyway, words tumbling out unchecked.

“And the timing? He just shows up? Like that?”

He finally stops, crouching to help Archie into his shoes. “You can tell me the rest later,” he says gently. “We’re going to be late.”

“Oh. Right.”

He gestures toward the counter where the coffee pot rests. “Coffee’s fresh.”

Archie hops off the sofa and walks over to you. “Bye.”

You kneel and hug him tight. “Have the best day, okay?”

“Okay!”

Hyunjin grabs his hat and jacket, ushering Archie toward the door. “Don’t forget to lock up,” he says to you.

“I won’t. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

The door closes behind them, leaving the apartment quiet again. You stand there for a moment, coffee steaming on the counter, heart still racing.

Next door, somewhere beyond the wall, Han exists.

And suddenly, romance doesn’t feel so far away after all.

-

The next few days pass in a strange, quiet blur.

You don’t mean to observe him at first. It just… happens.

You start noticing patterns the way you always do when you’re building a character—small details that stack up without you realizing you’re collecting them. The sound of a door opening down the hall. Footsteps on the stairs. A low hum of music bleeding faintly through the walls at odd hours.

Han leaves his apartment late in the mornings, usually when you’re already awake but pretending not to be. You learn this by accident the first time, standing in your kitchen with a mug of coffee cooling in your hands when you hear his door open. You peek through the peephole without thinking, and catch a glimpse of him slipping his jacket on, keys already in hand.

After that, you notice it more.

Some days he leaves closer to noon, hair still damp like he showered in a rush. Other days, it’s earlier, sunglasses perched on his head even when the sun isn’t particularly bright. There’s a guitar case slung over his shoulder more often than not, stickers peeling at the edges like it’s been everywhere with him. Not sure if he plays guitar as a hobby or it’s his job or… he’s in a band. Either way, you like the fact that he plays guitar.

Then, you start recognizing the sound of his return, too. The way he unlocks his door without fumbling. Sometimes it’s early evening. Sometimes it’s well past midnight, the hallway quiet and dim when he finally comes home. On those nights, music filters faintly through the wall—something fast and chaotic, not loud enough to be intrusive, just present enough to let you know he’s there.

You pass him in the hallway once, hands full of groceries. He flashes you an easy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, a little too quickly.

Another time, you’re both waiting for the elevator. He smells faintly of smoke and soap, a combination that shouldn’t work but does. He asks how your day’s been. You say “good” even though you’ve spent most of it staring at a blinking cursor.

Sometimes you hear him humming under his breath when he locks up. Sometimes he nods at you with a tired grin, like you’re already familiar.

Nothing progresses. Nothing happens. But you notice everything anyway.

The days settle into a rhythm that now includes him, threaded quietly through your routine. You find yourself timing your coffee refills, your trips out, your walks to the mailbox, hoping that you might run into him. Sometimes you do. Sometimes you don’t.

At night, when you sit back down at your desk to write, the male lead in your book starts to look a little different. His habits more specific. His movements more familiar. You tell yourself it’s coincidence.

Still, when you hear Han’s door click shut down the hall, you pause mid-sentence every time.

Just for a second. Just long enough to wonder.

-

By the third day, you stop pretending it’s accidental. You know his timing now—give or take five minutes. So you wait by your door, already dressed, laptop bag slung over your shoulder like an alibi. You ditch your glasses in favor of contacts, smooth your hair, take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Different. Awake. Presentable. The kind of person who looks like they might casually exist in the same world as someone like Han.

You intently listen through the door and right on cue, you hear the soft click of a lock down the hall.

You give it two seconds, just enough to make it believable and then step out into the hallway, locking your door behind you with practiced ease. You keep your face calm as you press the elevator button.

Against the pulse drumming in your ear, you can hear his footsteps approaching.

“Hey,” Han says first, voice easy.

You turn, heart jumping anyway. “Hey.”

The elevator arrives with a soft ding. He steps aside, holding the door for you. “After you.”

“Thanks,” you mutter as you step in, standing a little too straight as he follows.

The doors slide shut, and suddenly it’s just the two of you, enclosed in a space that feels far too small for how aware you are of him. Silence settles and you can only hope he can’t hear the way your heart beating out of your chest.

You inhale quietly, then force yourself to speak. “That’s a guitar, right?” you ask, gesturing toward the case on his back.

He glances over his shoulder, lips twitching. “Yeah. I’m in a band. Kinda lame, though.”

You chuckle despite yourself. “I don’t believe you.”

He grins. “Yeah, me neither.”

The elevator hums as it descends. He looks at you. “You heading somewhere?”

“Yeah,” you say, grateful for the question. “Going to do some writing at the coffee shop.”

“Oh.” He raises his brows. “You’re a writer?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff?”

To say that you write romance kind of… uncool. You hesitate for half a beat—just long enough to decide. “Just some lame books.”

He laughs, the sound warm and unguarded. “Welcome to the club then.”

The elevator chimes, doors sliding open onto the lobby. He steps out first this time, glancing back at you. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Outside, you part ways—him heading down the street in the opposite direction, guitar case bouncing lightly against his back. You turn toward Hyunjin’s coffee shop, heart still racing, a smile you don’t bother hiding tugging at your lips.

Nothing monumental happened. No sparks. No declarations. But it feels like a win anyway.

You know something new about him now and somehow, impossibly, he feels even cooler than before.

-

Madeleine has been a staple of the friendship between you and Hyunjin. He brought a basket full of them when he first introduced himself to you and you gushed to him about how delicious they were the next day.

Since then, Hyunjin always has madeleines waiting for you in the coffee shop, baked specially for you. He slides a tray onto your table with a soft clatter—still warm and dusted lightly with sugar, a cup of freshly brewed coffee steaming beside them. He’s in his apron, sleeves rolled up, dark hair tied into a messy bun that’s halfway given up after the morning rush.

“So,” you start immediately, leaning forward like you’ve been holding this in your lungs the entire walk here, “I talked to him.”

“Mhm,” Hyunjin hums, already turning to grab a stack of abandoned mugs from the table next to yours.

“In the elevator,” you add. “Casual. Natural. Effortless. Very rom-com coded.”

“That’s great,” he says, distracted, balancing cups in his hands.

“And he’s in a band,” you continue, lowering your voice like it’s a secret meant only for the two of you. “A band, Hyunjin.”

He pauses just long enough to glance at you. “Is he?”

“Yes. Guitar. Very cool about it too. Like, oh, this old thing energy.”

Hyunjin exhales through his nose, amused despite himself, and resumes gathering dishes. “And you’re already sure he’s your great romance?”

You nod emphatically. “I know.”

“How?” he asks, genuinely curious now.

You blink at him. “Duh. I’m a romance writer.”

He snorts. “Right.”

“I can feel these things,” you insist. “The timing. The vibe. The guitar case. It’s all very—meet-cute adjacent.”

Hyunjin sets the cups down behind the counter and looks at you. “So are you actually planning to write today, or did you just come here to gush about Han?”

“I am writing,” you defend quickly. “I just need inspiration first.”

He arches a brow. “Does that mean you came here just because you wanted to run into him again?”

You grin, unrepentant. “I came for multiple reasons.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And one of them,” you add, reaching for a madeleine and taking a bite, “is your coffee. And these. Which are amazing, by the way.”

That finally gets him—a small smile tugging at his mouth despite the skepticism. “Flattery won’t save you.”

A customer steps up to the counter, and Hyunjin straightens, slipping smoothly back into barista mode. “Be right with you,” he says before glancing back at you. “Write something. Don’t just stare at your screen.”

“I’m trying,” you shoot back.

He shakes his head fondly and turns away. You open your laptop, the familiar glow lighting up the table, coffee warm under your hands, crumbs dusting the page of your notebook.

You let Hyunjin fade into the background again—the soft hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of the shop settling into its late-morning rhythm. Your fingers finally move, words spilling onto the screen in uneven but earnest lines. It’s not perfect, but it’s something, and something is better than the blinking cursor that haunted you all night.

You’re mid-sentence when a ripple of giggles drifts in from the table beside yours.

“…I’m telling you, he’s so handsome.”

“And a single dad,” another voice adds, breathless. “That’s, like, illegal.”

You quietly glance over the next table, two girls leaning close, whispering like they’re sharing state secrets, eyes flicking not-so-subtly toward the counter where Hyunjin stands as he warmly chats with a customer. He laughs at something, head tipping back just slightly, and the girls nearly lose it.

You press your lips together, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Of course. Of course Hyunjin draws this kind of attention. He exists in soft mornings and warm smiles and freshly brewed coffee. He lives romance without trying, while you—ironically, tragically—sit here writing about it like it’s a distant myth.

A flicker of jealousy settles in your chest, gentle but undeniable. Funny, isn’t it? You think. The one who writes love stories hasn’t lived one in years, while the man steaming milk three feet away inspires them just by existing.

-

Archie’s hand is warm and a little sticky in yours as you walk him to kindergarten, his backpack bouncing with every step. He’s talking about a game they played yesterday, about how today he might get to be the line leader—and you hum and respond at all the right places, smiling because this is easy. This part always is.

You stop just outside the gate where his teacher is already waiting, clipboard tucked under her arm, cheerful as ever. She greets Archie by name, and he lights up like he’s been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

You crouch down, smoothing his hair with your palm before pulling him into a hug. “Have fun, okay?” you say softly.

“I will!” he promises, already half-turned toward his friends. He waves at you with all the enthusiasm a five-year-old can muster before being gently ushered inside, and you wave back until he disappears through the door.

Only then do you straighten, exhaling. As you start the walk home, you pull out your phone and text Hyunjin.

Archie’s in school. Safe and happy.

You don’t expect an instant reply, knowing that Hyunjin will be too busy to even check his phone. You slip the phone back into your pocket and continue down the sidewalk. Enjoying the way the city quiets down as most people have already settled into their routine — work, school, business to do.

You slow when you see a hair salon sits on the corner, the owner flipping the sign on the front door to ‘Open’. You glance at your reflection in the glass without meaning to—messy bun, familiar length, the same look you’ve had for… how long, exactly?

The thought lands quietly, then blooms. Maybe it’s time for a fresh cut.

Not because of certain someone. Not because of a guitarist next door or the way your heart keeps doing stupid things lately. You scoff under you breath, shaking your head.

Before you can overthink it, or talk yourself out of it, you reach for the handle and step inside.

Almost an hour later, you walk out of the salon feeling… lighter and also strangely exposed.

The cut sits differently against your neck, unfamiliar when the breeze slips past it. You keep catching your reflection in car windows as you walk—tilting your head, squinting, deciding you don’t hate it, deciding you’re not sure yet.

Maybe it’s just the shock of seeing yourself altered. Maybe it’s the quiet fear that you’ve changed something you can’t quite take back.

You check your phone and find a reply from Hyunjin.

Your treats are ready, ma’am.

-

The café is calmer than the morning rush—no frantic office workers lined up three-deep, just a handful of people lingering at tables. Someone reads a newspaper by the window. Someone else scrolls on their phone, coffee cooling between their palms.

You step inside and wait at the counter while Hyunjin finishes filling an order. He moves with practiced ease, apron tied snug around his waist, hair pulled into that familiar messy bun that always looks like it took zero effort and somehow still works.

When he finally looks up, he pauses just a second too long. But you catch it immediately.

Your hand flies to your hair. “Why? Is it bad?” you blurt out before he can say anything.

Hyunjin tilts his head, still can’t decide.

Your insecurity creeps in. “That bad?” You ask, anxiously touching your hair.

Hyunjin blinks, then shakes his head. “No. It looks good on you. You look beautiful.”

The knot in your chest loosens almost instantly. You smile, small and a little shy, fingers still brushing the ends of your hair. “Thanks.”

He reaches under the counter and pulls out a tray, the smell of freshly baked madeleines drifting up between you. “What do you feel today? Milk or no milk?” he asks, knowing that your coffee’s preference is based on your mood.

An idea comes to mind at the sight of the warm, sweet-smelling madeleine. You hesitate but before you can second-guess yourself, you shake your head.

“Actually, can you pack those to go? And… make two coffees?”

Hyunjin arches a brow, curious but amused. “Two?”

You nod, feeling something spark under your skin. Determination, maybe. Or nerves. Or both.

“I’m done waiting for romance to happen,” you say, half-joking, half-serious. “I think I want to try making it happen instead.”

Hyunjin studies you for a moment—really looks at you, at the new haircut, the way you’re standing a little taller than usual.

Then he smiles as he repeats your order. “Romance to go, coming right up!”

-

Your palms are a little sweaty around the paper bag and the two coffee cups as you stand outside Han’s unit, heart thudding like it’s trying to break free of your ribs.

You rehearse a few openings in your head. Something cool, something effortless, something that says it’s all casual instead of the fact that you’ve been overthinking it for ten minutes straight.

After a moment, you settle simple. Hey, I came here to drop these.

You mentally rehearsed the sentence in your head. You inhale, then knock.

You can hear music bleeding through the door, it’s loud and chaotic, it’s impossible for him to hear you knocking. You knock again, louder this time. Still nothing. By the third knock, you’re practically pounding.

Finally, the door swings open. Han smiles the moment he recognizes you.

“Hey, I—”

But then he turns and walks back inside, door left open behind him. No explanation, no pause.

You stand there for half a second, wondering if you’re supposed to follow or… You settle on the former, stepping into his apartment on hesitant feet.

It’s… exactly what you expect. Bare in places, cluttered in others. A guitar leaning against the wall. Jackets tossed over a chair. A very single-man kind of space.

He crosses the room and turns the volume down on the record player, the music softening into something you can finally hear without it rattling your bones.

“Sorry,” he says over his shoulder. “Didn’t hear you knocking.”

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, trying to sound like you didn’t nearly talk yourself out of this. Your eyes drift to the record player. “What’re you listening to?”

“It’s one of my favorite bands.” He lifts the sleeve so you can see it.

Sex Jerkers. The band name makes your eyebrow raises for a second, definitely never heard of them. You lean in anyway, nodding like this is extremely familiar territory.

When he straightens, he looks at you expectantly. “So… can I help you with something?”

Right. This. The reason you’re here.

 “I came here to drop these,” you say it casually like you didn’t rehearse it in your head for the last ten minutes. “Coffee and some warm madeleines.”

“Oh—thanks. That’s really nice of you.” His expression softens, gesturing toward the counter. “You can put them there.”

You do, carefully setting everything down. And then… nothing. Your mission is complete. You hover, suddenly aware that you hadn’t planned beyond deliver baked goods. Well, you kind of imagined that he’d tell you to have a set and enjoy the goods together.

But Han is pacing now, grabbing his keys, checking his phone. Definitely getting ready to leave.

“Are you heading out?” you ask, aiming for casual again.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m late for band practice.”

“Oh,” you reply, nodding. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

You turn toward the door, ready to make a graceful exit—only to stop short.

Han pulls his T-shirt over his head like you’re not even there. Not even the slightest bit of hesitance. Then, it’s just skin, warm and honey skin—toned, solid, tattoos spilling over his right shoulder and down his side. Too bad you can’t read the rest of the tattoo as it’s disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans that is… slung low… on his hips. Your eyes pivot to the way his pelvic bones narrowing down to—

You gulp and look away immediately. “Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He chuckles, soft and easy. He grabs a clean T-shirt and seamlessly puts it on. “I should be the one apologizing. Didn’t exactly treat you like a proper guest. I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, mortified and flustered and very aware of your pulse. You step toward the door to get out of his way.

He grabs the coffee cup, lifting it slightly. “I’ll eat the cookies later. Thanks again.”

You nod, mumble something that might be no problem, and the two of you step out into the hallway together. You move toward your door, suddenly very invested in unlocking it slowly and calmly like a normal person.

Before you can, Han steps closer and gently catches your arm. The contact is brief—but it sends a jolt straight through you.

“Next time,” he says, raising the coffee cup with a grin, “it’s my treat.”

Then he’s gone, striding toward the elevator. The doors slide shut, and he flashes you one last smile before disappearing.

You wait until you’re safely inside your apartment to let out a squeal.

God. That was a rush.

You press your hand to your arm where he touched you, where the warmth lingers, skin buzzing like it’s been struck by lightning.

And a tad bit romantic.

-

Your desk feels familiar again, the half-finished sentence blinking patiently at you like it knows you’ll come back eventually.

Out of curiosity, purely out of curiosity—you open a browser tab and type in the band name Han mentioned. You click the first result and—

Chaos.

Loud, unfiltered, crashing straight into your apartment like it owns the place. It’s messy and raw. You let it play, tapping your fingers against the desk, imagining Han in the middle of it all—guitar slung low, lost in the noise.

You didn’t hear it until you see the door swings open.

“What god-awful sound is that?!”

Hyunjin stands in your doorway, jacket still on, keys dangling from his fingers, face twisted in genuine offense.

You shrug as you stand from your chair, entirely unbothered. “Why? It’s cool.”

His forehead wrinkles like you’ve just spoken another language. He opens his mouth and closes it, then sighs. “Can you turn it down? I need to tell you something.”

You grin and comply, pausing the music. The sudden quiet feels loud in comparison. You turn to face him properly.

“Thanks,” he says, then clears his throat. “So uh…”

“Yeah?” you ask, letting him know he has your full attention.

“Archie has a school play this weekend.”

“Oh,” you say, immediately brightening.

“It’s this Saturday. He asked if you’d come.”

“Yes,” you answer without even thinking.

Hyunjin blinks. “You don’t have to if you’re busy.”

You wave him off. “Romance can wait for a day.”

That earns you a soft, fond chuckle from Hyunjin. He holds his hand out at you, showing you a foil-wrapped packet he’s been holding in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“Egg sandwich,” he says. “Archie asked me to make it. I figured I’d make one for you too.”

The second you feel the warmth and catch a whiff at it, you tear the foil open and take a bite, humming immediately, eyes fluttering a little at how good it is.

“This is so good,” you say, mouth full, completely unashamed.

Hyunjin shakes his head, amused. “Enjoy it.”

He heads back toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Saturday. Ten a.m.”

“Saturday, ten,” you repeat, still chewing.

You hear his laugh—warm, real—just before the door clicks shut behind him.

You swallow, smile to yourself, and sit back down at your desk, crumbs on your fingers and music still paused on your screen.

Everything feels… full. In a way you hadn’t realized you were missing.

-

You don’t usually dress like this.

Most days, you live in comfort and practicality—things you can sit in for hours, things that don’t demand to be seen. But tonight, you have to put a little effort as you have a meeting with your agent which guarantee an adult conversation that doesn’t involve coffee orders or five-year-old bedtime routines.

You settle on a simple dress, just enough to feel intentional. A little color on your cheeks, concealer to cover the sleep you didn’t get, a swipe of lipstick to brighten the whole look. You study yourself in the mirror for a second longer than usual, then decide it’s good enough.

When you step out into the hallway, the elevator arrives like it’s been summoned on cue.

The doors open to reveal Hyunjin and Archie—hands linked, a grocery bag hooked over Hyunjin’s arm.

“Hold it!” you call, hurrying forward.

Hyunjin reaches out and keeps the doors open without a second thought.

Archie looks up at you, eyes going wide. “You look beautiful. Like a princess,” he says, completely earnest, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world.

You stop short, flustered. “Thank you so much, Archie,” you reply softly, smiling at him.

Hyunjin glances at you but his eyes seem to betray him as they sweep over you, head to toe and back to your face. Something flickers across his face before he masks it with a small smile. “Where are you heading?”

“Meeting my agent,” you say, already stepping into the elevator. “And I’m running a little late.”

“Yeah, right.” He releases the button. “Be safe.”

You nod, lifting a hand in a small wave. “Bye.”

“Bye, bye, Princess!” Archie chirps, waving enthusiastically.

The doors slide shut, leaving them behind.

As the elevator descends, you press your back lightly against the wall, heart still fluttering—not from nerves about the meeting, but from the way Archie’s voice had sounded so sure.

Beautiful. Like a princess.

You breathe out slowly and straighten your shoulders.

Tonight, at least, you believe it.

-

The bar is dim in that intentional way. You sit across from your agent, legs crossed, fingers wrapped around a glass of water you ordered on purpose, laptop bag tucked neatly by your feet.

She flips through her notes while you talk. You tell her about the new book. The premise, the tone, the themes you’re circling. You don’t give away too much, just enough to prove that the story exists, that it has potential, that you’re not stalled even if it sometimes feels like you are.

She listens, nodding, humming thoughtfully. “Okay,” she says eventually, satisfied. “It’s taking shape. I can hear it.”

Relief loosens your shoulders and the meeting winds down quickly after that.

She checks her phone, grimaces. “I’ve got another thing I need to run to.”

“That’s fine,” you say, already gathering your bag.

“But,” she adds, standing, “you’re having a drink before you go.”

“Oh—no, I wasn’t planning to—”

Too late as she steers you toward the bar with a firm hand on your elbow like she’s done this a hundred times before. “Sit,” she says, pointing to a stool.

You sigh but comply, sliding onto the seat. You don’t plan on drinking as you have Archie’s play to attend tomorrow and you can’t show up with a hangover.

She flags down the bartender with a sharp lift of her fingers. “Make her your finest cocktail. And don’t let her leave until she finishes it.”

“I really don’t need—” you start.

Then you hear the bartender’s voice. “Got it.”

You turn on your stool and Han stands behind the bar. Your brain short-circuits so hard you almost laugh.

Your agent doesn’t notice as she’s already slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Enjoy,” she says cheerfully, before disappearing into the crowd.

Han lifts an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling at his lips as recognition settles in. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, eyes locking onto yours.

“Clearly,” you manage.

He reaches for a shaker, smoothly pouring the concoction into it. “Guess I’ve been instructed not to let you escape.”

His gaze flicks back up to you, amused. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You realize, somewhere between the ice clinking in the shaker and the easy way Han moves behind the bar, that you’re barely paying attention to the drink in front of you.

You watch him instead. The way he takes orders, leaning in just enough to hear people over the music. The way his hands work automatically, confident, practiced. He looks like he belongs here in a way that’s different from the next-door neighbor Han, and the contrast makes your chest feel tight in a way you’re still learning to name.

When he finally comes back to you, he glances at your glass. “You haven’t finished it,” he says, mock-serious. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

Your cheeks warm but you quickly say, “No, the drink is fine.”

You convince him by taking a small sip of it, wincing at the sourness biting at your tongue.

He smirks and tilts his head. He drops his voice just a notch as he adds, “or are you just trying to linger?”

That does it. You straighten on the stool, flustered. “I—no. I mean—yes, it’s good. The drink. It’s good.”

He grins like he’s won something.

“So,” you say, eager to redirect, “do you work here?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he replies. “Lame band by day, lame job by night.”

You laugh. “You really love that word.”

He shrugs. “How about you?”

“I was meeting my agent,” you say. “Talking about my lame book.”

That earns you a soft chuckle. “Seems like we’re both very successful people.”

Somehow, your glass is empty before you realize it. Han notices immediately.

“Another?” he asks.

You hesitate—then decide you’re already here, already buzzed, already smiling more than usual. You’re sure one more drink won’t be a problem. “Okay. Just one more.”

He makes it while looking at you this time, not rushing, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be. When he’s done, he grabs another glass and pours something for himself.

“Wait,” he says.

You pause with your hand wrapped around the glass.

“I’ll be drinking with you this time,” he says, taking a glass and pouring liquor into it.

He raises his glass toward you. “Cheers.”

You clink glasses, take a sip, feel warmth bloom low in your chest.

“So,” he says, leaning forward on the counter, close enough that you can see the little mole on his cheek, “you gonna tell me about this book?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the dim lights. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like he actually wants to know.

You smile, slow and teasing. “If I tell you,” you say as you lean forward, “I’d have to kill you.”

He laughs and it’s loud and unguarded. “Didn’t know you were like this.”

You bite your lip, surprised at yourself too. “Neither did I.”

And for the first time, you realize you’re not pretending.

This version of you—the one flirting back, the one lingering on a barstool, the one letting romance exist without trying to write it into shape—she’s real and she’s having fun.

The flirting settles into something easy from there. Small smiles, lingering looks, the kind of banter that hums quietly beneath the noise of the bar. Han leans in when he talks to you. You laugh a little more than usual. Time slips by without either of you really noticing.

When he gestures toward your glass again, eyebrow lifting, you already know what he’s going to ask. “Third round?”

You hesitate—then shake your head, regretful but firm. “I can’t. I’m a lightweight. If I have another, I’ll be drunk.”

“Then I’ll take you home,” he easily says with a smirk and crinkle in his eyes. “Perks of being neighbors.”

The way he says it makes your stomach flip. You smile and honestly, tempted because you want to say yes. You want to stay. To keep talking, keep hovering in this warm, buzzing space between possibility and intention.

But you remember Archie’s play and you promised Hyunjin that you’ll come.

“I really can’t,” you say gently. “I promised someone I’d be up early.”

Han nods, understanding settling in without complaint. “Fair.”

“I should close my tab,” you add.

“I’ve got it,” he says, already reaching for the register.

You insist anyway, sliding your card across the counter. He gives in with a soft laugh, hands it back once everything’s done.

“Get home safe,” he tells you.

You smile. “I will. Thank you.”

As you step away from the bar, you glance back just in time to see him disappear into the crowd—slipping between bodies, back into the rhythm of the place like he was never yours to begin with.

Your heart is still racing as you head for the door.

And somehow, you’re okay with that.

-

The kindergarten hallway is chaos in its purest form.

Parents crowd every available inch, teachers herding small bodies in mismatched costumes with the patience of saints. You weave your way through it all, scanning faces until you spot Hyunjin exactly where he said he’d be—standing just outside Archie’s classroom, hands in his pockets, looking only mildly overwhelmed.

You reach him and grab his arm. “I’m here, I’m here.”

He turns, breaks into a smile, and immediately hands you a tumbler. “For you.”

You scoff, grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Figured you’d need it.”

Soon enough, the teacher starts ushering everyone toward the small auditorium. You and Hyunjin end up in the middle rows, close enough to the stage that Archie will be able to spot you, close enough that Hyunjin keeps glancing around like he’s trying to mentally map every possible angle.

A couple seated nearby turns toward him. “You’re Archie’s dad, right?” the man says.

Hyunjin stands to greet them, and you rise automatically with him, offering a polite smile. The woman looks between the two of you, eyes warm with curiosity. “I’ve seen you picking Archie up a few times,” she says to you. “Are you his mom?”

You blink. “Oh—um, I—”

“He’s mine,” Hyunjin says quickly, smoothly. “She’s our neighbor. Close friend.”

“Oh!” The woman flushes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin assures her easily, and after a few more pleasantries, they return to their seats.

You and Hyunjin sit back down. You lean in, whispering, “Did she thinks I look old enough to have a child?”

He snorts softly. “And you’ve only realized it now?”

You elbow him without thinking.

He yelps—loud.

“Shh,” he stage-whispers immediately, rubbing his side. “It’s about to start.”

The lights dim, chatter quiets, and the curtain begins to lift.

Archie stands there in a tiny bunny costume—floppy ears slightly crooked, face paint smudged just enough to make it even cuter. You bring a hand to your mouth without realizing it, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “He’s so cute.”

Beside you, Hyunjin is already in full dad mode. Camera up. Finger clicking nonstop. Leaning forward in his seat like he can somehow get closer through sheer will alone. You stifle a laugh as you watch him, completely unapologetic, documenting every second.

Then Archie’s eyes scan the audience and the moment he spots you and his dad, his whole face lights up. He sings louder. Dances harder. Arms swinging with enthusiasm that has nothing to do with choreography and everything to do with being seen.

This is what people meant when they say showing up matters. You feel something warm bloom in your chest as you wave subtly, smiling so hard your cheeks ache.

Hyunjin lowers the camera just long enough to catch it too, eyes shining.

The performance is chaos in the best way—off-key singing, uneven dancing, pure joy radiating from the stage and when it ends, the room erupts into cheers.

Everything feels full. Loud. Soft. And dare you say… kind of romantic.

-

Lunch turns into a small celebration without anyone needing to say it out loud.

The three of you sit around the dining table, plates of spaghetti in front of you. You keep gushing about the play because how could you not? You’re telling Archie how amazing he was on stage, how brave, how cute, how the bunny ears were the best part. You reach over with a napkin, gently wiping sauce from the corner of his mouth.

Hyunjin watches the whole thing with a quiet smile, elbow propped on the table, eyes soft.

Archie, meanwhile, tries very hard to act cool about the praise. He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just steal the entire show.

“Do you know how cute you were with your bunny ears and painted nose?” you ask, dabbing the spaghetti sauce on his chin.

“I know,” Archie answers without a beat.

You and Hyunjin exchange a look, both surprised and amused before letting out chuckles.

Then, Archie looks at his dad. “Daddy, can I have ice cream after this?”

Hyunjin doesn’t even blink. “I think you have enough for today, don’t you think?”

Archie frowns.

You lean forward on the table, leaning close to Hyunjin. “But he worked really hard. Plays are exhausting.”

Archie’s eyes light up. He turns fully toward Hyunjin and puts on his best puppy eyes, voice dropping into a soft, pleading whine. “Pleaaase?”

You join him, tilting your head, widening your eyes in exaggerated innocence. “Please…”

Hyunjin looks between the two of you. His resolve lasts exactly two seconds.

“…Fine,” he sighs. “Ice cream.”

“Yay!” you and Archie cheer in unison.

Hyunjin shakes his head, defeated but smiling as he’s walking to the fridge to get the hard-earned ice cream for the three of you.

The afternoon stretches gently after lunch and nap time always wins. Hyunjin gently lays Archie into his bed, adjusting the blanket, brushing hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes your chest ache just a little.

In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of water, suddenly aware of how tired you are—how keeping up with a five-year-old is a full-body workout.

Hyunjin joins you, voice low. “Can I have a glass?”

You nod, pour another glass, and the two of you settle back at the dining table, shoulders relaxed, the day finally catching up.

“So,” he says casually, “how’s the romance going?”

You snort softly. “Straight to it, huh?”

He shrugs.

You tell him about last night. About meeting your agent. About Han. About the drinks, the flirting, the way it felt different from anything you’d expected. How the whole thing felt serendipitous.

Hyunjin listens, then smirks. “Didn’t think you even knew how to flirt.”

You smack his arm lightly.

He yelps quietly this time and immediately clamps a hand over his mouth, glancing toward Archie’s room.

“Worth it,” you whisper.

He grins. “So what happens next?”

You shrug, staring into your glass. “I don’t know. Potentially, a date? I just… don’t know if he’ll ask.”

“What do you even like about him?” Hyunjin asks, genuinely curious.

“He’s cool but also… hot,” you pause to let out a shy giggle. “He’s confident. I like how he carries himself, the intensity.” You start listing things you like about Han but it all sounds familiar even as you say it.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “You know a lot for someone you’re not close with.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m getting there.”

He smiles, satisfied. “Good luck then.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward, but soft. The kind that settles after a good day. But then reality nudges you — writing to do, book to finish.

“I should go,” you say, pushing yourself up your chair.

“Wait a second,” Hyunjin says, getting up from his chair and reaching for his bag.

A while later, he returns with a paper in his hand and hands it to you. From the glasses and the way he colored the hair the same as yours, you believe it’s Archie’s drawing of you.

“His teacher shared the drawings Archie made at school,” Hyunjin shares.

When you look up from admiring the drawing, you find Hyunjin’s eyes on you, soft and earnest.

“Thank you for coming today,” he says quietly. “Archie was sad his mom couldn’t make it. It meant a lot to him that you came. To me.”

Your throat tightens, not expecting that your presence meant a great deal to someone. “You know I’d do anything for Archie,” you say honestly. Then, playfully, “Not for you.”

He chuckles. “Sure.”

You fold the drawing and hold it close to your chest. “I’m going, okay?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin nods but there’s this look on him that seems reluctant to let you leave.

You linger by the doorway to flash him a smile and say bye. “Don’t miss me too much, yeah?”

Hyunjin grins. “I’ll try.”

You walk out of his apartment, cross the hall and step back into your own. Before sitting down to write, you stick Archie’s drawing on the wall next to your desk. Every time you stop and see it, you can’t help but smile.

-

It’s Wednesday’s afternoon and you’re tucked into your usual corner at Hyunjin’s coffee shop, laptop open, fingers moving steadily. Words blur into paragraphs, paragraphs into pages. You don’t realize how long you’ve been there until you lift your cup and find it empty. You frown at it like it personally betrayed you because you really need the caffeine.

Before you can stand, a shadow falls over the table. Hyunjin appears, already setting down a fresh cup of coffee and a small tray of madeleines, warm and dusted lightly with sugar.

“Oh—thank you,” you say, looking up.

He just smiles, then takes your empty cup and disappears behind the counter.

You take your first sip, humming softly in approval, when you hear the giggling. As expected, a group of girls by the counter accept their drinks from Hyunjin, whispering to each other, cheeks flushed, eyes following him a little too obviously. You shake your head with a fond kind of disbelief.

Hyunjin is completely oblivious to the effect he has on people — girls, specifically.

The door opens and your brain stalls when you see the person who’s just stepped into the coffee shop. Han with sunlight briefly framing him before the door shuts behind him. You don’t know why your first instinct is to duck, but you try anyway—lowering your head, hiding behind your laptop like that’s going to save you. Too late though as his eyes land on you instantly and flashes you a smile.

Shit.

He heads to the counter and you watch as he and Hyunjin exchange pleasantries before taking his coffee order — Ice Americano, less ice with extra shot. While waiting, Han walks straight over and drops into the chair across from you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You smile but it comes out a little stiff. “Hey,” you weakly greet.

He flashes you his gummy smile. “Hey, what’re you doing?”

“Writing,” you say casually, like your heart didn’t just kick into a faster rhythm.

“Can I see?”

You scoff. “I’d still have to kill you.”

He chuckles softly, then goes quiet. He looks at you, noticing something on you. “You cut your hair.”

Well, you cut it like days ago but it feels nice that he finally noticed it. You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of it. Of how it sits today. Of how you styled it without thinking much about why.

“It looks good,” he says.

Before you can respond, Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the shop. “Han!”

Hearing his name on Hyunjin’s lips makes something odd twist in your chest.

The chair scrapes as Han stands. “That’s me.”

He excuses himself to grab his coffee, and the second his back is turned, you glance at your laptop screen—using the dark reflection to fix your hair, smooth it behind your ear, adjust yourself just enough.

When Han comes back, you pretend to fiddle with your laptop.

He stops by your table again with a coffee in his hand. “Hey, uh—my lame band is playing at this bar on Friday. I’d love for you to come.”

He tilts his head and playfully adds, “If you’re up for seeing a lame band.”

You chuckle, pretending to think about it. “Yeah, I’d love to see your lame band.”

“It’s Friday night,” he adds.

“Friday night,” you repeat, nodding.

“I’ll see you then,” he says with a smile, satisfied, then heads for the door.

You wish him a good day, and just like that, he’s gone. You wait exactly three seconds before abandoning your table and marching to the counter.

“Oh, my God. Did you hear that?” you whisper-rant at Hyunjin, who’s cleaning the espresso machine.

“What? I only heard him ask you to see his lame band,” he says.

“He asked me out.”

Hyunjin pauses. “That’s… not what I heard.”

“It’s indirect,” you insist. “But it… is.”

He hums, unconvinced. You decide to ignore that part entirely and focus on the important thing—you were right. You’re getting closer to Han.

“That’s good then,” Hyunjin says with a small smile before moving away to hand off another order.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about his reaction but walk back to your chair. You stare at your laptop, trying to continue writing but your mind is already elsewhere.

Friday night. What to prepare. What to wear. What to expect.

-

Friday night arrives faster than you expect.

You stand in front of your mirror longer than usual, tugging at fabric, tilting your head, changing your mind twice before settling on something that feels right. Something special but not loud about it. Effortless, you tell yourself. Like you didn’t think about this all week.

You smooth the material down, check your reflection again. Good. You look like yourself. Maybe a slightly braver version.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, face-down, and your heart does a stupid little jump even though you haven’t checked it yet.

You’re buzzing, restless, excited. For the past two days, your imagination hasn’t given you a moment of peace.

You imagine walking beside Han down a dim street, shoulders brushing. You imagine him on stage, guitar slung low, eyes finding you in the crowd and staying there. You imagine him stepping offstage, a little flushed, walking straight toward you like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. You imagine drinks. Laughter. The easy kind that comes from being a little buzzed and a little brave. You imagine him leaning in close at the end of the night, voice low, mouth warm against yours. You imagine him coming back to your place. You imagine—

You stop yourself with a sharp inhale, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Okay. Enough.

You shake your head, laugh under your breath, and turn back to the mirror. You adjust your hair, add one last touch. Just enough to feel confident. Just enough to feel like tonight matters.

You don’t need to imagine anymore. You grab your bag, take one last look at yourself, and smile.

Tonight, romance is going to happen.

-

The bar is louder than you expected.

Not bad—just… a lot. The music vibrates through the floor, bass-heavy and messy, and Han’s band takes the stage with confidence that makes the crowd cheer before they even start. You watch him from where you stand near the back, guitar slung low, hair falling into his eyes. He looks good up there like this is exactly where he belongs.

You smile. You really try to.

But as the set goes on, you realize you’re not listening for the music anymore—you’re listening for how it makes you feel. And the feeling never quite arrives. The songs blur together, loud and chaotic, and while the crowd is jumping and shouting lyrics back at him, you’re nursing your drink and wondering how long you’re supposed to stay before it’s polite to leave.

When Han finally comes offstage, he’s flushed and glowing, adrenaline still buzzing through him.

“Did you like it?” he asks, hopeful.

You nod. “Yeah. You were great.”

And he was. That’s the frustrating part.

He introduces you to his friends and they’re loud and affectionate but already halfway drunk and suddenly you’re bar-hopping, squeezing into cramped spaces, shouting conversations over music you don’t know.

Han keeps a hand at your lower back, guiding you through the crowd, ordering drinks without asking what you want.

It’s not unkind. It’s just… unfamiliar.

At one point, you’re sitting on a sticky barstool, watching him laugh with his bandmates, and it hits you—this isn’t a date. You’re not being chosen. You’re being folded into his night.

You thought you knew him. Or maybe you thought you wrote him.

The version of Han in your head is quieter, more attentive, someone who’d lean in to hear you speak instead of leaning away to greet someone new. You realize, with a strange calm, that none of that is fair—to him or to you.

When he finally looks back at you and asks, “You good?” you smile and say, “Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s the truth. Just not the whole one.

Later, when he walks you home and kisses your cheek instead of your lips, you feel relief instead of disappointment.

When you close your door behind you, the silence feels kinder than the noise ever did. You sit on your bed and laugh softly to yourself. Not because it went badly. But because it didn’t go wrong—it just didn’t go right.

You don’t cry. You just stare at the wall and think about how you’re going to need time to understand what that means.

-

The days after Friday blur together quietly.

You’re back at your desk, laptop open, fingers moving more out of habit than inspiration. The room is dim except for the warm pool of light from your desk lamp, the kind of night where the world feels paused just enough for thoughts to get loud.

You’re mid-sentence when a knock sounds at your door. Your heart jumps—annoyingly hopeful, annoyingly wary.

You move to the door, peeking through the peephole first because you’re not ready. Not ready to see Han. Not ready to smile politely and pretend you didn’t dismantle an entire version of him in your head.

Thankfully, it’s Hyunjin.

Relief washes through you so quickly you almost laugh. You open the door and step aside to let him in. “Hey, come in.”

He softly smiles when he sees you, but there’s something else there too—a quiet concern that sits just beneath the surface.

“So Archie is at his mom’s,” he says instead, lifting the plastic bag in his hand. “And I can’t finish all these dumplings myself.”

You smile and usher him toward the kitchen. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Thought I’d share the burden,” he replies easily.

You eat in comfortable silence, the clink of chopsticks against plates filling the gaps. It feels grounding, the simplicity of it.

After a while, Hyunjin glances at you and asks, “How’s the book going?”

“I’ve been writing a lot lately,” you simply answer.

“Is that why I haven’t seen you much?”

You nod.

He hums, accepting it, and the quiet settles again—this time heavier, waiting. Then, gently, “How was the date?”

You sigh before you even realize you’re doing it. Your shoulders slump, and you stare at your plate for a moment longer than necessary before finally speaking.

“I think I’m stupid,” you say, letting out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “For believing there’s such a thing as a dream man.”

Hyunjin’s expression sharpens, not with judgment, but concern. “Did Han do something?”

You shake your head. “No. That’s the thing. It’s not him.”

“Then who?”

“My expectations,” you say quietly. “I projected this whole character onto him. Built this romance in my head and expected it to just… happen.”

You laugh again, but it’s hollow. “So I guess that’s on me. Maybe I don’t deserve romance after all.”

Hyunjin’s chair scrapes softly as he shifts closer. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, warm and steady, rubbing small, comforting circles into your back.

“What makes you think that?” he asks gently.

You don’t answer right away.

“You’re so busy looking for romance,” he continues, “that you don’t realize how romantic the things you do already are.”

You turn your head to look at him, comforted but unconvinced, and he notices. He always does.

“I watch you work and know how hard you worked on your writing.”

You scoff lightly. “You’re biased.”

“And your book,” he adds. “It feels warm. Like… it cares about people.”

You shake your head. “How would you even know?”

He hesitates for half a second and admits, “I read it.”

You snort. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he insists, smiling sheepishly. “Archie always wants to know what I’m reading, so I keep it in my bedside drawer and only read it before bed.”

That gets a real laugh out of you, shaking your head but warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself.

Then Hyunjin’s hand moves from your shoulder to your jaw. He cups your face gently, thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

“You’re amazing,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. “You write beautifully. What you create entertains people. It warms them. What could be more romantic than that?”

Something in you cracks open—not painfully, but softly. Your heart trembles at how genuine he is, how steady, how sure. How he knows the words you needed to hear.

You place your hand over his and lean into his touch. “Thank you,” you whisper.

For a moment, the two of you staying like that, sitting in a comfort that doesn’t need imagining to exist.

Another moment later, you rinse the last plate and set it carefully on the rack while Hyunjin dries his hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter like he belongs there—like he always has.

“Oh,” he says casually, as if it just crossed his mind. “I’m taking Archie to the aquarium this weekend.”

He adds quickly, a teasing lilt in his voice, “I know there’s absolutely nothing romantic about going to the aquarium with a divorced dad and his kid. But… I thought it might help take your mind off things a little.”

It is a good idea since you’ve been cooped up in the apartment for the last few days but still, you pretend to consider it for a moment just to tease him. Then you break into a smile and nod, “…Yeah, I’d like that.”

Hyunjin nods, clearly pleased but pretending not to be. “Cool. I’ll pack lunch,” he says, already planning. “You can treat us to ice cream.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, was it?”

“Nope.”

You sigh dramatically. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

When everything’s done, he pauses and leans over the dining table, hands propped against it. “Are you going to continue writing tonight?”

“It seems like it, yeah,” you answer.

“Just… make sure you rest too,” he says.

You promise with a nod, even if you’re not sure you’ll keep it.

At the door, you thank him again and reach for the handle, but before you can open it, Hyunjin gently pulls you into a hug. It’s long and tight, like he’s trying to pass something to you through sheer closeness. Warmth. Comfort. His real, solid presence.

You don’t resist. You melt into it, arms wrapping around him, breathing him in, catching the faint smell of coffee clinging to his clothes. It feels nice. Too nice.

When you pull back, he doesn’t let you go right away. His hands stay on you, just enough to keep you close. Your eyes meet and for a split second, something sparks right in your chest.

Hyunjin swallows, then murmurs, “Goodnight.”

Only then does he let go.

“Goodnight,” you breathe back, still a little breathless as he steps out and the door clicks shut behind him.

You stand there for a moment longer than necessary, heart thudding, unsure of what just happened—

Only that it stole your breath anyway.

-

The aquarium entrance looms ahead, glass doors glinting under the sun, and Archie is already bouncing on the balls of his feet. His hands are warm in yours, small fingers threaded tightly as he wedges himself between you and Hyunjin.

“Ready?” Hyunjin asks, glancing down at him.

Before either of you can answer, Archie jumps.

You and Hyunjin instinctively lift your arms, hoisting him up for a few seconds, his laugh bursting out loud and uncontained before you set him back down.

“Again!” Archie demands immediately.

You exchange a look with Hyunjin, his mouth already twitching with a smile and do it again. And again. Until Archie’s laughter turns into breathless giggles and the line starts moving.

“Okay,” Hyunjin says, squeezing Archie's hand. “It’s our turn to enter.”

The moment you step into the aquarium, Archie goes quiet. His eyes widen, reflecting the blue glow of the tanks as fish glide past the glass like living brushstrokes. He lets go of your hand without warning, darting forward with a gasp.

“Wait—Archie!” you call, hurrying after him.

He presses his face close to the glass, pointing excitedly, words tumbling out too fast for you to catch. You slow him down, gently steering him from tank to tank, trying and failing to keep pace with his excitement.

Behind you, Hyunjin lingers, unbothered. He lifts his camera, capturing the way Archie’s mouth drops open in awe, the way you crouch beside him, explaining fish names you half-remember.

“Are you even helping?” you call over your shoulder.

Hyunjin chuckles, snapping another photo. “You’re doing great.”

You shake your head, breathless and smiling, while Archie tugs at your sleeve, already dragging you forward. In the next exhibit, you take the camera from Hyunjin without asking, fingers already curling around the familiar weight of it.

“Hey—” he protests.

“It’s your turn!” You say as you aim the camera at him.

Then Archie gasps, pointing at the massive tank ahead, and Hyunjin lifts him up without another word. Archie settles easily in his arms, one small hand braced on Hyunjin’s shoulder as he leans closer to the glass.

Schools of fish glide past them, slow and hypnotic, and something bigger passes in the shadows, making Archie suck in a sharp breath.

“Dad,” he whispers, reverent.

You raise the camera and Hyunjin doesn’t even realize you’re taking pictures at first. His head is tilted slightly toward Archie, his arm secure around him, thumb rubbing absentminded circles against Archie’s back.

There’s a softness in his face you don’t see often—unguarded, fond, full in a quiet way. You press the shutter again and again, capturing the warmth of it, the way love looks when it’s lived in.

When Hyunjin finally glances over and notices you, he raises an eyebrow. “You done?”

“Not even close,” you say, snapping one last photo as Archie laughs at something swimming past.

You move on to the touching pool after that, Archie skipping ahead while sucking on a juice box, already announcing to anyone who’ll listen that there are baby sharks inside.

You peer into the shallow tank, watching the small, sleek shapes glide through the water. “I don’t know about this.”

Hyunjin grins. “They’re harmless.”

You shake your head, folding your arms. “Easy for you to say.”

Without hesitation, Hyunjin rolls up his sleeve and dips his hand into the water. One of the baby sharks swims close, brushing past his fingers. He doesn’t flinch.

“See? Totally fine.”

Purely out of curiosity, you slowly lower your hand into the pool. The water is cool, your pulse loud in your ears as a small shark swims toward you. You watch it intently, holding your breath—

Hyunjin suddenly yelps and at the same time, his hand shoots out and grabs yours under the water.

You scream, jerking your hand back so fast you nearly stumble. “Hyunjin!”

He bursts out laughing, loud and unapologetic, doubling over as you stand there mortified, heart racing.

“Oh my god,” you hiss, slapping his arm again and again. “What is wrong with you?!”

“I couldn’t help it,” he laughs, failing to dodge your hits.

Archie giggles uncontrollably from the side, juice carton forgotten in his hand. “You scared her!”

“You’re both terrible,” you mutter, cheeks burning as a few nearby visitors glance over with amused smiles.

Hyunjin finally lifts his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Worth it.”

You glare at him, but it doesn’t stick. Not with Archie laughing like that. Not with the warmth still lingering from the moment before. Still, you give Hyunjin one last slap for good measure.

“Absolutely not forgiven,” you say but you can see Hyunjin’s smile only goes wider.

By the time the three of you arrived home, Archie is completely out—head tucked under Hyunjin’s chin, mouth slightly open, limbs loose from a day filled with too much excitement and too much food.

You unlock the door into Hyunjin’s apartment with the spare keys you have and hold it open while Hyunjin steps inside. He heads straight for Archie’s room, disappearing down the hallway, and you move to set the backpack down, lining up the jacket, placing the little sneakers neatly by the door.

The sight of Hyunjin’s camera catches your attention so you pick it up and allow yourself to sit on the sofa.

There are so many pictures of Archie—him pressing his nose to the glass, arms spread wide like he’s trying to become a fish; him crouching near a tank, mimicking the posture of a stingray; him baring his teeth proudly like the statue of the sharks next to him. You smile without realizing it.

Then there are photos of you and Archie together. One where you’re pointing excitedly at something in a tank while Archie looks up at you like you’ve just told him a secret. Another where you’re laughing, head thrown back, completely unaware.

You pause on one photo in particular of you standing slightly to the side, Archie right next to you, both of you staring at a tank full of glowing jellyfish. The light bathes everything in blue and violet, soft and dreamy.

It’s… aesthetic. Hyunjin takes beautiful pictures. Which also annoys you because he’s just so good at everything.

You scroll again and realize the next few are unmistakably the ones you took. You can tell because they’re not as composed. Slightly crooked. Too close. Taken with a kind of rushed affection.

You continue scrolling and then stop when you find a picture of you. Your face turned toward the glass, expression relaxed, almost thoughtful. The glow from the tank kisses your cheekbones, your eyes soft, unguarded. There are more like it—small moments, stolen from angles you didn’t know he was watching from.

They’re different. Taken with such great care. Tender. Almost… romantic.

“You know,” Hyunjin’s voice cuts in, amused, “I should’ve taken a picture of you freaking out at the touching pool.”

You yelp softly and turn, immediately slapping his arm. “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs as he sits beside you on the sofa, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch. You hand him the camera back, then lean into the cushions with a long sigh. “You know,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “your life is way more romantic than mine.”

Hyunjin tilts his head. “How is that so?”

You count them off without even looking at him. “You have a beautiful, loving son. You own a coffee shop. You brew your own coffee. You bake. You have… secret admirers. You take beautiful photos like this.” You gesture vaguely. “And that’s not even all of it.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully and then, narrows his eyes at you. “Secret admirers?”

You grin and bump your shoulder lightly against his. “The girls at the coffee shop. The giggling. The whispering. The very obvious swooning.”

He scoffs, trying to look indifferent. “I don’t notice that.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but you catch the faintest hint of pink at the tips of his ears.

You shift closer without really thinking about it—your legs tucked under you now, Hyunjin’s shoulder warm against yours.

Hyunjin clears his throat, then says, almost too casually, “You know… there are a few romantic things about you too.”

“A few, huh?” you scoff, turning toward him.

He smiles, that soft one he only ever wears around you, and leans back into the sofa. “A few. Yeah.”

You cross your arms together, unimpressed yet curious. “Let’s hear it then.”

“I think it’s romantic when you’re writing at the coffee shop,” he starts with a soft smile. “You don’t notice anything around you—your coffee going cold, people coming and going. The sunlight hits you just right and it’s like you’re… glowing. Like you’re somewhere else.”

Your breath catches, just a little. Not expecting that.

“I think it’s romantic the way you use words,” he continues. “You make people feel things. You make me feel things, even when you don’t realize it.”

You swallow because your chest suddenly feels tight.

“I think it’s romantic when you enjoy my coffee and my madeleines like they’re something special,” he adds, quieter now. “When you come over and I find you and Archie on the floor, coloring or laughing like you belong there.”

His eyes meet yours.

“And I think it’s romantic that you’re always there,” he says. “When I need help. When Archie needs someone. When I’m too tired to ask.”

The air between you thickens, crackles.

Then, softer, almost vulnerable, he says, “And I think… there’s something romantic between you and me.”

You smile shyly, heart stuttering. “You and me?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin doesn’t even try to hide it.

You decide to be playful about it. “Okay, I guess we’re… kind of romantic.”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he leans in just a fraction, gaze deepening, voice dropping low and warm. “Should we make it more romantic?”

Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it. But there’s no panic. No urge to pull away. Just this steady, grounding warmth like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

“I guess we can make it romantic,” you answer, breathless and a little trembling.

Hyunjin’s hand comes up gently, like he’s afraid of startling you, and then, the next thing you know, his lips are on yours, soft and plush. The kiss is tender, almost innocent, like a promise instead of a question.

You melt into it, eyes fluttering shut. Because this—

This feels romantic.

-

You pull away first, breath shaky, your hand flying up to cover your lips like you need to physically hold yourself together.

Hyunjin’s lips are a little swollen, a little red, still glossy from the kiss, and the sight of him looking worried like that almost makes you laugh. “What? Did that feel weird?” he asks quietly.

You’re still processing the way your heart is racing, the way your body feels warm and light and grounded all at once. Then you nod.

“It feels weird because…” you say honestly. “It doesn’t feel weird at all.”

He exhales a laugh, soft and relieved, shaking his head like he should’ve known better. He doesn’t rush you, rush this moment. Then, carefully, like he’s asking permission with every movement, he reaches up and brushes your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers linger there, warm against your skin.

You don’t expect to feel this with Hyunjin, whom you’ve known for years and you’ve comfortably shared part of your life with. You hesitate for a second and then glance up at him through your lashes. “Can we uh… can we try again?”

His smile this time is slow, sure. “Yeah.”

You scoot closer, close your eyes, and lean in first. And you expect to feel his lips on you soon, but no. Instead, you feel his hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs warm against your cheeks. He presses a kiss to your eyelid. Then the other. A soft one to your cheekbone. A lingering kiss along your jaw that makes your breath hitch.

When your lips part and a breathless gasp escaped your lips, only then does he kiss you again.

This time, you don’t hold back. The kiss deepens naturally, carrying you both somewhere heavier, warmer. Hyunjin leans in until you’re sinking into the cushions, the sofa dipping beneath you, his body braced carefully above yours—close, but never careless.

When he pulls away, it’s only to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, lower—each one slow enough to make your head spin.

You try to stay quiet. You really do. But the soft, breathless sounds slip out anyway.

He catches the last one with a kiss that steals what little air you have left. When he finally pulls back, he stays hovering above you, eyes dark, amused and tender all at once.

“You okay?” he asks.

You give him a shaky thumbs-up.

He laughs quietly, brushing your hair away from your face again. “Good.”

Then, his eyes look deeply into yours and says, “I know the part of me that says ‘divorced, single dad’ doesn’t sound very romantic.”

He punctuates it with a quick kiss to your lips. “But,” he adds, lingering close, his mouth grazing yours, “it does mean I’m pretty confident about the… spicy parts.”

He pauses, searching your face, the teasing replaced with care. “We can stop. Or we can move forward. It’s up to you.”

Still breathless, cheeks burning, you try to sound casual. “Yeah. I think we can… move on to the spicy part.”

He chuckles, clearly delighted, and you immediately cover your face with your hands, mortified.

“Don’t look at me.”

Instead of teasing you, Hyunjin scoops you up without warning.

You squeal, clapping a hand over your mouth as reality kicks in that Archie is sleeping. “Hyunjin—"

Your hands clutch at his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as he carries you down the hallway. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, heart pounding, warmth blooming everywhere.

“I’m just,” he adds softly, “trying to make it more romantic.”

Somehow, it already is with the way he carries you like you’re something delicate, something precious, and the care in it makes your chest ache.

Hyunjin lowers you onto the bed slowly, one hand braced beside your head, the other still steady at your waist like he’s afraid of letting go too soon. He hovers above you again, eyes searching your face, and then his lips find yours—soft at first, then deeper, dizzying.

It goes on like that. Kissing. Shifting closer. Bodies pressing together until the room feels smaller, warmer, filled with nothing but breath and heat and the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.

It all starts to feel like too much in the best, overwhelming way. You pull back gently, resting your hand against his chest. “Hyunjin… give me a second.”

He immediately stills. “Yeah. Of course.”

He stays close but doesn’t touch, giving you space without leaving. You use the moment to really look at him. His eyes are softer up close. You trace the little mole under his left eye with your fingertip, your touch feather-light, like you’re afraid he might disappear if you press too hard. Your thumb brushes over his lips, plush and slightly swollen from kissing you.

You’ve known him for years, seen him almost every day, but never like this. Never this close. Never with this quiet, electric romance humming between you.

Hyunjin is so beautiful it steals the air from your lungs.

“God,” you murmur without thinking. “You’re… really beautiful.”

His mouth curves into a smile, shy and amused all at once. “But you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Hyunjin shifts, sitting up. His fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one.

Your eyes widen, heart pounding, you’re helpless under him and absolutely not complaining. You bring a hand to your mouth, biting back any sound as he shrugs the shirt off, exposing his toned arms, his chest, the quiet strength in the lines of his body. Heat rushes through you, settling everywhere all at once.

Hyunjin glances down at you, clearly enjoying the reaction, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So,” he asks softly, “what do you think?”

You swallow. “I’m thinking… a lot of girls would be really jealous of me right now.”

Something curious pulls at you then. Your hand reaches for him, hesitant, half-convinced he’s just a figment of your imagination. He notices immediately and takes your hand, pressing it flat against his chest.

“I’m very much real, yeah,” he jokingly says with a soft chuckle.

You touch him gently, reverently, like it’s something sacred. “I didn’t expect this under the dad sweaters and barista apron.”

He scoffs lightly. “Hey. I look good in those.”

You meet his eyes. “Well, honestly, you look good in everything.”

That makes him smiles, soft and pleased. He leans down again, bracing himself carefully above you, and captures your lips in a long, deep kiss that pulls you right back under him.

And whatever line there was between romantic and something more… it fades quietly, willingly, as you let yourself follow him there.

You kiss him back just as eagerly, your hands roaming over his bare upper body. He feels warm and solid beneath your palms, soft skin over strength that makes your head feel light. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, slow and consuming, until you’re dizzy from it, until the room feels like it’s tilting.

When his hand drifts toward the opening of your blouse, a shaky breath slips out of you before you can stop it.

Hyunjin immediately stills, lifting his head to look at you. “You know you can stop me anytime, right?”

You shake your head quickly, flustered. “I—no. I’m just… shy.”

He scoffs playfully. “What, you think I’m hiding abs under here and you’re not?”

You laugh, the sound easing something tight in your chest, and that little moment of humor makes everything feel safer, easier. You lift yourself just enough to undo your blouse, and he helps you ease it off, careful and unhurried. Jeans follow, his first and then yours, movements clumsy but sweet as clothes are kicked aside and forgotten on the floor.

When there’s nothing left between you, reality hits all at once. You sit back against the pillows, arms crossed over yourself, legs tucked in shyly.

Hyunjin tilts his head, smiling. “What are you trying to hide from me?”

“The most un-romantic part of me,” you meekly answer.

He laughs softly before crawling closer anyway. “Guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

He gently moves your hands away, not rushing or forcing, just guiding until you’re lying bare beneath him. Your heart pounds, worry creeping in, all those quiet insecurities whispering at once.

But the way he looks at you… it’s nothing like you feared. His eyes trace you with awe, like he can’t comprehend it, like he can’t believe you’re real. His hands follow, touching you with reverence, slow and indulgent, making you shiver at the tenderness of it. He drags his hand from the base of your throat down the valley of your breasts, he rests his hand for a brief moment there on the ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of it with every breathe you take.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and the words sink deep, settling somewhere warm inside you.

His lips replace his hands, kisses pressed to your collarbone, under your breast, your navel, your hip. Each kiss is unhurried, lingering and each one making you more breathless than the last. You gasp softly as he moves lower, taking his time, clearly enjoying every reaction he pulls from you.

Hyunjin knows where you want him the most, but he doesn't give it to you. Not yet. With a smirk, he pulls away, knees propped against the bed. A hand reaches for your leg and lifts it, there isn’t slightest of hesitation as he presses a kiss to your ankle.

From there, he continues to make a trail of kisses down your leg until he's there, head hanging between your leg. He looks at you, making you wait in anticipation for what he’s going to do next.

You feel faint from how much you’ve been holding your breath and when his mouth finally makes contact with your cunt, a breathless gasp spilled out of your parted mouth.

Hyunjin begins by landing kitten licks between your folds, making you wetter than you already are. His tongue darting out, the hot and slick of it pressing on your clit before it moves in slow, circular motions.

You’re squirming under him, your hips lifted off the bed, seeking pleasure of his hot mouth on you, but the hand resting on your stomach, firmly holding you down, not letting you go.

When he finally looks up at you, lips flushed, eyes dark and playful, the heat of his attention alone is enough to make you squirm. He doesn’t waste another second but to dive back in, giving you more of those delicious curls of his tongue on your clit, between your folds, around the entrance. He plants his mouth on your clit, sucking at it in such gentleness and intention and it feels overwhelming, dizzying.

Your moans slip out before you can stop them and hurriedly press your lips together, aware that Archie is sleeping in the next room. You clamp a hand over your mouth, body tensing even though every nerve is screaming otherwise.

Saying Hyunjin’s name feels like dragging it out of your lungs, broken and whispered, and you tug at his hair in a desperate attempt to get his attention.

“Hyunjin…”

He doesn’t hear it at first. Or maybe he does, but he’s far too focused, far too intent on pleasing you with his mouth like he’s forgotten the rest of the world exists. You’re helpless beneath him, caught between wanting him to stop and wanting him never to.

Your pleas dissolve into soft, ruined sounds, and you can’t even tell anymore what you’re asking for. Then everything inside you coiling, winding, overwhelming and when it finally breaks, you bite down hard on your lip, eyes squeezing shut as you fall apart in silence, every sensation crashing over you at once.

Hyunjin slows and then pulls back. He watches you with a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as you ride out the last of your orgasm, breath shaking, chest rising and falling.

Before you can even gather yourself, he’s above you again, one hand braced beside your head as he leans down and captures your mouth in a deep kiss, letting you have a taste of you lingering on his tongue and lips.

The two of you stay like that for a moment longer, just kissing with your body still humming as you drift down from the edge you’d just tipped over. Hyunjin’s mouth stays soft on yours, but there’s an unmistakable pull beneath it, a promise you both feel building again with every breath you share. There’s no denying that you’re both ready for what’s next.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. “Give me a second, yeah?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shifts to the side. You watch him open the bedside drawer and there, next to his box of condoms is your book.

You laugh softly when you see it and reach for it before he can stop you, holding it up with a grin. “So you didn’t lie, huh?”

He doesn’t even deny it, just shrugs, a little sheepish, a little smug. You flip it open and spot the bookmarked part of the story. “Oh, you’re in the juicy part.”

“And I think,” he says, holding a condom in his hand now, voice teasing but steady, “we should catch up to it.”

You tuck the book away, suddenly shy all over again, and watch him with a kind of breathless awe as he takes his time, tearing through the foil packet and then carefully rolls the rubber down his stiff member.

When he looks up and catches you staring at his hard length, you don’t even bother pretending.

“I don’t think—” you start, then stop yourself, laughing softly. “It’s… big.”

His smile is easy, reassuring. “We’ll make it fit.”

The way he says it sends a shiver straight through you—half terrifying, half thrilling. You barely have time to react before he’s back with you, laughter and warmth knocking the air from your lungs as you both sink into the mattress again.

When he looks at you, his expression turns serious, tender. “Tell me if it’s uncomfortable, okay?”

You nod, and he takes his time—kissing you, touching you, grounding you—until your body softens, relaxes, opens to him without fear.

When Hyunjin finally settles between your legs, everything slows even more. He’s using his long, slender fingers to tease until you’re wet, drenched and only then, he begins using the tip of his cock to smear your essence all over your entrance. When he deems you're ready to take him, he aligns his cock and begins pushing into you.

The stretch, the sheer size of him, the sudden fullness — it’s overwhelming, not painful, just surprising. You cling to his shoulders, breathing through it, and he pauses immediately.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Just—wow.”

“Should I continue?”

“Definitely, yes,” you eagerly answer.

Hyunjin slowly pushing the remaining length with utter cautiousness and care. A breath caught in your throat the moment he’s fully buried inside you and your hands clawing at his shoulders, needing time to adjust to him and so does he.

Hyunjin presses his forehead with yours, just existing, processing that you're both connected to one another now and when he opens his eyes, they found yours instantly. He smiles a soft smile and says, "Let's take it slow, mmh?"

You nod, agreeing to it with a long kiss on his lips. For a moment, the two of you stay like that, adjusting to each other, just existing in the moment.

When he finally moves, it’s slow, agonizingly slow as if he wants you to feel everything.

And you do. The closeness. The heat. The way his lips keep finding yours, as if he can’t help it. It feels so deeply intimate that you're shivering all over.

A sound slips out of you before you can stop it, and his eyes darken with amusement. “I like hearing your beautiful moans,” he murmurs against your lips. “But if you get too loud, Archie’s going to hear.”

You barely have the presence of mind to be embarrassed. “But it— it feels too good,” you admit breathlessly.

His smile is pure trouble. One hand cups your jaw. “Then I’ll just have to keep kissing you.”

He does exactly that, mouth never leaving yours as his movements grow surer, deeper, more confident. But the moans keep slipping out of your mouth in between kisses anyway as Hyunjin is rocking his hips in this fluid motions, his cock nudging you right in the spot.

You lose yourself in it—cling to him, wrap yourself around him, let the sensations take over until everything else fades.

“Hyunjin, I’m close,” your voice breaking against his lips

He smiles against your lips. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Then his hand reaches yours, slipping his fingers in the gaps and interlaced it together. He pins your interlocked hands next to your head as he adds more intensity and speed to his thrusts.

Soon, your moans turn into whimpers and cries against his lips but that seems to drive him further as he continues moving and taking you closer to your high. You cling to him, your legs wrapped tightly around him, not letting him go.

When the high finally crashes, you fall together. It’s messy, breathless, overwhelming. You shatter first, and he follows right after, holding you so tightly it feels like he’s afraid to let go.

When it’s over, you’re still tangled together, fingers laced, foreheads touching, hearts racing in the same uneven rhythm.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. For now, it’s enough to stay exactly like this.

-

The room quiet except for the soft rhythm of his breathing as Hyunjin lies close to you.

Hyunjin is already half-gone, sleep pulling him under with that unfair ease of his. His arm is draped around you like it belongs there, heavy and warm across your waist, his fingers curled loosely at your side. Every so often, he shifts closer in his sleep, instinctive, like he’s making sure you haven’t disappeared.

You’re too aware of everything—of the way his chest rises beneath your cheek, of how his face softens completely when he sleeps, lashes resting against skin that still holds a trace of warmth. He looks different like this. Younger. Gentler. Less guarded. Real.

You trace nothing, touch nothing, just watch and quietly imprinting it in the back of your head.

Your body is tired in the best way, pleasantly sore, deeply comfortable, but your mind won’t slow down. It keeps replaying moments—the way he looked at you, the way he asked instead of assumed, the way he held you afterward like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Romance. The word doesn’t feel stupid right now.

Hyunjin exhales, long and slow, and tightens his arm just a little, pulling you closer in his sleep. Your forehead ends up tucked beneath his chin, your legs tangled together without either of you meaning to. Your chest tightens—not with fear this time, but with something fragile and hopeful. You rest your palm lightly against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your hand, and for the first time in a long while, the thought doesn’t scare you.

For so long, you thought romance was something loud. Grand. Scripted. Something you had to chase or imagine into existence. Maybe you’ve found it.

And maybe, this time, it’s not something you made up.

-

You wake up slow, heavy-limbed, wrapped in warmth that doesn’t quite register at first.

The ceiling isn’t yours. That’s the first thing that feels off. The light is different too—softer, slipping in through unfamiliar curtains, painting the room in pale gold. You blink, disoriented, heart giving a small, confused jump before reality comes rushing back all at once.

Hyunjin. Last night. Everything.

A smile blooms on your lips before you can stop it, small and private and a little stunned. It lingers until you shift and feel cool sheets beside you. His side of the bed is empty.

Your chest tightens just a little as you turn, half-expecting the room to be empty, half-dreading the ridiculous thoughts that try to creep in, but then you see him.

Hyunjin stands by the wardrobe with his back to you, rummaging through hangers like this is the most normal morning in the world. He’s wearing only his jeans, hair still messy from sleep, sunlight spilling over his bare upper body like it’s intentional—like the universe is showing off.

You stay quiet as you don’t want to break this moment, eyes admiring the muscles on his back as he grabs a T-shirt, biceps flexing as he slips it on.

Then he turns and catches you watching. He doesn’t tease you. He just smiles. He crosses the room and climbs back onto the bed, moving carefully, like he’s aware you’re still half-dreaming.

You instinctively pull the duvet up to cover half your face, suddenly shy in that dazed, just-woke-up way, but he doesn’t seem to care at all.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

You don’t answer. You just stare at him, eyes wide, still trying to reconcile this version of reality with the one you had yesterday.

He chuckles quietly. “Still weird?”

You nod.

He tilts his head. “Weird because it doesn’t feel weird?”

Another nod.

His fingers brush your hair back gently, but instead of stopping there, his lips trail to your bare shoulder. A kiss. Then your neck. Your jaw. Slow. Warm. When he finally kisses your lips, it’s brief and sweet, like punctuation instead of a question.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. “I’ll give you time to process,” he says softly. “When you’re ready, come out. I’ll make breakfast.”

You nod again, the words still stuck somewhere in your chest.

Hyunjin presses one last quick peck to your lips, flashes you a smile that feels dangerously domestic, and slips out of the room.

The second the door clicks shut, you fall back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling, hands flying to your face as a muffled squeal escapes you. This is your life now and it’s real.

After a while, you decide you can’t stay buried in the bed forever, no matter how tempting it is. Reality has caught up to you whether you’re ready or not—so you sit up, rub at your face, and shuffle straight into the bathroom to fix whatever crime sleep has committed on your appearance.

You splash water on your face. Tie your hair. Stare at your reflection a little too long.

And then a very silly, very romantic thought slips in.

You step back into Hyunjin’s bedroom and drift toward his wardrobe. It’s annoyingly neat, everything folded and hung with care. You tug on a pair of his pajama pants that are much too long on you, the fabric pooling at your ankles, then a soft sweater that smells faintly like coffee and him.

You pad out of the bedroom slowly, still half-processing everything, when a door creaks open to your left.

Archie with his hair is sticking up in every direction, eyes half-lidded as he rubs at them with tiny fists. He looks at you and you look at him. There’s a beat of silence where your heart politely panics.

Recognition dawns and his face breaks into a sleepy smile. “Oh. It’s you.”

He doesn’t question why you’re there, doesn’t question the clothes. In his mind, you’re just… you. A friend. Someone safe. Someone who belongs.

He reaches out and grabs your hand with surprising determination. “Come on,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Let’s have daddy cook waffles.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already tugging you down the hallway, calling out, “Daddyyy!” like it’s the most important announcement of the morning.

The kitchen smells like coffee when you arrive. Hyunjin is by the counter, grinding coffee beans, sleeves pushed up, hair still soft and messy. He looks up at the sound of Archie’s feet stomping against the wooden floor and when he sees Archie dragging you along by the hand, something in his expression melts instantly.

“Morning, beautiful boy,” he says, warm and gentle.

Archie lets go of you only to climb straight into Hyunjin’s arms. Hyunjin lifts him without effort, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Did you sleep well?”

Archie mumbles something about sharks or jellyfish or some hybrid creature only his dreams can invent, probably mixing it up with the memories from yesterday’s aquarium trip and you smile to yourself, watching the way Hyunjin listens like it all makes perfect sense. Then his gaze shifts to you.

“How about you?” he asks, playful. “Did you sleep well?”

You lean against the counter, sweater sleeves hiding your hands, and smile back at him. “The best sleep I’ve ever had.”

Hyunjin’s lips twitch, like he’s trying very hard not to react too much.

Archie, meanwhile, has already moved on to his next priority. “Waffles,” he announces firmly.

“Yes, waffles,” you echo, immediately siding with him.

Archie grins and turns his full puppy eyes on his dad. You do the same, dramatically clasping your hands together like this is a life-or-death negotiation. “Please…”

Hyunjin looks between the two of you, utterly outnumbered. “…I was going to make toast,” he starts.

“Nooo,” Archie whines.

“Please,” you add, not even pretending to be subtle.

He sighs, defeated, but smiling. “Fine. Waffles.”

“Yay!” You and Archie cheer in unison.

As Hyunjin moves around the kitchen, pulling ingredients, brewing coffee, slipping seamlessly into this routine, you realize something quietly, deeply terrifying—

This doesn’t feel new. It feels like something you’ve been doing for a long time already and God, it feels romantic.

-

The morning is warm with the promise of spring that will arrive soon. Archie’s small hand fits in yours as you walk him to kindergarten. He’s chatty as usual, talking about his funny classmate and the pet fish in his class and how his dad promised his favorite food for dinner later, and you listen, smiling, nodding, feeling strangely at home beside him.

Arrived at the gate of his kindergarten, you kneel to straighten his jacket and he hugs you without hesitation.

“Have the best day ever, okay?” you say when you pull away, patting his cheek gently.

He eagerly nods and raises his hand for a wave. “Buh-bye,” he says with his whisker-dimpled smile before disappearing inside with his teacher following closely behind him.

You walk back alone, heart light. You pull your phone out and compose a text: Mini Hyunjin is safely at school.

When you step into your apartment, your phone buzzes with his reply: Big Hyunjin is baking your treats.

You smile at the screen, something fond settling in your chest: Big??!!!

Hyunjin’s reply comes in an instant: You said it yourself. Remember?

Your mouth hangs open but nothing comes out. Just a quiet shock. You used to be scared of this, of this change, afraid that everything else will change as well. But nothing feels rushed. Nothing feels different in a way that’s scary. He’s still the next-door neighbor who own a coffee shop. You’re still the writer with deadlines and empty coffee cups. Archie still needs to be walked to school. Coffee still tastes the same. Yet everything feels new and more… romantic.

You grab your laptop and just as you’re about to start typing, a knock echoes through the space. You freeze for half a second and then walk to the door. When you open it, you’re genuinely caught off guard.

Han stands there, coffee tray balanced in one hand, a paper bag of pastries in the other. He smiles when he sees you, easy and familiar, like he’s always belonged in your doorway.

“Hey,” he says. “I brought coffee.”

You blink once. Twice. Then you step aside, opening the door wider. “Oh—yeah. Come in.”

A moment later, the two of you are in the living room, coffee cups warming your hands, pastries spread out on the table. There’s a little bit of everything in the bag.

“I couldn’t remember what you got me that day,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “So I just… panicked and bought all of them.”

You laugh. “That explains a lot.”

After a while, you add, “but I appreciate it.”

It goes quiet for a moment until Han clears his throat. “Haven’t seen you much lately,” he says. “Figured you were either busy writing or… avoiding me.”

You shake your head quickly. “Just busy. Writing.”

He nods, accepting that easily. Silence settles again and then he exhales. “Can I ask you something?”

You look at him and nod.

“That night,” he says carefully. “Did I do something? Or say something that annoyed you?”

This only proves that you always know that Han is a decent person and you didn’t made up that part of him. You hesitate, then shake your head. “No. It’s not about that. You’re fine—everything’s fine.”

You pause, fingers tightening slightly around your cup. “If anything, it’s me. Not you.”

Han nods like he understands, like he really does. Then he grins.

“Or you can be honest and say that it’s my lame band.”

You laugh despite yourself. “No.”

He narrows his eyes at you as he says, “I can tell that you hated the band.”

“I didn’t hate it,” you correct honestly. “It’s just… not really my cup of tea. But it’s not lame.”

He hums, considering. “That’s good to hear.”

The conversation flows easier after that, lighter. He asks about your book, and you tell him you’re still working on it.

“Do I get a copy when it’s done?” he asks.

You smile. “Do you even read romance books?”

He shrugs. “What, you think a guy in a band can’t enjoy romance?”

You shrug back. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The two of you laugh, and for the first time in days, the tension in your chest loosens. When Han eventually leaves, coffee cups empty and pastries half-gone, you realize you’re smiling, not because of what could’ve been, but because things ended exactly the way they should’ve.

-

You’re writing at Hyunjin’s coffee shop again like always and time slipping through your fingers without asking permission. Words come easily today, sentences stacking gently on top of each other.

You only realize how long it’s been when you lift your cup and find it empty. Before you can even sigh about it, a fresh one appears in front of you. You look up and find Hyunjin standing next to you, already smiling.

“Thanks,” you murmur, fingers curling around the warm ceramic.

He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans in just enough that his voice drops, conspiratorial and soft. “Someone wants me to say this to you.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, already amused. “Yeah?”

“He says you’re beautiful,” Hyunjin continues, eyes bright, “and he wants to know if you’d like to have dinner with him and his very charming five-year-old son.”

Your smile blooms because you know exactly who that someone is, but you decide to play along. You lean in too, whispering back, “Tell him he shouldn’t flirt with his regular.”

Hyunjin’s smile turns smug. He leans even closer, close enough that only you can hear him. “Perks of being the owner.”

Before you can reply, he steals a kiss, almost sneaky. His plush lips brushing over yours and you kiss him back just as instinctively. When you pull away, you’re both smiling.

He straightens, gentle fingers squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, already halfway gone, slipping back into the back of the counter.

You take a sip of coffee, warmth spreading through you, and turn back to your laptop. That’s when you hear the soft whispers from the table nearby. Girls giggling, voices hushed but not enough.

“I’m so jealous of them,” one says. “They’re so cute,” another sighs.

You pretend not to hear it and smile to yourself. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary as something settles in your chest.

This. Writing romance in the afternoon light. Sitting in a café that smells like coffee and home. A man who refills your cup before you ask. A child who holds your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Stolen kisses. Laughter, routine, warmth.

Then you look out of the window and at the city bathed in sunlight, the blue sky with cotton candy-like clouds, a bicycler who pets the dog that sits inside the front basket as he waits for the traffic light to turn green, a young girl sitting on the bench with headphones on, completely immersed in the book she’s reading, an elderly couple who hold hands as they argue over the restaurant menu.

You smile to yourself as you look back at your laptop and start typing again.

Hyunjin was right.

Everything is romantic.

-

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

you were walking home once, minding your own business, chewing on some thought. could have been anything. from dinner to what you need to do tomorrow, let’s not act like it matters. none of these little details matter, what does, is that a man was walking towards you. (an: guys i’ll clarify it now that it’s hyunjin. i just hate when fanfics try to describe looks when we don’t know names yet)

the man passed you. smelled great. nothing more.

“is this yours?”

that was him. his voice. he talked to you.

you stopped then and turned around. he was also standing still, looking at you. holding a single airpod.

no. it was not yours. at all. not your airpod.

“shit. yes, it is.” you smiled. a hundred percent aware that the single airpod was not yours.

hyunjin smiled, relieved in a way that suggested he had not planned beyond step one: talk to pretty girl. he asked your name. you asked his. he pretended he wasn’t internally rehearsing how to introduce you to the worst decision of your life.

and that’s exactly how you got yourself into the situation before your getting murdered one, where you kept seeing hyunjin, never really revealing that the airpod was not yours. you didn’t want to, he was just so cute.

and also a serial killer, not like you knew that though.

hyunjin was always the best with the women. or with the people in general. the other seven guys were… doing alright with them, sure, some better and some worse, but hyunjin always got what he wanted. he was the one collecting the people, another person to kill.

which did not happen to you, duh it’s in the first line, but how? how, when the eight of them, eight little nobodies who only got through school and universities because of each other, are so good at killing? how, when it’s the main thing that bonds them together and gives them their sick little dosage of joy? how, when that’s the thing they can do best? how, when they’re fit? lucky? hot?

yea i’ll just stop with all the questions. i’m boutta explain, obvi.

so. you two started meeting up. you not telling him that the airpod wasn’t yours, him not telling you he was planning on sliming you out.

once, he invited you out. you two have been out hundreds and thousands of times(like five times), so it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary to you. not a date, he said hang out. his place. “a few friends might be there” he added. you went. fucking idiot.

the place was so fucking cool. big. looked good. kinda place where you immediately lost cell service and your sense of direction.

“that’s just the guys.” hyunjin had also said when you two got there, gesturing inside.

you met them all in under three minutes, which was about two minutes too many. chan was a gentleman. he smiled. he shook your hand. he had huge arms and was gorgeous.

minho and seungmin both looked like they hated you. looked you up and down. acted like bitches. acted like they didn’t understand what you wanted when you said hi and introduced yourself. acted like you were beneath them. hm.

changbin saved the moment by immediately knocking over a chair and laughing at himself. he was sweet. he asked you if you wanted a drink. that was nice, because he meant that. he wanted to get you something to drink, even if he wanted to kill you after. wanting to absolutely murder you wasn’t personal, so he wasn’t going to make it personal.

felix and unfortunately han, two sunshine or whatever you heard the guys say about them(why were there two?) were sweet, but dumb. han tried to shake your hand and missed. felix complimented your shoes and then apologized to the floor.

jeongin bowed. he asked if you were real. he told chan you were out of his league. chan was about to smash his head into a wall. he seemed intelligent though, a little playful, a little flirty. sweet guy. (also a fucking psychopath y/n run run RUN)

through all of it, hyunjin, the liar, the asshole, stayed near you. calm. watching. soooo fucking hot, man. everyone else was loud or mean or deeply stupid, but hyunjin looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with you.

which was funny, because the rest of them clearly knew exactly what they wanted to do with you.

they were bad at hiding it. terrible, actually. chan kept whispering. minho and seungmin stared too long. felix dropped something sharp and went “oops”. jeongin asked, loudly, if you were good at running, then immediately said he meant marathons.

you thought they were weird. intense. hot, unfortunately. you had no idea you were being sized up.

so. like two hours into the hang out. you didn’t have your phone with you, it was in the living room somewhere. you were in the kitchen with hyunjin, leaning against a counter, listening to him explain, calmly, something about the cabinets.

“uhuh.” you said, opening three drawers and finding nothing but knives. so many knives. “oouukay.”

from the living room, something heavy scraped across the floor.

“alright.” chan’s voice came. “enough foreplay.”

you frowned, no idea what he was referring to. yet. “that’s a weird thing to say out loud.”

hyunjin hummed. then seungmin appeared in the doorway, posture lazy, swaying a lil, with a fire poker in his hand. i repeat, fire poker.

you had just enough time to think oh that’s new, before he swung. clean. aimed at your head.

you ducked on instinct. the poker smashed into the cabinet behind you, splintering wood, sending a drawer of knives exploding onto the floor.

everyone froze for half a second.

“jesus.” changbin said from somewhere nearby. “we just fixed that.”

you stared at seungmin. he stared back. you two stared at each other for a while.

“…huh.” you said. “okay.”

then you ran.

the boys just… got into it immediately. switched. getting up. listening to your footsteps. laughing. jeongin whooped. they all obviously had done this before. they were so boyish, all of them. and so fucking evil.

you ran down a hallway, heart slamming in your ribs. a door on your left? locked. on your right, open.

you ran into a study and immediately regretted it. felix was there, sitting on a desk, holding a crossbow. WHERE. DID. HE. GET. THAT. FROM.

“oh!” he said, genuinely delighted. “hey.”

“move.” you snapped.

he winced sympathetically. “can’t.”

the shit that he shot out of the bow that i don’t know the name of thunked into the wall beside your head. close enough that you felt the vibration.

“fuck you.” you said, accepting it surprisingly quick that you were getting hunted down.

you burst back into the hall and nearly collided with changbin. he caught you by the shoulders automatically, steadying you.

“okay.” he said, quick and quiet. “left stair’s blocked. right one buys you maybe twenty seconds.”

“why are you telling me?” you panted.

he shrugged. “i like you.”

then he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss into your hair, warm, apologetic, and shoved you forward by the middle of your back.

“go.” he said. “before i change my mind.”

you went.

behind you, he called out cheerfully: “she went right!”

“YOU FUCKING LIAR.” minho yelled immediately.

you ran up the stairs two at a time. at the top when you turned, han was waiting, holding a bat.

“oh shit.” he said. “hi.”

you grabbed the bat mid-swing, yanked it free, and cracked him across the shin. you fucking rock y/n.

he screamed, fell over, and immediately yelled: “timeout! timeout!”

you ditched the bat(DUMB bitch) and ran into what looked like a… whatever room. it was big, too big, too open, too much of a bad choice.

chan stepped into your path. was this bitch there the whole time? no, he couldn’t be. could he?

“easy.” he said, hands up. calm. annoyingly handsome. “you’re safe for—”

you threw a chair at his head.

he caught it.

you spun, only to find minho closing in. you kicked him in the knee. hard. he lunged. you ducked, grabbed a chair again and swung blindly. the thing is, you were extremely weak tho. the chair could have been a fucking pillow at this point, because he just stepped away from it. and you… kinda went with the chair. but you stood up! luckily.

they loved this. they loved the way you fought. the way you adapted. the way you didn’t scream, just swore and moved and made it harder than it was supposed to be. it made them better. sharper. meaner. more playful.

you ran out the door you came in thru and shut it behind you, jamming a heavy table against it. the boys could have prevented that, they just didn’t. you were way too fun, and they knew that you were getting tired. they knew they were going to win this. again.

you waited a bit.

the door shuddered. once. twice.

then stopped.

silence.

your stomach dropped. that was never good.

“okay.” hyunjin’s calm voice came, suddenly close, from behind you. “i’m gonna need you to turn around.”

you spun.

for a moment, you just stared at each other.

“yeah.” you said breathlessly. “so. the airpod?”

he winced. “yeah.”

“figures. sorry for lying about it.”

“it’s fine. i lied too.” he stepped aside, gesturing toward a side door. gentlemanly. insane. “run.” he said. “i’ll count to five.”

“why?”

he smiled, small. “because it’s more fun when you almost make it.”

you didn’t wait for five. you ran again, heart in your throat.

“YOU’RE DOING GREAT!” felix shouted when he saw you run past him. “I MEAN—STOP!”

yeah. pfftt.

the house stopped making sense after a while. corridors doubled back on themselves, which was fucking brutal. there were rooms you swore you’d already crossed. you ducked into a side room and slammed the door, immediately realizing, too late, that it didn’t lock.

“fuck.” you whispered, hands on your knees, trying to quiet your breathing. and you listened. footsteps walked past. someone laughed, a really… loud laugh. jeongin’s voice echoed from somewhere far off. you could hear how unserious his voice was, talking bout sum “she’s still upright, folks, which is honestly impressive” genuinely just making fun of the situation.

“keys.” you muttered. “i need keys.” because you clearly remembered hyunjin closing the front door after you.

from behind the curtain came a soft, confused, very close: “…huh.”

you froze.

the curtain moved. it was han, holding a knife and a flashlight upside down, blinking at you.

“oh” he said. “hi.”

third hi he said tonight. hi to you too, han.

you stared at each other.

“uh.” he said.

“yeah.” you replied.

a beat passed.

another.

he frowned at the flashlight, turned it the right way up, immediately blinded himself, and yelped.

“sorry.” he said, rubbing his eyes. “didn’t mean to corner you.” serial killer btw.

“you did.” you said. “that’s literally what you did.”

“right.” he nodded. “yeah. so. i’m supposed to, uh—” he made a weak stabbing motion with his hand that held the knife. missed entirely. “—do the thing.”

you glanced at the knife in his hand. them at him. then back at the knife. “you don’t look super confident about that.” you said.

he shrugged. “i get nervous.” he hesitated. then leaned in and whispered: “hyunjin gave his keys to chan, i saw it.”

your eyes widened. “…thanks.”

he smiled, shy. “okay.” he said, stepping aside. “i’m gonna count to… uh… what’s fair?”

“ten.” you said immediately.

he nodded seriously. “ten.”

you bolted.

“ONE—” he shouted, already losing count. “THREE—WAIT—”

you ran out. didn’t get far though, you heard too many noises, so you did what made sense at the moment. hide again. and you did hide again, at least tried, you were soon interrupted by seeing felix, who was crouched behind a couch, chewing on a cereal bar.

he looked up mid-bite. “oh. hello again.”

“move. again.” you said.

he scooted instantly. “yep.”

you walked past. paused. looked back. “why are you hiding?”

he swallowed. “i forgot what the plan was.”

“oh. i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright.”

from the hallway, heavy footsteps approached. chan, probably. he walks confident. you can just… hear his walk. felix heard it too. he grimaced.

“he’s gonna be mad.” felix whispered. “he hates when i lose track.”

you looked at felix. then at the hallway. then back at felix. “you’re fine. it’s not your fault. i think so, at least.” you looked around. “he just feels like the fucking star of the show, having the keys and all that”

felix’s eyes lit up. “oh! yeah, he’s got those.”

boom. that was your plan. sneak the keys into the conversation. get to know about it. you’ll be out of there in no time, y/n.

you looked back at him. “can you distract him?”

felix thought for a second, then shook his pretty head enthusiastically. “absolutely not.”

“…fair.”

he stood anyway, squared his shoulders, and marched into the hallway yelling “HEY BRO I THINK SHE WENT—”

you didn’t hear the rest. you ran. you climbed stairs, ducked under a railing, slipped through a door that led into a laundry room, and locked it. the blessed, beautiful click of a lock nearly made you cry. then you crouched between machines, shaking, trying not to laugh or scream or do both.

minutes passed. nothing. then, a knock. polite. gentle.

you stared at the door.

hyunjin’s voice followed, calm as ever. “i’m not coming in.”

“yeah?” you called. “promise?”

“cross my heart.”

“don’t have one.” jeongin added from somewhere farther back.

hyunjin sighed.

the fact that jeongin heard you talk and didn’t go to the laundry room says a lot about them though. tells you that they’re doing this for fun. that they’re not in a hurry at all.

you edged closer to the door, careful. “i need the keys.”

“i know.”

“give them to me.”

a pause. you imagined him leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, watching the floor. “you almost deserve them.” he said. “that’s the problem.” from down the hall came a crash, followed by changbin yelling. hyunjin continued anyway, softer now. “if you get them, though… you’re really leaving.”

“yes.”

“shame.”

fucking manipulator. that’s what he is. “you’re really leaving” oh boo fucking hoo. sappy asshole.

the doorknob jiggled once.

“five minutes.” he said. “that’s what I can give you.”

then footsteps retreated. you sagged against the dryer, adrenaline buzzing. five minutes. okay. you had to get out for sure, otherwise you would be so dead. so, next, run. you were going to run. open the door and… go… some… way. anyways, that’s what you did after about one minute of sitting on the floor and thinking about how will you do that. you got out, and didn’t stop running so much as you failed forward into the next hallway.

somewhere behind you, han shouted your name wrong, twice, then tripped over absolutely nothing and went down with a sound like a dropped bookshelf.

“FUCK.” he yelled. “i’m okay! I’M OKAY.”

you risked a glance back just in time to see him scramble up, only to immediately collide with minho, who had come around the corner too fast. they hit the wall together, tangled, swearing.

you burst through a door and nearly slammed straight into seungmin. both of you froze. like actually froze. inches apart. his breath was loud. yours was worse. he stared at you. you stared at him. his grip tightened on whatever sharp thing he had in his hand.

“…hi.” you said.

“sup.” he said. “you’re shorter up close.”

“fuck you.”

“later.” he agreed easily.

you looked at him, furrowing your pretty brows.

he glanced down at the knife in his hand, then back up at you. “this is awkward.”

“yeah.”

he tilted his head. “you okay?”

“no.” you said.

“hm.”

there was a beat where neither of you moved. somewhere far away, something crashed, probably han.

seungmin tilted his head. “you gonna run, or are we doing this weird staring thing?”

you lunged left.

he lunged right.

you both smacked into the same doorframe and recoiled in pain.

“fuck.” you mumbled, rubbing your pretty head.

“shit, okay, that one’s on me.” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder. his pretty shoulder. that sweater looked good on him, by the way. yeah. hm. really good. but that didn’t fucking matter when he lunged again.

you screamed, slipped on a rug, and went down hard, only for minho to come in from the side and tackle seungmin directly into a glass table. the table shattered.

you stared.

they stared back.

“…go.” seungmin shook his head, waving you off.

you did not need to be told twice. behind you, minho yelled smth like “WHY ARE YOU LETTING HER GO?”

a crash. a thud.

then seungmin, very calmly: “because you’re pissing me off.”

you ran straight into han and felix arguing at the end of the hall.

“i said left.” han insisted, holding a crowbar upside down.

“you always say left.” felix argued, holding a taser and clearly forgetting how it worked.

you skidded to a stop.

all three of you froze.

you were panting. “can you both—”

felix lunged. han lunged. they lunged into each other. they crashed, arms everywhere, legs everywhere, clothes everywhere, the smell of men everywhere, tangled up, the taser going off uselessly into the air.

“STOP STABBING MY JACKET.” felix yelled.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE HER.” han yelled back.

you stepped over them. “thank you.” you said sincerely, and ran.

you rounded a corner and slammed straight into chan, full chest-to-chest. you both stumbled back a step. he held you automatically, hands on your arms. you stared up at him. he stared down at you.

he almost smiled.

then han came sprinting in, tripped over absolutely nothing, and took chan out at the knees.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY.” han yelled, tangled in chan’s limbs. “I DIDN’T SEE YOU.”

seungmin and minho found you again. jeongin leaned against a wall, wiping dust off his knees. han just got up and felix came in late, and they tripped over each other again. chan just sighed at this point.

you backed toward the door, hands up.

then while getting up, felix slipped. took han down with him. again. they crashed into minho, who slammed into seungmin.

jeongin smiled. “DOMINOES!”

that was your chance to do something. something to even just slow these guys down, anything, bro. so, you did. when chan stood up finally, you lunged for him.

but like… that asshole just laughed in your face and twisted away easily, shoving you past him. “go.” he said. “you’re warmer when you keep moving.”

weirdo. but you ran again anyway, down a side corridor, thru a door and immediately ate shit. your foot caught on absolutely nothing, and you slid, palms burning, your pretty little skin they want to cut so bad just gone like that.

behind you, there was a collective “OOHHHH.”

you rolled your eyes. sighed. thought about just lying there because they would probably still miss even if you were completely still. you decided maybe not. so you scrambled up and ran again, swearing, adrenaline making everything feel fucking crazy. unreal. is this really happening?

you didn’t know how long you ran. time stopped somewhere around the third near death experience.

you went downstairs and upstairs and downstairs again, back and forth, hoping to find something that could save your life. when you were back at the stairs for the seventh time that night, you took the stairs three at a time, only to find han at the top, again, wheezing, holding a knife backwards.

“WAIT.” he said. “hold on—timeout—my lung—”

you ran past him.

he immediately tripped over his own foot and tumbled down the stairs alone, screaming “I’M FINE—I’M NOT FINE—TELL MY MOM—”

you didn’t look back. you burst into a bedroom and slammed the door, locking it just as something heavy hit the other side.

silence.

your chest heaved. sweat slicked your now skinless palms. you pressed your back to the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, brain finally catching up enough to think.

okay. door. big house. front door has keys. keys are on someone. they told you it’s at chan but he could have gave it to anyone since that.

that was bad.

you stood, looking through the room. window. too high. bathroom. connected. closet. tiny but usable. fuck yes. you hid in the closet just as the door opened.

footsteps. slow. unhurried. manly.

“you know, i really thought we had something.” jeongin. sweet. acting, obviously.

you clapped a hand over your mouth.

he paced the room, dragging something metal lightly along furniture. an axe, maybe.

“like, don’t get me wrong.” he continued conversationally, “i love the chase. big fan. but the eye contact earlier? intimate.”

you heard him stop in front of the closet.

“…you in there?”

you didn’t move.

he sighed. then, dropped to his knees. you could see him through the slats now, sprawled on the floor.

“y/n.”

you could hear your breathing. you could also hear his. which meant…

“come out.”

…he could hear yours too.

okay. fuck. your only option was to make a run for it. so, after taking a biiiiig big breath, you burst out of the closet and kicked him in the shoulder. was it successful? was it a good kick? who knows. it knocked him down, that’s what matters, but it was a pretty lame kick after all. he only went down because he wanted to, not because you actually kicked him good.

anyways, you ran again. out the room. then immediately skidded to a stop when seungmin opened a door in front of you.

he stepped aside immediately. “after you.” he said, gesturing inside.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

you could hear hyunjin make a noise, talking with changbin.

seungmin raised his brows. “i insist.”

he knew that you needed an escape route and this was your only option. you knew he knew.

you sighed. ran through it, and it slammed shut behind you. you could hear a snicker(his voice), then silence. maybe he left. maybe not.

the room you were in was darker. storage. boxes. is this place even owned by these guys? or do they just come here to… play?

you hid behind a shelf, crouching, heart in your ears.

okay. think.

front door. locked. too obvious. you needed keys. you needed a person.

but they were playing. this wasn’t about killing you quickly. it was about the fun. about testing themselves. about proving, again, that they were smarter, faster, better. the teamwork thrilled them. having prey thrilled them.

footsteps approached. you tensed.

door opened. han stepped into the room, tripped over absolutely nothing, and face-planted into a stack of boxes. why always this guy?

“oh COME ON.” he groaned. “i wasn’t even chasing her!”

neither of you moved.

“…you okay?” you asked.

“yeah.” he said, looking up, nose bleeding. “yeah. you?”

“living the dream.”

he nodded. then, very gently, he pointed back towards the door. “they’re coming.” he whispered.

in the doorway, felix appeared, pointing at han. “dude. again?”

you took the chance and got out of your hiding place, quick, and bolted past them both.

felix gasped. “oh shit—sorry—sorry—”

han tried to follow, slipped again, and yelled: “WAIT FOR ME!”

a crash. a curse. someone else falling over him.

you ran down the hall toward what you hoped was the front of the house. behind you, shouting, laughter, whooping, bodies colliding, someone yelling “WHO LEFT THIS CHAIR HERE?” you rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of the front door. you tried the door. locked. you didn’t know where the keys are. your chest tightened. behind you, footsteps slowed. confident. chan, seungmin, minho, jeongin, closing in.

you turned around. the wall met your back hard enough to knock the air out of you.

“okay.” you said, breathless, palms flat against cold wood. “okay. this is—yeah. alright.”

the other four found you too. felix, panting. han, limping. hyunjin and changbin obviously not affected because they didn’t really take part of the chase. blocking off every possible exit.

chan didn’t take his eyes off you. “everyone good?” he asked, calm. so fucking calm. knowing he won.

“peachy.” jeongin said.

“bit winded.” felix added. “but spiritually fulfilled.”

changbin gave you an apologetic little wave. “sorry.”

two seconds later, seungmin lunged.

you fought, harder than they expected, apparently, elbowing, kicking, swearing. but they were coordinated now, hands grabbing wrists, legs hooking yours, pressure applied. you went down. not slammed, though. controlled. that fucking pissed you off more.

seungmin had your arms pinned. minho had a knee near your thigh, firm. chan crouched in front of you, looking down at your pretty face.

the second you were fully restrained, jeongin shrieked. “oh my GOD we got her!”

he leapt into felix’s arms. felix caught him, squealing back.

“we did it!” felix yelled.

they spun once. almost fell. han clapped wildly and then tripped into changbin, taking them both down.

you lay there, chest heaving, heart pounding, not knowing what the fuck was happening. because they didn’t seem dangerous, but you knew they were.

chan tilted his head. “you ran well.”

“thanks.” you said.

jeongin crouched low, level with your face. “so. how you feeling?”

“fuck off.”

hyunjin tilted his pretty head, hands in his pockets. “you did really well.” he told you quietly.

you forced yourself to breathe slower. think. keys. chan’s jacket pocket. right side. you’d seen the outline earlier when he caught one of the boys mid fall.

jeongin tilted his head at you. “are you afraid? like, i’m actually asking, because i need to know what to do differently next time. are you afraid of death? did we make you feel like you’re going to die? how would you rate it out of ten?”

you sighed, looking down at the floor. “getting killed is, like, the last thing on my list right now.”

they paused.

seungmin grimaced. “yeah, no.”

“oh, no.” felix said, shaking his head

“dude.” minho murmured.

“we would never.” changbin whispered.

“ew.” han blurted, horrified.

you narrowed your eyes. “ew?”

“no—no—not ew you.” he babbled. “i mean—fuck—you’re hot—shit—sorry—what I meant was—”

jeongin smacked the back of his head. “stop talking.”

seungmin grimaced. “we’re not… that evil.”

minho crossed his arms. “jesus.”

chen straightened slightly. “that’s not our thing.”

you watched it all carefully. the discomfort. the immediate correction. the way the tone shifted. interesting.

“relax.” you said, rolling your neck as much as the hold allowed. “i know.”

“thank you.” han said, sweating. “sorry. respectfully.”

“you’re fine.” you murmured.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

but something had shifted. you saw it. that weird line you’d dropped, half joke, half truth because it’s horrible that we have to live in a world like this, hit somewhere they didn’t like. their version of evil had rules. sooo fucking weird ones, but still.

“okay.” you said suddenly. “wait. wait.”

they paused.

“what.”

“i think i’m gonna throw up.”

“fuck—” changbin recoiled.

“not on me.” minho said, backing up.

“turn her head!” felix yelped.

jeongin scrambled backward on his hands and feet.

chan watched seungmin loosen his grip just a fraction, instinct overriding everything. “are you actually nauseous?”

“yeah.” you croaked, gagging for effect. “stress. adrenaline. it hit now that i’m still.”

hyunjin crouched beside you, studying your face. “you might want to give her space.”

“THANK you.” you gasped.

they got off you. you rolled to your side, clutching your stomach dramatically. and in that shuffle, arms moving, balance adjusting, you shoved your hand straight into chan’s jacket pocket. your fingers hit metal.

keys.

you grabbed them and curled them into your palm just as jeongin leaned back in. “you good?”

you gagged louder.

“jesus.” minho said, disgusted.

“okay, okay.” changbin said. “bathroom, bathroom—”

“down the hall.” hyunjin said calmly.

you scrambled to your knees, pushing past them, one hand over your mouth, the other clenched tight around the keys.

“don’t run.” chan warned.

you made eye contact with him.

and ran.

“FUCK.” seungmin yelled.

“GO GO GO.” han screamed, even though he was on the wrong side.

you sprinted down the hallway, heart about to explode, keys biting into your palm. behind you, footsteps. but now… less playful. more oh shit.

han tripped immediately. felix ran into a wall. changbin yelled: “STAIRS—CUT HER OFF—” and jeongin was just shouting around for fun. just hootin n hollerin.

you ran down the hall.

behind you, hyunjin’s calm voice said: “don’t panic.” which was funny. because they finally were.

you ran away from them. deep into the house again. you heard the footsteps disappear from behind you. good. good.

you slowed just enough to think. you couldn’t outrun eight of them forever.

chan and hyunjin were walking together on the halls. hyunjin had a small, neat folding knife now resting loose between his fingers. chan had taken a syringe with him. already prepped. yes, he can do a lot with only one syringe. his other hand kept brushing the empty space where the keys used to be.

he didn’t like that.

“she took them clean.” chan said.

“yeah.” hyunjin replied quietly. “good hands.”

chan glanced at him. “you sound impressed.”

“i am.”

“you like her?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“if we lose her, we change locations.” chan said, ignoring that his earlier question didn’t get an answer. he already knew it.

hyunjin nodded. but there was something under it. for the first time, the outcome wasn’t certain. that was unusual for them, because they usually did really, really good at this. once someone was caught by them, there was no escape. you were the first one who lived to a second round. he found that interesting. and yeah, he might have started developing a tiny little crush on you, back when you two were just meeting up normally. so what? he’s allowed to!

jeongin moved alone. still with his axe that he’d twirled into familiarity. he swung it lightly as he walked. he checked corners, smiling. as if he was dancing.

“y/n.” he called, sing-song. “be honest, was it the flirting? too much? i can dial it back. slightly.”

he stepped over a fallen chair.

“i just feel like we had chemistry.”

he grinned to himself. he loved this part, the story, the tension, the almost. he knew you were thinking now. they got a thinker. he loves that. he hates that.

he paused, listening. then grinned. “oh, you sneaky girl.”

seungmin had the fire poker again. reliable. brutal.

he liked the chase because it stripped people down to instinct. no masks. no pretending. no lying. just raw survival. that’s what he respected.

“c’mon.” he murmured. “don’t go quiet on me.”

you were irritating him. he barely got irritated. ever.

changbin and minho moved together. changbin carried an injection case now, plus a heavy flashlight he could swing if needed. minho had a hunting knife.

they turned a corner. empty.

“she’s doing something.” minho realized.

changbin’s smile(that came upon his face while he was thinking about you, hehehe) faded. “oh.”

they heard a noise and both spun, only to slam into each other again.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE.” minho snapped.

“shit.” changbin said, steadying the other guy by his shoulders. “let’s just go.”

you moved through hallways. your lungs burned, but your head was clear now. you slipped into a side room and crouched low, listening.

footsteps passed. voices echoed elsewhere. they’d spread too wide.

you waited. counted to twenty. then moved.

back at the hyunjin chan duo, hyunjin stopped in the hallway. “she’s heading back.” he said quietly.

chan. followed his gaze toward the front of the house. “you sure?”

“yes.”

“how?”

“it’s what i’d do.”

meanwhile, at the front door han sat on the floor, back against the wall, holding a shovel. felix sat beside him on the other side of the door with a frying pan he absolutely did not need to be trusted with.

“…we guarding?” han asked.

felix looked at the door. looked at the hallway. looked back at the door.

“…yeah.” he decided.

they both nodded, serious.

“you think she thinks i’m cute?” han asked, adjusting his grip on the shovel.

“bro.” felix said immediately. “absolutely.”

“really?”

“yea, mate.”

they dapped each other up.

“if she makes it back here, i call saying something smooth.” felix said thoughtfully.

“what’s smooth?”

“i don’t know yet.”

while they talked, you grabbed a metal… something from a side table. and started walking back toward the front door.

“she definitely liked when i said she was hot.” han said.

“respectfully.” felix said.

“respectfully.” han looked away, then back at felix. “she’s gonna be so impressed when we catch her.”

“dude. literally.”

they fist bumped.

then, a loud sound came from down the hallway, and a metal object rolling fast across the floor toward them.

they screamed, then scrambled to their feet, immediately abandoning the door.

“dude. we’re gonna fucking die.” han cried.

felix grabbed his arm. “if y/n was here right now, she’d hold my hand.”

“yeah.” han said, terrified. “she’d be so brave.”

“should we check?”

“absolutely not.”

“…we should get the others.”

“yes.”

they ran away from the door, deeper back into the house, yelling for backup.

the front door stood unguarded.

you waited three full seconds after their footsteps faded. then you moved. silent. you didn’t run, that was important. you didn’t want to make noise.

behind you, distant voices.

“FRONT DOOR!”

“THEY LEFT IT—”

you walked to the door quickly. put the key in. wrong key. tried another. wrong key. another. unlocked it. opened it.

now, you ran. you ran, and didn’t stop. you didn’t look back. already past the gate. past the trees. gone.

for the first time ever, they’d lost.

the boys regrouped at the front door. empty. door slightly open.

silence.

chan looked at the door. then at hyunjin, who stared at the gap, face blank. he felt respect. and relief.

seungmin looked at the lock. then at chan’s empty pocket. then back at the lock.

for a second, nobody spoke.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” minho said, sneering.

behind them, han and felix jogged in, out of breath and pale.

“okay.” felix panted. “so—update—there’s a hallway demon—”

they stopped when they saw everyone standing still, all backs turned to them.

felix looked around. “anyone else feel a breeze?”

chan walked to the door in three steps and shoved it open the rest of the way. empty driveway. dark trees. no you.

jeongin blinked. “…no.”

seungmin made a sound like someone had just run over his foot. “noooo.”

minho rubbed both hands down his face. “no no no no—”

jeongin looked at the ceiling. “oh that’s embarrassing. that’s so embarrassing for us.”

han gasped “shit, she did it!”

felix nodded. “i always believed in her.”

they high-fived.

every head turned.

“are you two serious right now?” seungmin snapped.

han immediately jumped into felix arms.

chan stepped back inside slowly and shut the door, quiet. too quiet. “no one moves.” he said.

seungmin was already halfway to the threshold, fire poker still in hand. “we can still see the road—”

chan grabbed his arm. hard. “i said no.”

seungmin yanked free. “she’s on foot.”

“she has a head start.”

jeongin crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “so we just—what—clap?”

“use your brain for once.” chan, voice low. “you’ll make mistakes.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” seungmin snapped. “did your pocket make a mistake?”

OHHHHH.

minho swore and kicked a chair across the room. it smashed into the wall. “THIS is why we don’t get cute.” he said. “this is why we don’t play with our food.”

chanbin winced. “okay, that phrase—”

“not the time.” seungmin cut in.

hyunjin leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching the boys.

seungmin looked at him, suspicious. the level of angry where he gets suspicious at anything. “you’re quiet.”

“thinking.”

“about?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“you liked her.” minho accused.

hyunjin’s eyes flicked to him, calm and flat. “irrelevant.”

“bullshit.”

chan stepped between them before it turned physical. “enough.”

“no, not enough.” jeongin shot back. “she got past eight of us. eight.”

“seven.” seungmin muttered. “i was close.”

“YOU HIT A CABINET.” changbin screeched.

felix, still holding han bridal style, raised a hand. “i think we should acknowledge that she was very good.”

everyone stared at him.

han nodded seriously. “and brave.”

minho looked like he might actually kill them. “put him down.”

felix gently set han on his feet.

han immediately pointed at minho. “your energy is aggressive.”

minho grabbed a glass off a table and hurled it into the fireplace. it shattered. “THIS is aggressive.”

“billy badass over there.” changbin murmured, crossing his huge arms.

minho didn’t hesitate to turn towards changbin and shove him. changbin shoved back automatically.

“don’t start.” chan warned.

too late. seungmin grabbed minho’s shoulder and pulled him back. minho shook him off. jeongin stepped between them, not to help, just to watch. “god, you’re all so emotional.” he muttered.

seungmin started toward the door again, fury radiating off him. “i’m going after her.”

now, chan didn’t just stop him but actually pushed him away by the chest. a confident, violent push. manly. frustrated. “no.”

seungmin rounded on him. “she’s RIGHT THERE.”

han raised his hand again. “i still think she likes me.”

everyone yelled at once: “SHUT UP.” “READ THE ROOM.” “YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE DARK.” “SHE HIT YOU WITH A BAT.” “YOU LEFT THE DOOR.”

“we were investigating a threat!” felix said defensively to the last one.

“you are the threat, you idiot!” seungmin barked, then grabbed the front of his own shirt and screamed into it.

minho kicked the wall.

chan exhaled through his nose, centering himself. “no chasing into the dark.” he said. “not like this.”

“she’s getting farther.” jeongin argued.

seungmin made a noise like something dying. chan folded his arms. thinking. hyunjin stared into the night air like he could still see the path you took.

behind them, han whispered to felix: “when we catch her, i’m gonna ask if she thinks my eyes are pretty.”

felix nodded seriously. “they are.”

eight dangerous men. outplayed. and every single one of them wanted you back.

so yeah. that’s what happened, like… two weeks ago now? yeah. about two weeks. now you’re living your life. you hadn’t told anyone. what would you even say? you decided to just leave it. process it. give yourself time to get over it.

now you are standing in line for coffee. life’s been fine since that after all, you deserve it. you slept. eventually. not well, but enough. you changed routines. new routes, new locks, pepper spray, therapy waitlist, the works. you tell yourself you’re fine.

your name gets called.

“hey.”

your stomach drops before your brain catches up. you don’t turn around. because you know that voice. so you grab your coffee and walk. behind you, footsteps.

“okay, so don’t freak out.” jeongin says.

you keep walking.

“that’s actually a terrible opener, sorry, ignore that.”

you cross the street. he crosses too. you don’t look at him. you don’t run. at least you try.

“you look good.” he adds.

“go away.” you say calmly.

“working on it.” he says, which is not how that phrase works.

you turn a corner toward a busier street. people. noise. couples. kids.

“no.” you say.

“i just want to talk.”

“no.”

“did you get a haircut?” he tries.

you stop dead and turn. “how long have you been following me?”

“today? or—”

“jeongin.”

he winces. “okay. today today? like twenty minutes. but not in a creepy way. i was building courage.”

you resume walking faster.

he matches it, breath puffing a little. “listen, i know we didn’t end on a great note.”

“you chased me with an axe.” you cross the street without looking. a car honks. jeongin grabs your sleeve and yanks you back just enough to keep you from getting hit.

you stare at him.

“i didn’t come to hurt you.” he says. “if that helps.”

you keep walking. he groans softly and follows. people passing by just see two hot twenty somethings having what looks like a mildly tense situationship talk. it’s kinda crazy that they have no idea what happened two weeks ago.

you walk faster. he matches it.

“you dropped something.” he blurts. when you give no reaction, he tugs at your sleeve. “really.” he says, pointing behind you.

“that only worked once.” you say, yanking your hand out his grip.

“yeah.” he sighs. “worth a shot.”

a florist stand is set up on the corner. without stopping, jeongin leans sideways, grabs a small bouquet, tosses a crumpled bill onto the table, and keeps moving. he shoves the flowers toward you.

you stare at them. then at him. you don’t take them. but you stop walking and finally look at him.

he looks… normal. hoodie. messy hair. no axe. no grin that clearly tells he’s in animal mode. just this pretty guy.

people move around you, annoyed at the sidewalk blockage.

“you have five seconds.” you say.

he nods, serious now. “okay. we’re not going to hurt you.”

you stare. you start walking again.

he follows. “the boys haven’t shut up about you.”

“that’s not flattering.”

“it kind of is.”

“i don’t know what you want. i’m not coming back.” you say.

“i know.”

“you can’t follow me.”

“already am.”

you reached your apartment building. this is bad. this is very bad. you stop again, turning to face him fully now. his eyes shine.

“we don’t want to kill you.” he says quietly.

you search for anything that could say he’s lying. you can’t find it.

“that doesn’t make you better.” you say.

“i know.”

“you’re still—”

“yeah.”

“…if you come near my place again, i call the cops.”

he nods immediately.

“if i see any of you, i run.”

“mhm.” he holds the flowers out again, then seems to think better of it and just sets them on the sidewalk between you. “i just needed you to see that i’m not… only that.”

“…you are that.” you say. you’re not even being mean, just honest. brutally honest.

“yeah.” he says.

you go inside without looking back. not caring about where will he go, when will he go, why will he go.

the next day, you change your route. different coffee shop. different street. hoodie up, headphones on, just really fucking trying to stay away from them in general. you’re in that coffee shop now. then you step out of the café with your drink, and nearly walk straight into a guy. you flinch back hard.

“whoa—sorry—sorry.” a voice says quickly.

you look up. it takes your brain a second. glasses. plain black frames. simple gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that this man is fucking fit.

changbin.

he gives you a small, awkward wave like you ran into each other and not like he… he found you. “hi.”

you just stare.

“i come in peace.” he adds, lifting both hands.

you close your eyes. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“okay. before you walk away—i deserve that—but just—hi.”

you glance around. public. morning rush. safe enough. “why are you here.”

he adjusts his glasses. “i just wanted to talk. like, normal talk. not chase talk.”

you sigh, and start walking. “you have two minutes before i start screaming.” that’s more time you’ve given jeongin, though.

he falls into step beside you immediately. “you could’ve called the cops.” he says after a moment. genuinely confused. “you still could.”

you look at him. “you don’t think i’ve thought about that?”

“i figured. but you didn’t.”

you sip your coffee, buying time. “you’d disappear before anyone got there.”

“…yeah.” he admits.

“and then what? i spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re gonna show up mad?”

he nods slowly. he can’t argue that.

“also, i don’t want to tell that story out loud. figured it would be the best for me if i just lived through it and got over it. eventually.” you add, quieter.

changbin nods “okay. yeah. that makes sense.”

you study him. he looks the same as in the house, almost friendly. that makes a question pop up in your head. “have you done that before?” you ask. “like. killing people.”

“yeah.”

“how many?”

he blows out a breath through his teeth. “i don’t keep a number.”

“and why?”

he takes a breath, thinking. actually thinking. “it’s not the killing part.” he says slowly. “not for me. that’s just… the end of it. it’s the before. i dunno. i like the teamwork. but that’s just me, ask the others if you want their version.”

you’re confused. “…did something happen in your past?”

he shrugs. “no. grew up rich. had friends. i have a great job. my mom calls me on sundays.”

you stare at him.

“i’m serious.” he says. “i’m just… like this.”

you hate how calmly he says it. “when did you start?”

“early twenties.”

“why didn’t you stop?”

he gives you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “i’m good at it.”

you don’t answer. a car horn blares down the street. someone laughs nearby. the world keeps going, oblivious. “you scared me.” you say.

“i know.”

“you still are.”

“i know.”

you swallow. you check the time on your phone. “i told jeongin i’d scream if any of you came close to me ever again.”

“i heard.”

“you got lucky.”

“i’m glad.”

a bit of silence.

you meet his eyes. “i don’t trust you.”

“you shouldn’t.”

“but you still came now. why? why can’t you leave me alone?”

he shrugs, small and helpless. “i liked talking to you in the kitchen. before we… started.”

ow. sounds bad. so bad that you take a step back. away from him. you’re scared.

“i don’t feel things the way other people do.” he says finally. he wanted to spit that out for a while now, he just couldn’t scrape the courage together. “it’s like everything’s gray unless it’s intense.”

you sigh. “…at least you’re honest.”

he nods. “i just… i wanted one interaction with you that wasn’t you running.”

you watch him. he’s still scary. “you got it.” you say. “now what.”

he shrugs. “now i go away.”

you study him. glasses slightly crooked. trying very hard not to look threatening. failing, because he looks like he could lift a car.

you almost smile. almost. “don’t follow me.” you say.

“i won’t.”

“tell the others.”

“i will.”

you start to walk off.

“hey.” he calls.

you turn, tired.

“you were really impressive.” he says. sincere. really.

you hold his gaze. “i know.”

then you leave him standing on the sidewalk, alone. alone with his horrible, evil soul. alone with this weird dumb crush he recently developed on you. alone with his biceps, flexing because he feels a lot and it just… happens when he feels a lot.

it’s the next day. normal day. sun’s out. people walking dogs. a delivery truck is parked. blablabla anything that says world goes on. you were paranoid this day, sure, but you survived so far. you’re currently locking your apartment building door after yourself so you could go grocery shopping when a voice behind you says:

“okay, don’t be mad.”

you close your eyes. slow inhale. you turn.

it’s felix. and this guy literally tried to shoot you once, you remember clearly, but he looks… perfect. perfect hair. expensive jacket. shoes that cost more than your phone. holding… a container?

you stare.

he smiles, so sweet. “i made you muffins.”

“…you what.”

“blueberry.” he says proudly.

you look at the container, suspicious. “i’m not eating that.”

he frowns a little. “that hurt my feelings.”

“you tried to kill me.”

“sorry.”

you rub your face. “why are you here.”

he shifts his weight. he’s nervous. it’s cute tho. “we voted.” he says.

“you VOTED.”

“yeah.”

“ON WHAT.”

“on not killing you.”

you just stare at him.

he brightens. “it was almost unanimous.”

“WHO voted no?”

“…minho.”

yoy try to step around him toward the street. he mirrors you accidentally.

“felix.”

he freezes. “yeah?”

“move.”

“oh. right. sorry.” he sidesteps so fast he almost falls off the curb.

“you cannot come here.” you say. calm. really hoping he’ll understand. “you cannot follow me. you cannot bake for me. do you understand how insane this is?”

he nods immediately. “yes.”

“then why are you here.”

he looks at the muffins. then at you. “okay. so. we— i— baked.” yes baby, we know. you told us already.

“i see that.”

“for you.”

“i gathered.”

he nods, satisfied that the point has been made.

you start walking. he starts walking. directly into a street sign. it’s loud.

he recoils. “ow.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“is it bleeding?” he asks, pointing at his face, but he immediately goes cross eyed as you push his face away instead. his skin is warm. feels nice tbh. he blinks at you, unbothered. “you have strong hands.”

“go away.”

“okay.” he says.

he does not go away.

you reach the crosswalk and the light changes. felix steps forward without looking. a car honks.

you grab his hand and yank him back.

he stumbles into you.

“jesus.” you mutter, still holding his hand as you cross. “you’d be roadkill in five minutes.”

he looks down at your joined hands, his big eyes shining, absolutely taken aback by the fact that you would do this for him. well, all that until you drop his hand on the other side of the street.

“thanks.” he says cheerfully.

a man wearing a watch worth a month’s rent, carrying something he made for you that you won’t eat, who could absolutely overpower you, and instead just almost died to a car.

“don’t follow me.” you say.

“okay.” he says, still following.

you glance at him. “you’re unbelievably stupid.”

“thank you.” he says.

“that wasn’t—”

“i’ve been working on self-acceptance.”

pffft.

you stop. “felix, listen. i don’t want you guys here.”

he looks at you, tilting his pretty head in confusion.

“you scare me.” you clarify.

“oh.” he says quietly. that, he understood.

you point at the muffins. “those could be drugged.”

“they’re not!”

“i don’t know that.”

silence hangs between you. street noise fills it. someone laughs across the road. life just keeps going.

“i liked talking to you.” he says finally.

“you didn’t talk to me.” you reply. “you hunted me.”

“yeah. i’m sorry.”

you watch him. disappointed that something this beautiful can be this cruel. “you need to leave.”

he nods. but he doesn’t move yet. “do you…” he starts, then stops. tries again. “do you hate us?”

you don’t hesitate. “yes?” of fucking course bro???

his little brain absorbs that. shoulders drop a little. “okay.”

he holds out the muffins one last time, hopeful in the dumbest way possible.

you just look at him.

he lowers them.

“just go, felix. bye.”

“yeah. bye.”

he turns the wrong direction.

you grab his hood and spin him around. “that way.”

“right.” he says, walking off.

he makes it three steps. turns back. holds up the muffin container. “do you want—”

“no.”

“okay.”

he walks into a bike rack.

you watch him go. he looks beautiful.

you hate him.

you check to make sure he crosses the next street safely before you turn away.

that passed too. a few days later you are leaving a pharmacy in the afternoon, receipt crumpled in your fist, focusing on your surroundings now.

and across the street, leaning against a lamppost, is chan. he raised a hand, giving you a little wave, mouthing: you good?

you mouth back go away.

he nods once, then pushes off the pole and walks in the opposite direction. not chasing now. actually walking away.

then you’re in a grocery store, looking at pastas, deciding which one you want to eat tonight. a hand reaches past you and places the more expensive one in your cart.

you turn. it’s seungmin. black hoodie. baseball cap.

you immediately pull it back out. “no.”

he takes it. puts it back into the cart.

“no.”

back in.

“stop.”

it went on for a good five minutes.

at checkout, you unload your stuff, and when you’re about to pay, seungmin comes up behind you and wordlessly uses his card. do you process that in the head? no, only when he is already at the exit, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

he walks straight into the automatic door before it finishes opening. you hear the thud.

you rub your temples.

then you’re walking through the park because that’s the shorter way home. peaceful. sunlight. children playing. then the bush next to the sidewalk starts shaking.

you stop. you kick the bush. han tumbles out directly at your feet. face in dirt.

“…hi.” he says into the grass.

you look down at him. “were you hiding?”

he looks up at you, leaves in his hair, expression hopeful. “no.”

you start walking again. he scrambles up and follows, then trips on the sidewalk edge.

you catch his sleeve before he eats pavement. “use your brain.”

he nods seriously. “i keep meaning to.”

next time about days later, you see felix before he sees you. he’s staring into a store window, clearly confused by mannequins.

you walk past.

noticing that, he turns and his pretty little face lights up. “hi!”

“hi. don’t.”

“okay.”

he walks into a mailbox.

you only see hyunjin once, at a distance. not close enough to speak. just standing outside a train station, hands in his coat pockets, watching the crowd, not just you.

when your eyes meet, he doesn’t smile, just gives a small nod. then he leaves.

days after that it’s seungmin again. at night. parking lot. you only came with car because it was too far. you’re unlocking your car and a shadow leans against the hood.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” seungmin says, casual as hell, like he didn’t once swing a fire poker at your skull. “man.” he continues “small world, right?”

you turn, pepper spray in hand, and spray it directly into his eyes.

he screams, drops to his knees, clawing at his face. “OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE SATAN PISSED IN MY EYES—”

“stop finding me!” you yell.

he’s laughing through the pain. laughing. “you look good today.”

you drive off while he’s still swearing.

the next time minho follows you through a bookstore. keeps pretending to browse. picks up a book upside down. so you turn a corner and wait. he walks right into it. he also gets a taste of your pepper spray.

“SON OF A BITCH.” he chokes, doubling over between romance and self help. “you fucking—”

“YOU’RE STALKING ME.”

they find you in different places. weeks apart. or days apart. but they always come back.

something is clearly wrong with them. like, all eight are sick in the head. but it doesn’t seem like they’re following you around to kill you. they talk too long. they get distracted. they bring you things. they absolutely eat shit every time you fight back. and you do fight back. diva.

minho and seungmin have been pepper sprayed so many times they flinch when you reach into your bag. jeongin tries every possible pickup line on you. han once tried to sneak up on you and got hit in the face with your tote bag and apologized.

it’s ike they’re still in hunting mode. after you. into you. but now they’re… unsure. they don’t seem to want you dead anymore. they just… want you around now. or to just be around you, at least.

it’s the middle of the night right now. you’re in old sweatpants, hair a mess, waiting for the food you ordered. and soon enough, the doorbell rings. you shuffle over and look through the peephole for a second. delivery uniform. cap. bag. seems normal. so you open the door.

it’s felix. smiling ear to ear, holding your takeout, wearing the uniform jacket and cap. “hi!”

“absolutely not.” you say, already closing the door.

he sticks his foot in. “wait, wait—don’t slam it, the soup’ll spill—”

that’s when you see it, behind him, in the hallway. a man on the floor. the delivery uniform pants still on him, only his jacket gone, the one on felix right now. there’s blood under the man.

your stomach drops. your organs drop. after staring for about a minute, you slowly look back at felix. “…is that—”

“okay.” he says quickly. “before you freak out—”

“BEFORE I FREAK OUT?? YOU KILLED THE DELIVERY GUY?!”

jeongin leans into view, coming next to felix, hands in pockets. “it wasn’t him who killed the guy.”

you point wildly, not even concerned about the fact that there’s two of them now. “THAT IS A PERSON ON THE FLOOR.”

“yeah but like…” minho says, stepping into the doorframe, arm around felix’s shoulders now. “he’s not using the uniform anymore.”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out.

and then, without a word, chan walks past you. into your home. into your fucking home. felix shrugs and follows him. the other six too, actually taking their shoes off.

YOU ARE STILL HOLDING THE DOOR. THEY JUST WALK AROUND YOU.

“what—no—no—no—” you manage, backing up as they enter.

han closes the door gently behind them. “heat’s nice in here.” he says.

hyunjin looks at you and mutters a quiet but confident “hi” before going further into your living room.

changbin walks past you and spins slowly, taking in the room. “oh this is cute. this is very you.”

“YOU BROUGHT A CORPSE TO MY DOOR.” you choke.

felix is still holding the food bag. “your noodles are getting cold.” he says softly.

you make a noise that doesn’t exist in human language. (imagine something close to a windows crash sound)

seungmin tosses his jacket over a chair. there’s a smear of blood on his sleeve.

you gag.

he notices. “oh, relax. it’s mostly the delivery guy’s.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“hey, where’s the hand soap?” han asks, already at your kitchen sink, washing blood off his fingers.

you stare at the red swirling down your drain.

jeongin flops onto your couch. “i like what you did with the lighting in here. mood.”

“GET OUT.” you say, voice coming back in bursts. “GET—OUT—OF—MY—APARTMENT.”

they all look at you. it’s obvious that they don’t really understand what’s your problem.

chan gestures toward the takeout bag. “eat first.”

“I DON’T WANT THE FOOD.”

felix looks devastated. “you picked the combo meal…”

changbin is by your bookshelf now. “you alphabetized? that’s hot.”

“a— i— eugh— what is HAPPENING.”

minho leans against the wall. “okay, in our defense—”

“there is NO DEFENSE.”

“—we didn’t come to kill you.”

“YOU’RE TRACKING BLOOD ON MY FLOOR.”

they all look down.

han lifts his foot. “…shit.”

jeongin points at him. “mop boy.”

han salutes and grabs paper towels.

“listen.” chan says, turning to be in front of you. “we just wanted to see you.”

you stare at him. then at the door. “…you couldn’t text?” you ask hoarsely.

eight grown ass serial killer men exchange glances.

jeongin shrugs. “didn’t have your number.” that’s alright sweetie, not like you can’t find a phone number when you can find an address perfectly. not like you can’t ask for it from HYUNJIN.

you make another sound.

changbin steps closer, hands up, gentle. “okay, hey. we know this looks bad.”

“LOOKS—”

“bad phrasing.” he admits.

seungmin rubs the back of his neck. “we didn’t plan the delivery guy part.”

“that’s WORSE.” you sag against the wall. “you have got to be shitting me.” you whisper to yourself. then you look at them. all of them. in your apartment. on your couch. at your sink. in your life. “out.”

they don’t move.

jeongin tilts his head. “we just got here—”

“OUT.”

changbin actually flinches.

seungmin raises his hands. “okay, volume—”

“you killed someone. again, i assume. and brought it to my DOOR. do you understand how fucking insane that is?”

silence.

“i can’t sleep normally. i check reflections everywhere. i don’t walk with headphones anymore. do you get that? do you get what you did to my brain? i couldn’t function for weeks. every sound was footsteps. every guy walking behind me was one of you. i have three different hiding spots in my own apartment.”

han raises a hand slightly. “this one’s not great.”

“NO IT IS NOT GREAT.”

felix looks genuinely confused. “we didn’t think about… after.”

“YEAH. THAT’S THE PROBLEM. you don’t think about after. you don’t think about people being PEOPLE. you think about adrenaline and teamwork and your little murder club hangouts.”

changbin crosses his arms. “okay when you say it like that—”

“how else is there to say it??” you gesture wildly at the room.

they don’t look guilty. they look… attentive. they’re paying attention. trying to understand you.

you swallow. “no, seriously. i want to know. when you followed me for weeks? when you showed up at my job? when i thought every man walking behind me was about to grab me? that was fun for you?”

seungmin shrugs. “engaging.”

you grab the nearest thing, a throw pillow, and launch it at his face. then relax your shoulders and sigh. “i am a person. with a nervous system. i had a normal life before you guys.”

there’s a long pause.

felix raises a hand slightly. “your food is still warm.”

“READ THE ROOM.”

he lowers it.

han whispers to him: “she’s upset-upset.”

“no shit.” you snap.

chan has his hands on his hips. “you’re saying we made you paranoid and ruined your life.”

you stare. “…are you fucking for real right now.”

“trying to understand the damage.”

“DAMAGE???”

jeongin leans forward on the couch, elbows on knees. “we don’t feel fear like that, or guilt the way you do.”

“yeah, i noticed.”

“but we’re not dumb.” hyunjin says quietly.

your eyes flick to him.

he meets them. calm. honest in a deeply unsettling way. “we know we changed your life. we can see the behavioral shifts. we know what we did. we just don’t care.“

you blink. does this fucking asshole hear himself.

he continues. “and what you’re saying is that our continued presence equals harm.”

you blink “yes.”

“even without immediate violence.”

“YES.”

he nods once. processing. filing it somewhere in his terrifyingly organized brain.

chan takes over. “we’re saying, we understand the outcome. even if we don’t experience the emotion attached.”

changbin rubs his neck. “we didn’t think about the after. usually there isn’t one.”

you let that sit. “yeah.” you say. “because people die.”

quiet.

han finally says, softly: “you didn’t.”

you look at him. “no. i didn’t. and now i have to live with what you did.”

there’s a long silence.

then jeongin claps his hands once. “so. solution. anyone? ideas?”

you point at him without looking. “you are on thin fucking ice.”

he mimes zipping his mouth.

seungmin rubs his face. “okay, but question.”

you glare.

“when we stopped trying to actually kill you… that didn’t help?”

you just stare at him. “…you hear yourself, right?”

he thinks about it. “…yeah.”

felix looks like he’s actually using his brain for once. “we thought… not finishing the job was growth.”

“that is the lowest bar i have ever heard in my LIFE.”

but you see, the thing is, this is a system error for them. you’re not prey right now. you’re not running. you’re furious, first of all. human. loud. hurt. they don’t know this game. they only know the killing and manipulating one, but they want to have you. they just… don’t know how to get you.

chan clears his throat. “so the correct action would be… removal of our presence.”

“yes.”

“immediately.”

“so fucking immediately.”

“we don’t want to kill you.” minho cuts in, hoping that this saves their situation a bit.

“yeah, you told me a hundred times already. your point?” you ask

“we like you.”

you make a face like you bit into soap. “that is not how liking works.”

“for you.” he agrees.

chan exhales. decisive. “we adjust behavior.”

you cross your arms. “into WHAT?”

silence.

felix brightens. “dinner?”

you stare at him.

han nods eagerly.

you look around the room at eight serial killers in your living space, one of them holding a roll of paper towels covered in someone else’s blood. “…dinner.”

changbin shrugs. “low pressure environment. public. you feel safer. we practice acting normal.”

minho adds: “exposure therapy. for all parties.”

“i just gave a speech about how you ruined my sense of safety.” you whisper, voice defeated.

hyunjin nods. “we heard you.”

“and you want to take me to DINNER.”

“yes.”

“why.”

he doesn’t hesitate. “because harming you is now counterproductive to the thing we want.”

you are actually taken aback by the words this guy uses. “…which is?”

he holds your gaze.

“you.”

the room goes quiet.

then han whispers to felix, way too loud: “is this flirting?”

“yeah.” felix whispers back. “i think this is the good kind.”

you drag a hand down your face. “…get the fuck out of my apartment.”

they stand, immediately obedient. getting their shoes on and whatnot.

changbin gives you a small wave. “we’ll text?”

“you do not have my number.”

jeongin points at hyunjin. “he’ll give it to us.”

“I WILL CALL THE POLICE.”

they walk out.

han pauses at the door. “sorry about the sink.”

door closes. silence. your apartment is a disaster. your life is worse.

but… they looked weirdly sincere, actually. and they were.

soon, they stopped showing up unannounced. mostly. they also stopped bringing weapons into your line of sight. mostly. and they stopped treating you like prey. completely.

how were they about you, comes the question.

obsessed.

and they did not process attachment normally. if they processed it. they did not understand love. but they understood preference, and if you told them enough times, then eventually they understood your emotions too. well, not understood, but they processed the fact that you feel the way you feel and they can do something about it if they actually try.

han once fell down an entire staircase because someone said your name and he turned too fast. chan pretended he wasn’t competitive about board games and then absolutely lost his mind over monopoly. hyunjin brought you flowers all the time. you learned that seungmin always had to sleep on his stomach.

you started to understand the function of them. not excuse, no. absolutely not. just understand and process the fact that they’re how they are. and you couldn’t do shit about it, and you couldn’t get rid of them now. so you lived with it.

they still killed, of course. that was one of the few things that brought them happiness in life, so you couldn’t expect them to stop doing it. they didn’t kill around you, though.

but you knew they still did it. and you could feel when the tension built when they haven’t hurt anybody in a long time.

it also… what’s the right word, scared? impressed? took you aback? could be either, what matters is that when you saw that all of them had it in them, even han and felix who behaved like total angels throughout the day, it… upset you. or just moved something in you, seeing that each of them has that empty place where fear or guilt or empathy should go.

they didn’t kill out of anger. it was release. their brains were wired wrong. thrill, control, mastery, stimulation, those hit the reward centers. violence scratched an itch they couldn’t reach any other way.

and after, they were calmer. lighter, like they’d gone for a run. when they were satisfied with themselves, they tried to tell you about it. you always stopped them, because you did NOT need to hear the horrible things they did. no matter how much they wanted to brag about it, how much they wanted to make you proud.

you weren’t safe in the world, but you were weirdly safe with them. and they would have died for you.

but you had to set rules. actual rules. “do not follow me into bathrooms.” “do not threaten my coworkers.” “do not kill anyone within a five-mile emotional radius of me.” the basics. and they tried. god, they tried. but they didn’t really… do well.

once you opened your door to seungmin at one in the morning, and he stood there, breathing a little heavy, COVERED in blood.

you just stared.

he stared back.

“…you good?” he asked.

“are you good??”

“oh. yeah. not mine.”

you almost slammed the door. he stopped it with a hand, but gently. always that now.

“didn’t come here for that.” he said.

“for what, seungmin, WHAT possible reason makes this a normal social call.”

he shrugged. “adrenaline crash. didn’t wanna be alone.”

that did something weird to your chest. not forgiving, just… information. because you realized that now they wanted you. your company, your voice, your hands. and it felt good.

anyways, you told him to take a shower, then you let him hang out with you.

they also fought each other more than they ever fought you.

once minho and jeongin, two extremely capable men mind you, actually went for each other’s throats in your kitchen while hyunjin and chan tried to separate them.

you yelled at them then. they paused and looked at you.

jeongin, bleeding from the lip, grinned. but like in that hot way. “sorry.”

“take it outside if you’re gonna be like this.” you told them.

“fair.” chan said, dragging minho back by the collar.

you weren’t scared of them like prey anymore. you were scared of the capacity. the strength. the speed. the way the air changed when something in them flipped.

you’d seen what they could do, you just weren’t the target now.

they were on your dick constantly, though. emotionally. socially. existentially. texting wasn’t their thing, but presence was. which meant they showed up unannounced a lot. but the reason for that was that they didn’t want to lose access to you, to be honest. didn’t like the thought of that.

one night you opened the door to changbin. he told you he was going to come over later. well, it was late. around midnight.

when he saw you, his eyes lit up, and wrapped you in the warmest, most affectionate, full-body hug of your life.

you froze.

because he was sticky.

wet sleeve. iron smell. your cheek against his skin. your hands touching the back of his shirt.

he squeezed tighter, cheek against your hair. “missed you.”

you pulled back.

looked down.

this boy was covered in blood.

he smiled, soft, relieved. “hi.”

you shoved back, stumbling, hand over your mouth, already shaking your head like that would stop it. you barely made it to the sink before you threw up in it.

behind you, changbin stood there, horrified. “oh. oh no. right. right. that’s— that’s on me.”

from the hallway, jeongin yelled: “did you forget again??”

“I GOT EXCITED.”

hyunjin was the only one who followed you then, already grabbing a towel, turning on the sink. he didn’t look at changbin, and he didn’t look at the blood. he looked at you. “i’ve got you. you’re okay. breathe.”

they kept forgetting what you were. alive. normal. human. that for you it was a body, a person, a life.

it wasn’t the only time, of fucking course. they’d be loose, relaxed, calm. you’d be staring at hands that had done something irreversible two hours ago. there were a few nights like that, a sleeve not changed, a stain not noticed, you throwing up in your own kitchen while eight men who could disassemble a human being panicked because they’d upset you.

not because they felt guilt like you did. because they’d hurt something important in the environment. you. you, who sometimes made it to the sink, sometimes didn’t.

they did learn, though. slowly. painfully. they didn’t feel what you felt, but they learned it mattered. which, for them, was the closest thing to empathy available in the system.

you fell asleep on the couch once while they were over. you didn’t mean to. how could you mean to, when you knew what they were capable of?

and you woke up pinned. well, luckily not trapped, just surrounded. han was hugging your ankle. felix was using your shoulder as a pillow. changbin had an arm across your middle. jeongin was half off the couch but anyways. seungmin pretended he wasn’t involved but his foot was hooked under your leg.

they didn’t experience comfort like most people did. but proximity? pressure? familiar scent? that, they liked.

they were really, really glad that you survived them. and because of that, somewhere in their broken little predator brains, you became home. and what do predators do? bring things home.

once han showed up beaming, holding something behind his back.

“i got you flowers.” he said.

you blinked. that was… new.

he revealed it.

you stared.

it was technically arranged like a bouquet. the only problem was that… they were human lower arms. a lot of them. like flowers. just… arms.

you made a noise. you looked away, then back at it, then had to look away again.

“i thought it was romantic.” he said, crushed.

“honey, i appreciate that, but—“ you gagged. held the doorframe. teared up.

he watched you throw up then. patted your back after.

felix once brought you a wallet because “you’re always losing yours.”

you opened it. immediately closed it. “felix.”

“yeah?”

“return that.”

chan was… fucking brutal. he didn’t bring objects. he brought information.

“found a guy who’d been stalking women in your area.” he said once.

you went cold. “…what did you do.”

he met your eyes calmly. “took care of him, of course.”

you didn’t know whether to scream or say thank you. this one wasn’t bad, actually. you just had to sit down for a minute.

they were not house trained though, not even a little. one time you caught seungmin about to piss in your giant houseplant.

“seungmin.” you sighed.

he froze mid-zip. “…yeah?”

“if you water that plant with your BODY i will end you.”

“okay, okay.” he said, offended. “god. boundaries.”

felix once wiped his hands on your curtains. han sat on your coffee table. minho had to be told three separate times that knives did not belong “wherever feels right.” changbin once tried to “air out” your apartment by opening every window during winter.

and jeongin was just really spontaneous in general. if a guy talked to you, he would insert himself into the conversation, no matter what. “bro.” he’d say, arm slung over the stranger’s shoulders. “i love your confidence. truly. quick question, how attached are you to having kneecaps?”

you hit him. he’d grin. the stranger would evaporate.

hyunjin was the only one who got you normal gifts. they were… brutally expensive, yeah, and you had no idea where he had that kind of money from, but you appreciated every gift from him.

and oh my fucking god, the mailman. felix hated the mailman. for no reason. the man was fifty something and friendly. still, every time the mail arrived, felix would appear at your window, talking bout sum “he’s back.” ???

“felix, that’s his job.”

“yeah but why is he always here?”

“because i live here. that’s how mail works.”

the suspicion remained.

but beneath all the insanity, the red flags, the daily reminder that they could bring a corpse to your doorstep any day, they were sincere. they never played with your feelings. never lied about what they were. never pretended.

they just… adjusted their behavior around one central rule, which was not to lose you. to keep you safe, even if they didn’t understand why they wanted to keep you so safe. or why did you find so many things they did wrong.

you had, at one point, physically grabbed felix by the hair and yanked him backward because he was halfway out your front door, whispering “i just wanna talk to him.” about the mailman.

“NO.” you barked, fist in his hair.

“he’s BEEN HERE THREE TIMES THIS WEEK.” felix insisted.

“THAT IS HOW MAIL WORKS.”

he did not agree with you.

changbin loved cheek kisses. loved them. unfortunately, changbin also had a chronic issue where he just… forgot he was holding things. knife. wrench. crowbar. gun.

you’d feel a gentle kiss on your cheek and open your eyes to see cold steel six inches from your face.

“baby.” you’d say.

“oh, shit.” weapon would go on the table like car keys. “sorry.” he’d say, and kiss your other cheek, now technically unarmed.

then once you mentioned to hyunjin that you were cold and he wordlessly took off his jacket. it had a suspicious stain. he saw you notice.

“…i’ll get another one.” he said immediately.

because he really didn’t want you to be cold. not like he understood what your problem was with a little blood, but alright. anything for you.

now that i’m getting carried away with the stories, i’ll tell you that han did not understand personal space.

for an example, if you scolded him? immediate cling. you’d finish saying “you cannot threaten the barista for writing my name wrong” and suddenly he’d be attached to your side, rubbing his face into you, arms around your shoulders, chin on your head.

“okay, but we’re good though, right?”

“sweetie, i’m trying to pay.”

he’d nod against your hair, not moving. that went on for twelve minutes until a woman asked if he was concussed.

they clung like that a lot, they didn’t understand a lot, they acted up a lot, they hated a lot, but they loved one thing.

you.

they didn’t understand jealousy as an emotion. they understood it as something wrong with their insticts, and you in danger. how did that make sense? it didn’t. it just sounded horrible. because it was. but it was also the most sincere attachment they were capable of.

you were still scared sometimes. still human. still deeply aware of what they were, and reminded of it a lot of times, of course.

but they’d learned one thing with absolute certainty:

you were not prey.

you were home.