:requests are open:

You tried to walk past without looking, but one of the books slid from your stack and tumbled toward the ground.

Before you could react, Seungmin moved. He caught the book mid-air with one hand and placed it back on top of your pile with an irritated sigh, as if helping you was the biggest inconvenience of his day.

“Idiot. You can’t even carry a few books properly?” he muttered, loud enough for his friends to hear.

Hyunjin stifled a laugh. Felix gave you a sympathetic glance. Changbin raised an eyebrow, still chewing.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration, but you forced a polite smile.

“Thanks, Seungmin. Your kindness never fails to amaze me.”

He scoffed and turned his face away, refusing to meet your eyes. But you noticed — you always noticed — the tiny, almost invisible movement as he quickly adjusted the slipping strap of your backpack before stepping back.

Changbin shook his head. “Dude, you’re always such an asshole to her. She’s actually really nice…”

“She’s annoying,” Seungmin replied flatly, already slipping his earphones back in and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Always in my way.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hugged the books tighter to your chest, and kept walking without looking back. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. Because just last night, at 11:40 pm, he had pinned you against his car door in the empty parking lot, hands sliding under your shirt, kissing you like he was starving for you. And today he called you an idiot in front of everyone.

---

When you finally reached the apartment, the savory smell of improved ramyeon filled the small living room. Hye-jin was in the kitchen, wearing denim shorts and an oversized NewJeans t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun with a pen stuck through it.

The second she saw your face, she pointed the wooden spoon at you.

“That expression screams ‘Kim Seungmin happened again.’ Spill.”

You dropped your bag on the couch and slumped onto a stool at the counter with a heavy sigh.

“He called me an idiot today. In front of Hyunjin, Felix, and Changbin. Loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear.”

Hye-jin rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.

“I swear to God, I don’t understand why you still bother with that guy. He treats you like absolute trash in public. If I were you, I would’ve told him to fuck off months ago. He walks around with that permanent sour face like you personally ruined his life.”

You stayed quiet, tracing patterns on the counter with your finger. Hye-jin was brutally honest, hilarious, and fiercely protective. She made you laugh on your worst days and always had your back. But you couldn’t tell her about the kisses. About the secret moments. Saying it out loud would make everything too real.

“He’s not always like that…” you mumbled.

“Oh really?” Hye-jin slid a big bowl of ramyeon toward you. “Then explain why every time I see you near him he looks like he sucked on a lemon? You’re one of the kindest people I know. You remember everyone’s birthdays, help the freshmen, even bring coffee to those boring professors. And him? He calls you an idiot in front of his friends? One day I’m going to corner him on campus and tell him exactly what I think. And I’ll record it for the group chat.”

You let out a small laugh and accepted the warm bowl. The two of you leaned against each other while eating, Hye-jin’s indie playlist playing softly in the background. She launched into a funny story about a guy who tried (and failed miserably) to flirt with her in Design class today, doing exaggerated impressions that had you genuinely laughing. But your mind kept drifting.

Drifting back to that dark parking lot, to Seungmin’s intense brown eyes when he looked at you like you were the only person in his universe… right before he went back to being the cold, sarcastic tsundere everyone else knew.

---

Later that night, already in your pajamas and lying in bed, your phone buzzed.

𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:

Central Library. 11:30 pm. Top floor, foreign literature section. Don’t be late.

Your stupid heart jumped. It was 10:55 pm.

From the living room, Hye-jin yelled, “If you’re going out, text me! And if it’s that idiot Seungmin, tell him to go fuck himself from me!”

You didn’t reply. You just pulled a big hoodie over your camisole, grabbed your keys, and slipped quietly out of the apartment.

Because no matter how much it hurt… you always went when it was him.

────୨ৎ────

The central library was almost eerily quiet at that hour. Most students had already left, and only a few desperate souls preparing for midterms remained scattered across the lower floors. You took the elevator to the top floor, heart hammering against your ribs the entire way. The foreign literature section was dimly lit, the tall shelves creating long shadows that swallowed most of the light.

Seungmin was already there, leaning against a shelf with his hands in his jacket pockets, earphones dangling around his neck. When he saw you approaching, he didn’t smile. He never did. But his eyes softened just a fraction — enough for you to notice, not enough for anyone else to ever see.

“You’re late,” he muttered, voice low.

“It’s 11:32,” you replied softly, stopping a step away from him. “That’s not late.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before closing around it and pulling you deeper between the shelves, away from the faint security cameras and any wandering eyes. The moment the two of you were hidden, the air shifted.

Seungmin backed you gently against the bookshelf, one hand resting beside your head. For a few seconds he just looked at you — really looked — his gaze tracing your face like he was memorizing every detail. Then he leaned in.

The kiss started slow tonight, almost careful. His lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees weak. One of his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the back of your neck. You kissed him back just as deeply, fingers threading through his soft hair. For once, he didn’t rush. He lingered, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, a tiny sigh escaping him when your free hand pressed against his chest.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment. His breathing was slightly uneven.

“You should wear a thicker jacket,” he said quietly, almost grumbling. “It’s cold at night.”

You blinked, surprised by the small concern. “I’m fine.”

He huffed, but his thumb brushed lightly over your waist in a soothing motion before he stepped back. “Whatever. Just don’t get sick and bother me later.”

You smiled a little, unable to help it. “Thank you for worrying, Seungmin.”

“I’m not worrying,” he shot back immediately, turning his face away. But he didn’t let go of your hand right away. His fingers lingered, warm against your skin, before he finally released you.

The two of you stayed hidden for nearly twenty minutes — talking in low voices about nothing important, stealing a few more kisses that grew progressively hungrier. At one point he even adjusted the collar of your hoodie so it covered your neck better, muttering something about “stupid cold air.” It was the closest he ever got to being openly gentle with you.

Before you left, he walked you down to the side exit of the library, keeping a careful distance in case anyone was around. At the door, he stopped.

“Go straight home,” he said, not looking at you. “Text me when you get there.”

You nodded. “I will. Goodnight, Seungmin.”

He gave a small nod and turned away first, hands back in his pockets as he disappeared toward the parking lot.

---

The walk back to the apartment felt longer than usual. The night air was cold, just like he’d said, and your lips still tingled from his kisses. When you finally slipped inside, Hye-jin was already asleep, her door half-open with the faint sound of her breathing. You changed into pajamas quietly and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling.

What am I to you, Seungmin?

The question wouldn’t leave your mind. In the dark corners of the library he kissed you like he needed you to breathe. He worried about you getting cold. He told you to text him when you got home. But tomorrow, in the daylight, in front of everyone… he would probably call you annoying again. He would look away like your presence irritated him. He never asked you to be his. He never said he liked you. He never stayed.

You turned onto your side, hugging your pillow. The worst part was how much you kept going back anyway. How every small glimpse of the real Seungmin — the one who lingered in kisses and adjusted your collar — made your heart ache with hope.

---

The next day was Friday, and the campus was busier than usual with students preparing for the weekend. You ran into Seungmin again near the arts building after your morning lecture. He was with Changbin and Felix this time, the three of them standing near a vending machine.

You approached with a soft smile, holding two cans of warm coffee you’d just bought.

“Hey,” you said lightly, offering one to Seungmin. “I got an extra. Thought you might want one.”

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Oh, nice! You’re always so thoughtful.”

Seungmin stared at the can for a second before taking it from your hand. His fingers brushed yours deliberately, but his expression stayed neutral.

“…Thanks,” he mumbled. Not sarcastic. Not cold. Just quiet.

You felt a small flutter in your chest. It was the most normal thank you he’d ever given you in public.

Changbin raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Did hell freeze over? Seungmin actually accepting something nicely?”

“Shut up,” Seungmin said, but there was no real bite in it. He cracked the can open and took a sip, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You have class now?”

“Yeah, poetry analysis in twenty minutes.”

He nodded once. “Don’t fall asleep this time.”

It almost sounded like teasing instead of an insult. Almost caring.

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a good day, guys.”

Felix waved cheerfully. Changbin gave you a thumbs up. Seungmin just looked at you for a second longer than necessary before turning back to the vending machine, but you caught the faint pink at the tips of his ears.

---

Later that afternoon, you sent him a casual text.

𝐘𝐨𝐮:

Finished class. Heading to the café near the main gate if you want to join for a bit.

His reply came ten minutes later.

𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:

Busy with practice. Don’t wait.

Short. Indifferent. Typical.

You sighed, slipping your phone back into your bag. Yet when you arrived at the café to study, a sealed packet of your favorite honey butter chips was suddenly placed on your table. You looked up, startled.

Seungmin stood there for half a second, expression blank.

“Saw them on sale,” he said flatly. “Don’t think too much about it.”

Before you could thank him, he was already walking away, shoulders slightly tense like he was annoyed at himself for doing it.

You touched the packet gently, warmth spreading through your chest despite everything.

That night, back at the apartment, Hye-jin was sprawled on the couch watching a drama.

“How was your day?” she asked without looking up.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “It was… okay.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “If that idiot made you sad again, I’m serious about throwing him down the stairs.”

You laughed and shook your head, but inside the same question kept spinning:

What am I to you, Kim Seungmin? A secret? A weakness? Or something more?

And how much longer could you keep pretending it didn’t hurt?

────୨ৎ────

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫⏳

The last fourteen days had dragged by in a strange, heavy silence. After that small moment at the café where Seungmin left you the honey butter chips, everything cooled. Texts became shorter, rarer. He replied with single words or simple “busy with practice” when you tried to reach out. No more late-night library meetings. No more stolen kisses in empty parking lots. You saw him around campus a few times — always surrounded by his friends, always with that same indifferent mask — but he barely glanced your way. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. The warmth he had shown in small doses suddenly vanished, leaving you questioning every single second you had spent tangled up with him.

You threw yourself into assignments and lectures to distract yourself. Hye-jin noticed your quieter mood but didn’t push too hard, though her side-eye whenever Seungmin’s name came up grew sharper.

Tonight was supposed to be a break from all of it.

The party was at a spacious house rented by Min-ho, one of your closest friends from the Literature department. He was the type everyone liked — outgoing, always throwing gatherings that pulled in people from multiple departments. Music majors, design students, even a few from Engineering. Basically the entire friend group was invited, which meant Seungmin and his circle would almost certainly be there too.

You hadn’t wanted to go.

“I’m tired, Hye-jin. I have a paper due next week,” you had protested earlier, sprawled on the couch in pajamas.

Hye-jin had yanked the blanket off you with zero mercy. “No. You’ve been moping for two weeks straight. We’re going. You’re going to put on something cute, I’m doing your makeup, and you’re going to drink and dance and forget that idiot exists for one night. End of discussion.”

She dragged you out anyway. Now here you were, standing in the middle of a crowded living room where bass-heavy music shook the walls and colorful lights swept across laughing faces. The house smelled like a mix of perfume, beer, and grilled meat from the backyard. People danced in the cleared space near the speakers, others clustered in groups chatting and playing drinking games.

You smoothed down the black dress Hye-jin had forced you into — fitted at the waist, falling just above the knees — and tried to relax. Hye-jin was already in her element, laughing loudly with a group of design majors, her newly dyed silver hair catching the lights.

Your eyes scanned the room despite yourself. And of course, you found him.

Seungmin stood near the kitchen counter, a red cup in hand, talking to a girl you vaguely recognized from the Music department. She was pretty — long wavy hair, bright smile, leaning in close as she said something that made him smirk. Not the full smile he sometimes gave you in secret, but still… a smirk. He didn’t pull away when she touched his arm. Your stomach twisted. You turned around quickly and headed toward the backyard before he could notice you staring.

The night air was cooler, fairy lights strung across the trees. You grabbed a drink and tried to focus on conversations with your literature friends. Time passed. Laughter, more drinks, music changing to something slower. You danced a little with Hye-jin, letting the alcohol loosen the knot in your chest.

Then he appeared.

His name was Ji-hoon — tall, easy smile, from the same poetry workshop as you. He had always been friendly, never pushy. Tonight he was bolder, compliments flowing easily as the two of you talked near the edge of the yard.

“You look really good tonight,” he said, eyes appreciative but warm. “Been meaning to tell you that in class but never found the right moment.”

You laughed softly, the alcohol making everything feel lighter. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Conversation flowed. He was funny, attentive, asked about your recent essays and actually listened. When he leaned in closer, you didn’t move away. When his hand brushed your waist, you let it stay. And when he kissed you — slow at first, then deeper — you kissed him back. It wasn’t like Seungmin’s kisses. It didn’t set your skin on fire or make your heart race with that dangerous mix of anger and need. But it was nice. Warm. And right now, nice felt like enough.

Ji-hoon pulled back with a grin. “There’s an empty room upstairs. Wanna get away from the noise for a bit?”

You hesitated only a second before nodding.

He took your hand and led you through the crowded house, up the stairs, and down the hallway to a quiet bedroom at the end. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music. Only the glow of a bedside lamp lit the space — someone’s guest room, neat and unoccupied.

Ji-hoon kissed you again, harder this time, hands sliding to your hips as he walked you backward toward the bed. You let yourself fall into it, fingers in his hair, trying to drown out every thought of Seungmin. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of warmth, and you tilted your head to give him more access. His body pressed against yours, the moment growing heavier, more intimate.

Then — BANG. BANG. BANG

The door rattled violently, as if someone was trying to break it down. The knocks were loud, furious, nonstop.

Ji-hoon pulled back, startled. “What the hell? They’re gonna break the damn door.”

BANG. BANG. BANG

He stood up, annoyed, and yanked the door open.

Seungmin stood there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with pure rage. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, fists balled at his sides. The hallway light cast sharp shadows across his face. Without a word, he shoved past Ji-hoon, grabbed your wrist in a firm grip, and pulled you out of the room.

“Hey! What the fuck, man?!” Ji-hoon shouted, but Seungmin didn’t even glance back. He dragged you down the hallway, down the stairs, and out through the side door into a quieter part of the backyard, away from most of the crowd. His grip was tight but not painful. Just possessive.

The cool night air hit your flushed skin as he finally stopped near a cluster of trees, spinning you to face him. His eyes were dark, breathing still ragged.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, voice low and shaking with anger. “Letting some random guy put his hands all over you? In a fucking bedroom?”

You stared at him, shock turning quickly into fury.

“Excuse me? You’ve been ignoring me for two weeks, Seungmin. Two weeks of barely texting, acting like I don’t exist. And tonight I saw you with that girl from Music — smiling at her, letting her touch your arm like it was nothing. But I can’t kiss someone else? You’re going to act like a jealous boyfriend now?”

He ran a hand through his hair roughly, looking away for a second before his gaze snapped back to you.

“That was nothing. She was just talking. You were about to—” His voice cracked slightly. He stepped closer, backing you against the tree trunk. “You let him take you upstairs. Let him kiss your neck like that. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

Your heart pounded. The alcohol and adrenaline mixed into something reckless.

“And what am I to you, huh? You kiss me in secret, tell me not to get cold, leave me snacks like you care, then disappear and treat me like I’m nothing in public. You never ask me to be yours. You never say anything real. So why the hell do you get to be angry right now?”

Seungmin’s breath hitched. He caged you in with both arms against the tree, forehead almost touching yours. Up close you could see the storm in his eyes — anger, frustration, and something deeper, almost desperate.

“Because I—” He stopped, swallowing hard. His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Because seeing you with him made me want to punch something. Because every time I try to say what I actually feel, it gets stuck. Because you’re under my skin and I hate it and I can’t stop it.”

His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lip roughly.

“You drive me fucking insane. I want you so bad it hurts, but I’m shit at this. And then I see some other guy’s mouth on you and I lose it. Don’t do that again. Don’t let anyone else touch you like that.”

The raw edge in his voice made your chest ache. For once, the tsundere mask had cracked wide open, revealing the desperate boy underneath who had been fighting himself for months.

You stared up at him, breathing fast. “Then stop hiding, Seungmin. Stop pretending you hate me when we both know you don’t.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he crashed his lips against yours — hard, possessive, full of all the things he couldn’t say. This kiss was different from the secret library ones. It tasted like jealousy and fear and need. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as if afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers digging into his shoulders.

When he finally pulled away, lips swollen and eyes dark, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Don’t go back to him,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Stay with me tonight. Just… stay.”

The party continued raging inside the house, music thumping distantly, but out here under the trees it felt like the rest of the world had faded. Seungmin’s walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and for the first time you saw just how deeply he had been drowning in his own feelings.

You didn’t know what would happen tomorrow when the sun came up and the masks went back on. But tonight, under his desperate gaze and trembling hands, you knew one thing for certain:

Kim Seungmin was losing the battle against his own heart.

────୨ৎ────

𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫🕰

The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet hallway. The party was still raging somewhere behind you, but you had slipped away after that intense kiss with Seungmin under the trees. He hadn’t followed you when you muttered that you needed to go home. He had just stared at you with those conflicted eyes, jaw tight, before nodding once and letting you leave. Your lips still burned from his possessive touch, your wrist still remembered the firm grip when he pulled you out of that bedroom. Your heart was a chaotic mess.

Hye-jin had texted you earlier saying she was heading back early because her feet hurt from the new shoes. You were glad she was already home. The walk back through the cold night air had done nothing to calm the storm inside your chest.

You kicked off your shoes at the entrance and padded into the small kitchen in your bare feet. The black dress felt too tight now, constricting. You opened the fridge, grabbed some leftover ramyeon from earlier that day, and heated it quickly in the microwave. The savory smell filled the apartment as you sat at the counter, staring blankly at the steaming bowl. You picked up the chopsticks but barely ate — just poked at the noodles, twisting them around mindlessly.

Your eyes stung. You hadn’t cried yet, but the pressure behind them was building, heavy and exhausting.

“Ya, what happened to you?”

Hye-jin’s voice came from the living room doorway. She was already in her oversized sleep shirt and shorts, silver hair tied up messily, holding a glass of water. The moment she saw your face under the warm kitchen light, her expression shifted from sleepy to concerned in a second.

“You look like you’re about to cry. Or like you already did. Spill. Right now.”

You tried to force a smile, but it wobbled and died on your lips. Instead, you shrugged and took a small bite of the ramyeon, the heat barely registering. Hye-jin wasn’t having it. She walked over, pulled out the stool beside you, and sat down, turning fully to face you.

“Hey. Talk to me. Did something happen at the party? Was it Seungmin? I swear if that asshole—”

You set the chopsticks down and finally looked at her. The weight of the past two weeks, the secret kisses, the public coldness, and tonight’s explosion all crashed down at once. Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

“We… kind of fought. Or argued. I don’t even know what to call it.”

Hye-jin’s eyebrows shot up. She reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch soft and grounding.

“Start from the beginning. I’m listening. The whole thing.”

You took a shaky breath and told her everything — not quite everything, because the months of hidden make-outs were still too tangled and private to unpack fully tonight, but enough. You told her how Seungmin had been distant for two weeks, barely replying to messages, acting like you didn’t exist after small moments where he almost seemed to care. How you saw him with that girl from Music, smiling at her. How you let Ji-hoon kiss you because you were tired of feeling invisible. How Seungmin had banged on the door like a madman, dragged you out, and then exploded with jealousy outside.

“He kissed me after,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Really kissed me. Like he was scared I was going to disappear. He said he hates how much he wants me, that seeing someone else touch me made him lose it. For a minute he sounded so… desperate. Like I actually matter to him.”

Hye-jin stayed quiet, listening intently, but her eyes were sharpening with every word.

“But then what?” she asked when you paused.

You pushed the bowl of ramyeon away, no longer hungry. “Then I came home. And now I’m sitting here wondering why I even let him do that. Because tomorrow he’s probably going to go back to ignoring me or calling me annoying in front of his friends. One minute he acts like I’m important — he worries if I’m cold, leaves me snacks, kisses me like I’m the only thing he sees. The next minute? I don’t exist. He treats me like some annoying acquaintance he barely tolerates. I’m so tired of it, Hye-jin. It hurts every single time.”

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You wiped them angrily with the back of your hand, but more followed. Hye-jin pulled you into a tight hug without hesitation, rubbing your back in soothing circles. She smelled like her vanilla body lotion and the faint trace of party perfume.

“You deserve so much better than this back and forth bullshit,” she murmured against your hair. “No one gets to make you feel like a secret option. Not even Kim Seungmin with his stupid pretty face and tsundere attitude. You’re not a toy for him to play with when he feels like it and then ignore when it gets too real for him.”

You clung to her, letting the tears fall freely now. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and your occasional sniffles.

“I just don’t understand him,” you continued, voice muffled against her shoulder. “Why act jealous like he owns me if he doesn’t even want to admit he likes me? Why pull me out of that room like a jealous boyfriend and then not say anything real? I feel stupid for still hoping every time he shows a tiny bit of care. Like maybe this time he’ll stop hiding. But he always goes back.”

Hye-jin pulled back enough to look at you, wiping your tears with her thumbs. Her expression was fierce but full of love — the protective best friend mode fully activated.

“Because some guys are emotionally constipated idiots who think being vulnerable makes them weak. Especially someone like Seungmin. He’s always so controlled in public, the perfect sarcastic golden boy. Admitting he’s crazy about you would mean losing that control. But that doesn’t make it okay for him to hurt you like this. You’re not his emotional punching bag.”

She stood up for a moment, grabbed a box of tissues and a fresh bottle of water for you, then sat back down. You took a sip, feeling a little steadier with her there.

“I told him tonight that he needs to stop hiding,” you said. “He didn’t really answer. Just kissed me again. And I let him. Because when he’s like that… it feels real. But I’m scared it’s never going to change.”

Hye-jin nodded slowly, thinking. She reached over and squeezed your hand.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do with your heart. You like him — I see it, even when you try to hide it. But you need to protect yourself too. Next time he pulls that hot-and-cold shit, you call him out. Right there. Don’t let him drag you into another secret corner and kiss you senseless without giving you a real answer. You deserve clarity. You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you, not someone who only shows up when another guy gets too close.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you. “You sound like you’re ready to write my TED Talk on self-respect.”

“I’m ready to write my complaint letter to Seungmin’s face,” she shot back with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously though. If he hurts you one more time — if he makes you cry like this again — I’m not joking. I will find him on campus, probably in front of his precious friends, and I will embarrass the hell out of him. Or physically fight him. I’m small but I’m scrappy. I’ve watched enough dramas to know how to throw a decent slap.”

You laughed properly this time, the sound shaky but genuine. Hye-jin smiled, relieved to see it.

“There she is. My best friend doesn’t cry over boys who don’t know what they want. Or at least, she doesn’t cry alone. You have me. Always.”

You leaned against her again, exhaustion settling in after the emotional rollercoaster of the night. The ramyeon sat forgotten on the counter. Outside, the city hummed quietly — cars in the distance, occasional laughter from late-night students walking home.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” you whispered. “Maybe he’ll pretend tonight never happened. Maybe he’ll text me something dry again.”

“And if he does,” Hye-jin said firmly, “you’ll have me reminding you that you’re worth more than mixed signals and secret kisses. You’re amazing. Kind, smart, funny, beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you openly. Especially a music major who thinks acting cold makes him cool.”

You stayed like that for a long time — talking in low voices, Hye-jin sharing funny stories from the party to distract you, both of you eventually moving to the couch with blankets and snacks. She didn’t press for more details about the hidden history between you and Seungmin. She simply stayed present, letting you vent every frustration, every confusing moment, every little hope that kept breaking your heart.

By the time your eyes grew heavy and the tears had dried, the sky outside was beginning to hint at the earliest shades of dawn. Hye-jin yawned and pulled the blanket higher over both of you.

“Sleep. Tomorrow we deal with whatever comes. Together.”

You nodded, whispering a quiet thank you before closing your eyes. The ache in your chest was still there, but it felt a little lighter. Seungmin’s desperate words from earlier echoed in your mind, clashing with two weeks of silence. The push and pull was exhausting.

But for tonight, in the safety of your apartment and your best friend’s unwavering support, you let yourself rest.

Kim Seungmin had cracked open tonight, just a little. The question was whether he would let the light in… or slam the walls shut even harder tomorrow.

────୨ৎ────

𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The dorm was quieter than usual for a Saturday night. Or maybe it just felt that way because my head was too loud. I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor between my feet. The faint bass from someone’s playlist in the living room thumped through the walls, but it barely registered. All I could think about was her.

Her face when I dragged her out of that room. The way her eyes widened — shock, anger, something else I couldn’t name. The way she tasted when I kissed her against the tree, desperate and possessive like I had any right to be. Two weeks of avoiding her, of forcing myself to reply with dry texts because every time I got close I felt like I was drowning. And then seeing her with that guy’s hands on her waist, his mouth on her neck…

My jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. Fuck. Why does she do this to me?

I liked her. No — that word was too small, too weak for the storm she caused inside my chest. I was crazy about her. Desperately, stupidly, painfully in love with her. The kind of love that made me notice every little thing: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, how her voice got softer when she was tired after late classes, the stupid smile she still gave me even when I called her an idiot in public. She was kind in a way that made me feel exposed. And I hated it. I hated how much I needed her.

But saying it out loud? Admitting that Kim Seungmin, the guy who always had a sarcastic comeback, was completely whipped for a literature major who argued with him in class? Impossible. So I hid. I pushed. I kissed her in secret and acted like she annoyed me in front of everyone. Because if I let the mask slip, there was no going back.

The door to my room creaked open. Felix poked his head in, blonde hair messy, wearing an oversized hoodie. His eyes immediately found me sitting in the dark.

“You’ve been weird since we got back from the party. Can I come in?”

I shrugged. He took it as a yes and stepped inside, closing the door behind him before sitting on the chair by my desk. For a moment he just watched me, those sharp but gentle eyes studying my face.

“I saw what happened,” he said quietly. “At the party. You dragged her out of that room pretty hard. Everyone on the stairs noticed. It looked… intense.”

I didn’t answer right away. My fingers tightened around the edge of the bed.

Felix leaned forward, voice careful but firm. “Seungmin, be honest with me. Are you being aggressive with her? Like, actually hurting her? Because if you are, I’m not staying quiet about this.”

My head snapped up. “What? No. I would never—” I stopped, exhaling sharply. “I grabbed her wrist to get her out of there. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I just… lost it when I saw her with that guy.”

Felix didn’t look fully convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. But it still looked bad from the outside. You can’t treat her like that and then act like nothing happened. You two have been strange for months. One second you’re ignoring her or calling her annoying in front of everyone, the next you’re pulling her away like a jealous boyfriend. What’s really going on?”

I stared at the floor again. The words felt heavy on my tongue, like they didn’t want to come out. But Felix was one of the few people who could see through my bullshit. And tonight, after everything, I was too tired to keep it all locked inside.

“I like her,” I muttered.

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Just ‘like’?”

I hesitated, then lied through my teeth. “Yeah. A little.”

He snorted softly, not buying it for a second. “Hyung. You looked like you wanted to murder Ji-hoon. You’ve been distracted during practice for weeks. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you buying those specific snacks she likes or disappearing late at night. It’s more than ‘a little.’”

I groaned, falling back onto my bed and covering my face with my arm. “Fine. It’s… a lot. More than a lot. She’s always in my head. Every stupid class, every time I see her on campus, even when I’m trying to focus on music. She makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. I get so frustrated because I can’t say what I actually want to say. Every time I try, it comes out wrong. So I push her away. I act like she irritates me. But the truth is I’m terrified.”

Felix stayed quiet for a moment, letting me talk. I kept going, the words spilling out now that the dam had cracked.

“At the party… seeing her kiss someone else made me sick. I wanted to drag that guy out instead. I know I have no right. I’ve never asked her to be mine. I’ve kept everything secret because I’m a coward. But when I pulled her outside and kissed her… I couldn’t pretend anymore. She told me to stop hiding. And I want to. I just don’t know how.”

Felix sighed, but there was a small smile on his face. “You’re an idiot, Seungmin. A tsundere idiot. She’s a really good person. Everyone likes her. And from what I’ve seen, she puts up with your cold act way more than she should. If you really feel that strongly, you need to tell her. Properly. Not just when you’re jealous. Not in secret corners. Be honest. She deserves that.”

I sat up slowly, running both hands through my hair. My chest felt tight. The memory of her tears shining in her eyes when she confronted me flashed through my mind. The way she still kissed me back even after everything.

“I know,” I whispered. “I’m scared she’ll realize she can do better. Someone who doesn’t treat her like a secret. Someone who can say ‘I love you’ without it feeling like choking.”

Felix stood up and patted my shoulder. “Then stop being scared. You’re Kim Seungmin. You’re brave enough to perform in front of thousands. Be brave for her too. And stop the mixed signals. It’s hurting both of you.”

He headed for the door but paused. “By the way… it’s definitely more than ‘a little.’ We all see it. Even Changbin asked me what’s up with you two.”

I threw a pillow at him half-heartedly. He dodged with a laugh and left the room, closing the door softly.

Alone again, I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with our old messages — mostly short and dry on my end. My thumb hovered over her name. My heart pounded stupidly fast.

I typed slowly, deleting and rewriting several times before sending something real for once.

𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:

Hey. Can we talk tomorrow? Properly. Not in a library corner or behind a tree. I have things I need to say. Things I should’ve said months ago. I’m sorry for being an asshole. Please.

I stared at the sent message, stomach twisting. For the first time, I didn’t add a sarcastic remark or pretend I didn’t care. I let it stay vulnerable.

Lying back on the bed, I closed my eyes and let the thoughts flood in again. Her laugh during arguments in class. The way she looked under the library lights. How perfectly she fit against me when we kissed. How much I hated myself for making her cry tonight.

I love you

The words echoed in my head, loud and terrifying and true. Desperately true.

Tomorrow I would say them out loud. No more hiding. No more pushing her away. Even if it scared the hell out of me, she was worth it. She had always been worth it.

And if she still wanted me after all my mistakes… I wouldn’t let her go again.

────୨ৎ────

The message came at 7:42 a.m. You barely slept after the party, replaying everything in your head until exhaustion finally pulled you under. When you saw Seungmin’s text, your stomach twisted with nerves.

𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:

Hey. Can we talk tomorrow? Properly. Not in a library corner or behind a tree. I have things I need to say. Things I should’ve said months ago. I’m sorry for being an asshole. Please.

You agreed. He chose the small rooftop garden on the arts building at 6 p.m. — a quiet place with string lights, wooden benches, and potted plants that barely anyone visited during the week.

The sun was setting in soft oranges and pinks when you arrived. Seungmin was already there, leaning against the railing, hands deep in his jacket pockets. His posture was tense, shoulders stiff, hair slightly messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it nervously. He turned the moment he heard your footsteps.

“You came,” he said, voice quiet.

“You asked me to.” You stopped a couple of steps away from him, arms wrapped around yourself.

Seungmin nodded and gestured toward the bench. “Can we sit?”

You sat side by side, a small gap between you. The silence stretched for a long moment, filled only by the gentle evening breeze and distant campus sounds. Seungmin kept clenching and unclenching his jaw, clearly fighting with himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and unsteady.

“I’ve been a complete coward,” he started. “For four months. Since that first kiss at the party… I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That I could control it. But I couldn’t. You’ve been stuck in my head every single day since then.”

He looked down at his hands, breathing deeply.

“I pushed you away because it was easier than admitting how much you affect me. In public I acted like you annoyed me, called you idiot or burra, because if I looked at you too long everyone would see how much I… how much I care. I’d go home and think about you constantly. The way you smile even when I’m being cold. The way you kiss me back like you actually understand me. Every secret moment we had… I cherished them more than I let on.”

Seungmin turned to face you properly. His eyes were vulnerable in a way you’d rarely seen — glassy, full of regret and something much deeper.

“Last night destroyed me. Seeing you with him… I lost control. Dragging you out like that was wrong. I scared you and I hurt you, and I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked. “I had no right to act like a jealous asshole when I’ve never given you any clarity. I’ve been giving you mixed signals for months — kissing you like you’re everything to me one moment, then ignoring you or treating you like you’re nothing the next. That was unfair. Cruel, even. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Tears blurred your vision. Seungmin noticed right away and shifted closer, hesitating before gently cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell.

“Don’t cry… please,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I hate myself for making you cry so many times.”

“You’re such an idiot, Seungmin,” you murmured, voice shaking. “One minute you make me feel wanted, the next I feel invisible. It’s exhausting. It hurts.”

“I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing shaky. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You’ve been patient with me when I didn’t deserve it. You’re kind, smart, and way too good for the way I’ve treated you. I like you… so much it terrifies me. More than like. I’m desperate for you. Every day. I think about you constantly and it drives me insane because I don’t know how to do this right.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands now gently holding your face.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want secret corners and late-night texts that mean nothing the next day. I want to stop being cold to you in public. I want to treat you the way you deserve — with care, openly. I’m not asking you to be anything right now if you’re not ready. I just… I needed you to know how I really feel. And I needed to apologize properly. I’m going to do better. I promise.”

The sincerity in his voice, the slight tremble in his hands, the way his eyes never left yours — it all broke something inside you. You leaned forward and kissed him first. Seungmin froze for half a second before melting into it, kissing you back slowly, deeply, full of all the emotions he’d been holding back. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were almost in his lap. There was no rush. No fear of being seen. Just warmth, tenderness, and quiet desperation.

When you pulled apart, he didn’t let you go far. He tucked your head under his chin, hugging you tightly against his chest. You could hear his heart racing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “For all the times I made you doubt yourself. For making you feel like a secret. You’re not. You’ve never been just a secret to me.”

You hugged him back just as tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. “Thank you for finally saying it.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, almost like a relieved laugh. He pulled back slightly and draped his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shiver, adjusting it carefully around you like it was the most important thing in the world.

“You’re still cold even in this weather,” he muttered, the tiniest hint of his usual tsundere tone slipping through, but his eyes were soft. “Stay here a little longer. With me.”

You nodded, leaning into him again. He kept one arm around you, the other hand gently playing with your fingers. The sunset wrapped the rooftop in golden light, making everything feel softer, warmer.

For a long time you stayed like that — quiet, close, his occasional soft kisses pressed to your temple or forehead. No pressure for labels. No rush. Just Seungmin finally letting his walls down, apologizing with every gentle touch and whispered “I’m sorry” and “I care about you so much.”

“I won’t mess this up again,” he murmured eventually, voice barely above the breeze. “Not like before. You mean too much to me.”

You looked up at him, smiling through the last of your tears. He smiled back — small, shy, and genuine — before leaning in to kiss you once more, slow and sweet.

The sky slowly turned dark, stars beginning to appear overhead. Seungmin held you closer, his chin resting on your head, both of you wrapped in his jacket and the quiet promise of something better.

He still had a lot to prove. But tonight, for the first time, Kim Seungmin had stopped running.

And you were right there with him.

────୨ৎ────

The next few days after the rooftop passed in a gentle blur. Seungmin kept his word. He wasn’t cold anymore. He walked you to class twice, texted you good morning messages that weren’t dry or short, and even left a coffee at your usual study spot with a small sticky note that just said “Don’t study too hard, idiot.” It was still very him — a little tsundere, a little awkward — but the warmth behind it was real.

You weren’t dating. Not yet. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t pushed. Things felt delicate, like something precious that needed time to settle. But the hope was there, brighter than it had ever been.

On Wednesday afternoon, you were heading toward the music building to return a book Seungmin had lent you. The campus was calm, golden afternoon light filtering through the trees. As you approached the side entrance near the practice rooms, you heard familiar voices coming from the small outdoor seating area behind the building — partially hidden by a wall of climbing plants

Seungmin’s voice. And his friends.

You stopped behind the wall, not intending to eavesdrop, but the moment you heard your name you froze.

“…I don’t know, man. I finally apologized properly. Like, really apologized,” Seungmin said, sounding exhausted but lighter than usual. “On the rooftop. Told her how much of an asshole I’ve been. How I kept pushing her away even though I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”

Felix’s soft laugh reached you. “And? How did she take it?”

“She cried. I felt like the worst person alive. But she kissed me after. She said she still… feels the same.” Seungmin paused, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his hair. “I told her I care about her. A lot. More than I know how to handle.”

Changbin’s deeper voice cut in, teasing but curious. “So you finally admitted it? You’re whipped.”

There was a long silence. Then Seungmin spoke again, quieter this time, but the words carried clearly in the still air.

“I love her.”

Your heart stopped.

“I love her so fucking much it’s actually insane,” he continued, voice cracking with raw honesty. “I think about her all the time. When I’m in practice, when I’m trying to sleep, even when I’m pretending to focus in class. She’s kind even when I don’t deserve it. She puts up with my stupid tsundere shit and still looks at me like I’m worth something. I get desperate just thinking about her. Like… I can’t breathe properly when she’s not around. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

Hyunjin whistled low. “Damn. That’s heavy, Seungmin.”

“I know,” Seungmin muttered. You heard the sound of him shifting on the bench. “I’ve been such an idiot. For months I couldn’t tell her any of this. I’d kiss her in secret and then act like she annoyed me the next day because I was scared. Scared that if I admitted how deep this is, she’d realize she can do way better than me. But after the party… after seeing her with someone else… I realized I’d rather be scared and honest than lose her.”

Felix’s voice was gentle. “So what now? Are you two together?”

“Not officially. I didn’t want to pressure her after everything I put her through. I just wanted her to know the truth. That I’m sorry. That I love her. Desperately. Like… I’d do anything for her. I want to be better. I want to hold her hand in public without overthinking. I want her to know she’s the only one I see.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth, tears stinging your eyes. Hearing him say it — not to you, but to his closest friends, with that vulnerable, almost frustrated tone like the feelings were too big for him to contain — hit you harder than anything else. This was the Seungmin you only caught glimpses of in dark library corners and stolen kisses. The one who cared so deeply he didn’t know how to handle it.

Changbin chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day Kim Seungmin would sit here sounding this whipped. But honestly? You two fit. She’s good for you.”

“Yeah…” Seungmin’s voice softened. “She is. She’s everything. I just hope I don’t mess it up again. I love her too much to lose her now.”

You couldn’t stay hidden anymore. Your heart was beating too loudly, too full. You stepped around the wall, clutching the book to your chest.

All four boys turned at the sound. Seungmin’s eyes widened when they landed on you. His cheeks flushed instantly, a deep red that spread to his ears. For a second he looked genuinely panicked.

“…How long have you been standing there?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Long enough,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks even as you smiled.

Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin exchanged quick glances and stood up almost comically fast.

“We’re gonna… go practice,” Felix said, grabbing the other two. “Yeah. Practice. Right now.”

They disappeared inside the building, leaving the two of you alone.

Seungmin stood up slowly, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment before finally meeting them.

“I meant every word,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t just saying it to sound good in front of them. I love you. I’m crazy about you. Desperately. I’ve been in love with you for months and I was too scared to admit it properly. But I’m not hiding anymore.”

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. Seungmin tensed for half a second before melting, hugging you back tightly. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I love you too,” you murmured against his shirt. “Hearing you say it like that… it means everything.”

He let out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m still going to be annoying sometimes,” he muttered, classic tsundere slipping through even now. “I’ll probably call you idiot out of habit. But I’ll also tell you every day how much you mean to me. If you’ll let me.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, smiling through your tears. “I’ll let you. As long as you keep being honest like this.”

Seungmin’s eyes softened. He cupped your face gently and leaned down, kissing you slow and sweet under the afternoon sun — no secrets, no fear of being seen. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered again, like he was getting used to saying it out loud. “So much it hurts sometimes.”

“I know,” you whispered back, heart full. “I love you too.”

He hugged you tighter, hiding his flushed face in your hair. For the first time in months, everything felt right. No more mixed signals. No more hiding.

Just Seungmin — your stubborn, tsundere, desperately loving Seungmin — finally letting himself have you.

And you weren’t letting go either.

────୨ৎ────

You were sprawled on the couch in your apartment later that evening, legs draped over Hye-jin’s lap while she scrolled through her phone. The TV played some random drama neither of you were really watching. After everything that happened on the rooftop and behind the music building, you finally told her the full story — no more secrets.

Hye-jin suddenly sat up so fast she almost knocked you onto the floor.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re with Seungmin? Like… for real? OMG, I can’t believe this!” She stared at you with wide eyes, mouth open in pure shock. “The same Seungmin who used to call you stupid in front of everyone? The king of tsundere who looked like he hated you? That idiot I swore I was going to throw down the stairs?”

You laughed, covering your face with a pillow. “Yes, that Seungmin. He apologized. Like, properly. And… he said he loves me. I overheard him telling the guys today. He sounded so sincere, Hye-jin. Desperate, even.”

Hye-jin let out a dramatic groan and dramatically fell back against the couch, hand on her forehead like she was in a telenovela.

“I’m going to lose my mind. My best friend, the sweetest person on campus, ended up with the most annoying guy in the entire university. This has to be a joke, right? I already had the whole ‘you deserve better’ speech prepared and the ‘I’m gonna beat him up’ speech too. Now I’m gonna have to pretend I like him? Ugh.”

You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. “He’s not that bad! He’s trying. He even walked me to class holding my hand today. In public.”

“Holding your hand?! In front of people?! Oh my God, the apocalypse has arrived.” Hye-jin shook her head, but she was smiling. “Look, I still don’t fully trust him. If he makes you cry again, I swear I’ll tattoo ‘idiot’ on his forehead. With a permanent marker.”

You were still giggling when a familiar voice came from the entrance of the apartment.

“Wow. ‘Idiot’ on my forehead? How creative.”

Both of you jumped. Seungmin was standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. He must have used the spare key you gave him earlier. His expression was the perfect mix of offended and amused.

Hye-jin didn’t even flinch. “You heard everything, huh? Great. Then you already know that if you hurt her again, I’ll become your worst nightmare.”

Seungmin walked over slowly, stopping behind the couch. He looked at you first, eyes softening instantly, before turning back to your best friend with that signature sarcastic smirk.

“Relax, Hye-jin. I love this idiot here more than I can handle.” He said it in the most sarcastic tone possible, but his hand gently rested on your shoulder, thumb brushing your skin. “So much that I can even tolerate you threatening to tattoo my forehead. What an honor.”

You looked up at him, smiling. “Seungmin…”

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, still keeping that tsundere attitude for Hye-jin’s benefit.

“She annoys the hell out of me sometimes,” he continued, voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at your friend, “always arguing with me in class, making me lose focus, living in my head 24/7… but I love her like crazy anyway. Desperately. So you can keep your threats. I’m not going to hurt her again.”

Hye-jin narrowed her eyes, but you could see the reluctant approval in her expression. “You’re lucky she likes you, Kim Seungmin. Very lucky.”

“I know,” he replied, this time without any sarcasm. He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Believe me, I know.”

Hye-jin stood up, stretching. “Alright, I’m leaving to give the lovebirds some privacy. But if I hear crying coming from that room, I’m coming back with my flip-flop.”

She winked at you before grabbing her jacket and leaving the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her.

Seungmin immediately rounded the couch and pulled you into his arms, sitting down with you on his lap. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

“She’s scary,” he mumbled against your skin.

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “She’s just protective. She saw me cry too many times because of you.”

“I know.” He pulled back enough to look at you, eyes warm and honest. “I’m glad you have someone like her. And I’m glad you gave me another chance.”

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “We’re not rushing anything, right? But… I’m really happy, Seungmin.”

“Me too.” He kissed you slowly, tenderly, the kind of kiss that made your chest feel full. When he pulled away, that little shy smile appeared — the one he only showed when it was just the two of you. “I love you. Not sarcastically this time.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

He hugged you tighter, resting his chin on your head as the drama continued playing forgotten on the TV.

After months of mixed signals, secret kisses, tears, and misunderstandings… Kim Seungmin had finally stopped running. He was still a tsundere at heart — sarcastic, a little awkward, quick to call you “idiot” out of affection — but he was yours.

And that was more than enough.

© stlllle — 2O26

The sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room, accompanied by an absolute symphony of wet squelching noises from where Jisung is buried deep inside your cunt. His eyes are glued to you as you ride him, and he has your hands clasped to his chest.

“So good,” he pants, “so good for me, sweetheart, keep going, holy shit you’re so tight, taking me so well—”

You’re unable to form words, just needy, high-pitched whimpers. Two orgasms in, your thoughts are hazy, your mind fogged, nothing but need and pleasure coursing through your body. Your fingers dig into the firm muscles of his chest as you try to keep yourself upright, hips rolling, dragging him hot and heavy along inside where you can feel every ridge, every vein. At this angle, his tip kisses your sweet spot with every bounce, and you can barely keep your eyes open with how overwhelming it feels.

As your rhythm falters, another pair of hands slides in over your hips. Behind you, Minho is straddling Jisung’s thighs, his chest coming to press against your back. He’s still covered in a gorgeous, thin sheen of sweat. “Keep going,” he murmurs, still a little out of breath, into your ear as he helps your hips keep up their rhythm with the strength of his hands. Beneath you, Jisung groans and starts to piston his hips up into you. “Needy little slut needs a cock in her at all times,” Minho continues, his voice vibrating through your skin, his fingers gripping you with bruising strength, and his words make your breath catch in your throat. “Takes us as many times as we’ll have her, always comes back for more, so perfect, baby, fuck—”

“Min—” you whine, high and desperate.

“You can take it,” he whispers into your ear, and his lips latch on to the column of your neck.

It’s as if your soul disconnects from your body. As he sucks your skin into his mouth, everything feels like it dissolves inside you, leaving you all sensation, all feeling. Nothing even resembling a thought is left inside your floaty brainspace, where you can hear yourself making a high-pitched moan you’ve never made before, as if it’s coming from somewhere else.

Beneath you, Jisung’s hips stutter. “Fuck,” he pants, his voice strangled, “she’s squeezing me so tight, whatever you did, do it again—”

“Liked that?” Minho murmurs against your skin. Distantly, you can feel his length hardening again where it ruts against your ass cheek as he moves you. In contrast to the furious pace of Jisung’s hips, Minho very slowly trails his soft lips down your neck, sucking a mark right behind your ear, feeling you lose all control of your body. He brings one hand up to wrap lightly around your neck, his fingers resting at the sides, and he tilts your head to get better access, sensing that you’re unable to do it yourself. The sensation inside you is building higher and higher, and you moan out a sob.

“So pretty… all fucked out… like that,” Jisung pants, chasing his own high.

Two more thrusts, and he comes inside you with a guttural groan, his warmth filling you to the brim. At the exact same moment, Minho sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and the pleasure-pain tosses you over the edge of your own orgasm, but your breath is so caught in your throat that you can barely make a sound. Jisung fucks you through it, and Minho runs his wet tongue along your pulse point, until you’re trembling, breathless, spent. You slump back against Minho’s chest, no longer able to hold any part of your body up.

Jisung is still grasping at one of your hands. “Fuck, that was—fuck.”

“Found one of her sweet spots,” Minho says, the grin threading his voice.

He helps you off Jisung, stroking your skin soothingly when you whimper as he slides out of you, and lays you back on the bed. Then he leans over and gives Jisung a kiss, brushing his cheek with one hand and studying his face. “Need a second?”

Jisung nods, still panting. “Yeah, that was… intense.”

Minho kisses him one more time, humming into his mouth. “I’ll take care of our girl,” he says, and turns to you.

It takes you a second to realize that he’s not maneuvering you onto your back to rail you into the mattress or turning you over so he can take you from behind; rather, he sits up against the headboard and settles you in his lap in a lotus position, your legs wrapped around his waist. You can feel the evidence of the last round leaking out of you, and you rest your head on his shoulder, still feeling floaty, as he strokes your back softly.

“You melted so pretty for Ji,” he says quietly into your ear, and his tone sends an involuntary shiver up your spine. “I got jealous, wanted a turn.”

His uncharacteristic softness makes you melt even further. You whimper, eyes still closed, folding your arms around his neck.

He plants one careful kiss right behind your ear, and your brain fuzzes. “Do you want more, or do you just want me to take care of you?” he asks.

It takes you a second to form the words, but you finally gasp, “More, please,” and he chuckles against your skin.

He gently lifts your hips, taking all your weight, and slides into you. The slickness eases his entrance, and gravity pulls you into him, making you both moan quietly as he fully buries himself. Your sensitivity makes every sensation feel electric around the edges. He gives you a second to adjust, and then he places a soft kiss to the side of your neck, and you’re entirely gone.

Every kiss he plants on your neck is tender, matched to the slow roll of his hips into you. You feel like you’re in a calm ocean, waves of pleasure lapping gently over you, overwhelming but so, so soft, carrying you away from the part of you that needs to think.

“God, you feel incredible,” he hums between kisses, adoration painting his voice. He traces a slow path up one side of your neck and down the other, occasionally groaning into your skin, the vibrations of it washing over you.

You have no idea how long you two stay like that—maybe minutes, maybe eons—before you feel another body press to your back until you’re fully enveloped in warmth.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jisung’s voice murmurs into your ear. “Mind if I help?”

He captures the side of your neck that Minho isn’t lavishing with his tongue, sliding up to nip at your earlobe before mouthing at your skin. His hands encircle you from behind, coming up to knead gently at your breasts, making you moan and tip your head back against his shoulder. Minho slides down to your collarbone, sucking a tiny pattern just over that line, hearing your whimpers change pitch just slightly. His hips never stop rolling into you.

As your breathing shortens, coming in shallower and shallower gasps, they keep their pace steady, keeping you afloat on that ocean of pleasure until you peak—a thick bloom of heat that bursts from your center, radiating out through your skin. Your head swims. Minho grasps at you through it, groaning something choked in your ear, before you feel his familiar warmth filling you up. He sinks forward into you, his breath shaky, and Jisung has to hold you both up.

You can hear Minho, voice unsteady, as if from a distance, as he strokes your sides soothingly with his thumbs. “Good girl, so good for us, did so well…”

“You’re so soft for her,” Jisung says fondly over the top of your head.

“Can’t help it,” Minho chuckles into your skin. “You see how pretty she melts?”

“Yeah,” Jisung replies, “she’s unreal.”

Still floating, you feel the warmth of the two solid bodies around you releasing you, and they lay you out on the bed. Minho strokes your forehead as the strength returns to his limbs while Jisung retrieves a damp cloth from the bathroom. He cleans you up gently, careful not to overstimulate you further.

Vaguely, you hear the tub running, and eventually a pair of arms lifts you out of the bed. Your head lolls against Minho’s chest, and you feel the fond rumble of his chuckle. Minho settles you into the tub and then climbs in behind you, letting you float a little while longer while he cleans you both and washes your hair. You sigh every time one of his fingers skims your neck, the echo of their kisses still reverberating through your skin.

As Minho helps you out of the tub and dries you off, you’re dimly aware of Jisung quickly hopping in the shower, partially because he drops a kiss to your shoulder and another to Minho’s cheek as he passes. Minho just hums appreciatively, squeezing some of the moisture out of your hair. Then he leads you back into the bedroom, where the bed is made with fresh sheets, before helping you into your sleep clothes and settling you on the mattress. You move where he moves you, pliant and hazy, still lost in the aftermath of pleasure.

He settles on one side of you and pulls the covers over you both before kissing you just underneath your jaw, a soft touch.

“You’re being so nice to me,” you mumble.

“I’m always nice after,” he says, and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

“Yeah, but during,” you say, your eyes still closed.

He chuckles. “Don’t get used to it.” One hand grasps your waist, pulling you into him, tucking you to his chest. “Or do, if you melt for us like that again. Irresistible.” He drops a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hope you saved me room,” Jisung says, slipping under the covers on your other side. He folds himself into you, as if he can burrow into your skin for warmth. “So you like neck kisses, huh?”

You nod lazily. “I guess so.”

Jisung stretches up and kisses you gently on your neck, once, and you sigh contentedly. “Filing that away to use later,” he says, his thumb running over the knuckles of your hand.

Wrapped in two pairs of arms, engulfed in their warmth, their breath on your skin, you squeeze both of their hands, and they squeeze back. Together, you drift into sleep, worn out, sated, adored.

The man didn’t move.

Of course he didn’t.

People never did when they were about to be annoying.

Minho sighed, already exhausted, shifting his weight as he glanced around the street. It wasn’t crowded—just dim streetlights, the quiet hum of passing cars, the distant chatter of strangers who had nothing to do with him.

Perfect.

Or it was supposed to be.

“Do you believe in curses?”

Minho blinked. Slowly.

Then he gave the man a once-over—head to toe, unimpressed, unbothered, already deciding this interaction was a waste of his time.

“No.”

He stepped to the side to walk past him.

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

Minho froze. Not because he was scared.

The air shifted.

The city noise dulled, like someone had pressed pause on the world. The streetlights flickered once, twice—and then steadied into something colder. Sharper.

Minho’s gaze dropped to the man’s hand gripping him.

“Let go.”

The man smiled.

It was wrong. Too wide. Too knowing.

“Find an owner,” he murmured.

Minho frowned. “What—”

“Let them love you. Feed you. Give you a home.”

Something tightened around his wrist.

Like invisible threads wrapping, sinking into his skin.

Minho’s expression darkened, “You have five seconds to—”

“And when you fall in love with them…”

The man leaned closer.

“…you’ll be free.”

Minho yanked his hand back. Or he tried to.

Because suddenly the world tilted.

It started in his bones.

A sharp, twisting crack that made his breath hitch—except it didn’t come out right. His knees buckled, but the ground felt… too far? Too close?

Everything was wrong.

His vision blurred—then sharpened too much. Colors bled into each other before snapping into painful clarity. Sounds grew louder—too loud—like the scrape of a shoe against pavement echoed in his skull.

Everything grew huge. His clothes collapsed around him in a messy pile.

His hands… paws. Tiny, fluffy, cream-colored paws.

A soft tail curled behind him.

“What the—”

The words didn’t come out.

Instead, a bark.

Minho froze. “…No.”

Another bark.

His breathing hitched—quick, uneven—as he tried again, jaw opening, throat tightening.

Nothing but another pathetic sound.

Minho stood there on the cold pavement, surrounded by the legs of rushing pedestrians, heart pounding with fury and panic.

His body dropped lower, balance completely off.

Minho looked down.

Paws. Small. Fluffy.

Absolutely unacceptable.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then violently shook his head, as if that would fix it.

It didn’t.

His ears—ears—twitched at the movement.

Minho went very still. “…This is a joke.”

A bark.

His eye twitched.

He turned—slowly, mechanically—looking around for the man.

Of course he was gone.

Minho’s chest rose and fell, panic threatening to claw its way up his throat—but he shoved it down, forcing himself to think.

Okay. Fine. This was… temporary. It had to be. People don’t just turn into—

He glanced down again.

They do now.

His gaze snapped back up, jaw tightening—well, as much as it could in this ridiculous form.

“Find an owner.”

“Let them love you.”

“Fall in love.”

Minho’s expression twisted into something sharp, offended, borderline murderous.

Absolutely not.

He would rather stay like this forever than—

A cold breeze swept through the street.

Minho shivered.

He froze.

He curled slightly into himself, instinctively seeking warmth before immediately stiffening again, horrified.

“I refuse.”

A small, traitorous whine slipped out.

Minho shut his eyes.

This was humiliating. Worse than humiliating. This was degrading.

He took a step forward.

His legs wobbled. He stumbled. Caught himself.

Barely.

“…Get it together.”

Another step. Better.

Still awful.

Somewhere in the distance, another dog barked.

Minho’s ears twitched. He went rigid.

“Don’t.”

Another bark—closer this time.

Minho turned his head slowly, dread creeping up his spine.

From the end of the street, a larger dog trotted into view. It paused. Sniffed the air. Then locked eyes with him.

Minho stared back.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The dog started running toward him.

Minho’s eyes widened.

“Oh, absolutely not—”

He turned and bolted.

Tiny paws hitting pavement too fast, too frantic, heart pounding as the sound of claws scraped behind him.

This was it. This was how he died.

Chased down by a dog. Turned into a dog.

In the middle of the street.

Because of some man.

“This is insane—!”

Another bark. Louder. Closer.

Minho swerved around a corner, slipping slightly before catching himself, darting between trash bins and narrow alleyways, lungs burning as he pushed himself faster.

Until—

He collided with something. Soft. Warm.

And very much not pavement.

“Oof—!”

Minho tumbled backward, landing on his back as the world spun for a second.

Above him…

You.

Looking down, surprised, eyes wide.

“…Oh my god—are you okay?”

Minho blinked up at you.

Processing.

Out of everything that had happened tonight—

This might be the worst part.

You crouched down slowly, careful, hesitant.

Your hand hovered.

“…You’re… kind of cute.”

Minho stared at you. Utterly appalled.

Behind him, the other dog skidded to a stop at the alley entrance, watching.

Waiting.

Minho glanced at it. Then back at you. Then at it again.

A pause.

A long, heavy, pride-shattering pause.

He turned back to you.

And very, very slowly stepped closer.

Like this was his choice.

Like he wasn’t being forced into it by circumstance.

Like this wasn’t the beginning of his downfall.

Your expression softened instantly.

“Oh…”

Your hand lowered, gentle as it brushed against his head.

Minho flinched. Stiffened. Endured it.

“…Hi, baby.”

His soul left his body but he didn’t move.

Because behind you he can sense safety, warmth, food.

And, apparently, his only way out.

Minho shut his eyes.

Just for a second. Just long enough to accept it.

Temporary, he told himself.

This was temporary.

You smiled, scooping him up before he could protest.

“Come on… you look like you need a home.”

Minho went rigid in your arms.

Already regretting everything but he didn’t jump.

Didn’t bite.

Didn’t run.

Instead, he let you hold him. As the curse settled deeper into his bones.

And somewhere, far away a voice whispered.

“Good.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Your place was… small.

Neat, but lived-in. A blanket tossed over the couch, a pair of shoes by the door, soft lighting that made everything feel warmer than it should.

Minho took it all in the moment you stepped inside, eyes scanning like he was evaluating property.

Acceptable, he decided.

For now.

You gently set him down on the floor.

“There you go…”

Minho landed stiffly, immediately regaining his composure—well, as much as one could when cursed into this.

He sat.

Not like a dog.

Like a person who had dignity and bills to pay.

You blinked.

“Why are you sitting like that?”

Minho stared at you. Judging.

You tilted your head, slowly crouching in front of him. “You’re… kind of weird.”

You reached out again.

Minho’s body tensed instantly—but this time, he didn’t flinch away. He endured it, your fingers brushing over his head, softer now, more certain.

“You’re not scared at all, huh?”

He wasn’t.

He was offended, irritated, humiliated, but not scared.

Your hand lingered a second longer before pulling away. “Okay… wait here.”

Minho watched you walk off.

Then glanced around again. Quiet. Safe.

No other dogs.

No threats.

No… man.

His ears flicked at the memory.

Find an owner.

His jaw tightened.

“…Temporary.”

A beat.

“This is temporary.”

You came back with a bowl.

Minho eyed it suspiciously.

“I don’t know what you eat,” you admitted, placing it down carefully. “But this is what I have.”

He stepped closer.

Sniffed.

Paused.

Then, he recoiled slightly.

“….”

Absolutely not.

You noticed immediately. “What? You don’t like it?”

Minho looked at you. Then at the food. Then back at you in disbelief.

“You’re picky?” you asked, incredulous.

Yes.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay… okay, wait.”

You stood again, disappearing into the kitchen.

Minho exhaled slowly.

At least you were trainable.

Five minutes later.

You returned with something else.

“Try this?”

Minho sniffed again.

Paused.

Then—reluctantly—took a bite.

Then another. He froze.

Then quickly looked away like it meant nothing.

You gasped.

“Oh! You like that one!”

Minho continued eating. Calm. Controlled.

Like he hadn’t just accepted defeat.

You beamed.

“Okay, got it. Noted. You’re high maintenance.”

Correct.

That night, you didn’t question it when he followed you.

Didn’t question it when he refused to settle anywhere except right next to you on the couch.

Didn’t question it when he stared at you like he was analyzing your entire existence.

“You’re really clingy for a stray,” you murmured.

Minho stiffened.

Clingy? He was not—

You shifted slightly, making space beside you.

“Come here.”

Minho stared.

Then, with great reluctance and even greater dignity, he climbed up. Slowly.

Like this was a decision he was making of his own free will.

He settled beside you. Not touching.

Just… close.

You smiled softly, reaching out to adjust the blanket around him.

“You can stay for tonight, okay?”

Minho didn’t react. Didn’t move.

But his eyes flicked toward you.

Tonight, he repeated internally.

That was fine.

One night.

That was all he needed.

The next morning came too quickly.

Minho woke first, of course. The sun was barely up, but his internal clock—sharpened by years of early practices—had him alert. He was still on the couch, curled in the exact spot he’d claimed last night, body stiff and proper even in sleep. No sprawling. No relaxed puppy loaf. Just neat, contained dignity.

You were still asleep on the other end, breathing soft and even, one arm dangling off the cushion.

He watched you for a long moment. The way your hair fell across your face. The faint crease between your brows like you were already worrying about the day ahead even in dreams.

You look exhausted. Did you even eat properly last night?

Minho shook the thought off like an annoying fly. He wasn’t supposed to care. This was temporary. A means to an end. He would find that old man, break the curse, and return to his real life.

Right?

He hopped down from the couch with careful grace and padded over to the kitchen area, nose twitching. The leftover chicken from last night was still in its container on the counter. He sat beneath it and stared upward, willing it to fall into his mouth through sheer force of disdain.

It didn’t.

You stirred behind him, groaning softly as you sat up. “Morning already…? Ugh.”

Your eyes found him immediately. That same small, surprised smile tugged at your lips. “You’re up early. And still sitting like you’re waiting for a business meeting.”

Minho turned his head slowly, giving you the most unimpressed look possible.

Business meeting? This is survival.

You laughed under your breath—quiet, tired, but genuine. “Okay, Mr. Serious. Let me get you breakfast before I head out.”

You moved around the small space with practiced efficiency, warming up more of the chicken and adding a tiny bit of rice you’d cooked the night before. When you set the bowl down, Minho approached it with the same suspicious sniff as before but this time he ate without complaint.

You watched him, chin resting on your hand. “You really are the weirdest dog. Most strays would be scarfing it down. You eat like you’re at a five-star restaurant and judging the plating.”

Because your plating is questionable, he thought, but kept eating neatly, not a crumb out of place.

After he finished, you crouched again, gently wiping a stray bit from his whiskers with your thumb.

“I have to go to work. I’ll be back by evening. There’s water in the bowl, and… I guess you can wander around. Just don’t chew on anything important, okay?”

Minho sat taller, ears forward.

As if I would lower myself to chewing.

You hesitated at the door, looking back at him one more time. “You can stay another night if you want. I don’t mind.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t wag. Didn’t make a sound.

But as the door clicked shut behind you, Minho let out the tiniest, most reluctant sigh.

Another night. Fine.

By the time you returned that evening, soaked from an unexpected drizzle and looking even more drained than yesterday, Minho was waiting by the door.

Not pacing.

Just sitting. Posture perfect. Eyes sharp.

You blinked down at him, surprised. “You waited?”

He turned his head away, as if the idea was beneath him.

You smiled anyway, kicking off your wet shoes. “Okay, high-maintenance boy. Let’s get you dinner. And maybe I’ll talk your ear off about my terrible day while I eat mine.”

Minho followed you to the kitchen, jumping onto the stool beside the counter so he could watch you prepare food.

He didn’t lean in. Didn’t beg.

But he listened.

Every word.

When you finally collapsed onto the couch after dinner, exhausted, he climbed up without being asked and settled beside you again—close, but not touching. His small body radiated quiet warmth.

You reached over and scratched lightly behind his ears. “Thanks for being here. It’s stupid, but… it feels nice having someone wait for me.”

Minho’s eyes softened, just barely. The disgust at the whole situation was still there, simmering low. The humiliation of being small and dependent lingered.

But something else was growing underneath it. Something warmer. More dangerous.

He leaned the tiniest fraction into your touch.

One more night, he told himself firmly.

Just one more.

But deep down, in the part of him that was already starting to crack, he knew the truth.

This wasn’t temporary anymore.

Not really.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Days passed.

Then more.

And somehow, Minho never left.

Not because he couldn’t. Because… he didn’t.

The apartment had started to feel smaller in the best way possible, every corner quietly marked by his presence even though he was barely bigger than a loaf of bread.

He had claimed the left side of the couch as his unofficial throne, the exact spot where the sunlight hit in the late afternoon. He had learned the rhythm of your footsteps on the stairs, the particular jingle of your keys, the way you always sighed the second the door clicked shut behind you.

“You’re still here,” you said one morning, voice laced with mild surprise as you shuffled into the living room, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep.

Minho was already awake.

Of course he was.

Sitting in the same spot. Watching.

Waiting.

Perfectly upright, front paws aligned like he was attending an important meeting, ears alert but expression utterly unimpressed with the world at large.

He blinked at you.

Slow.

Measured.

Obviously.

You huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing at your eyes. “You act like you own the place.”

Minho held your gaze.

Unapologetic.

His tiny body radiated quiet confidence, as if daring you to challenge the fact that yes, in his mind, he did own the place now.

At least temporarily.

At least until he figured out how to hunt down that old man and reverse this entire humiliating ordeal.

You started talking to him.

At first, it was small things tossed out while you made coffee or changed out of your work clothes.

“Work was annoying today.”

The words came while you were stirring sugar into your mug, shoulders a little slumped.

“I think my boss hates me.”

This one slipped out during dinner, spoken around a mouthful of rice as you scrolled through your phone with a frown.

“I forgot to eat lunch again…”

That one was softer, almost embarrassed, said while you were already halfway through reheating leftovers at nine in the evening.

Minho would sit there on the floor or on the arm of the couch, posture impeccable, head slightly tilted.

Listening.

Always listening.

He never made a sound, never interrupted with a bark or a whine. He simply absorbed every word like it mattered, storing away the details—the names of difficult coworkers, the deadlines that kept piling up, the way your voice grew quieter when you admitted you felt invisible some days.

You never expected a response. You just… talked.

The words flowed easier after that, turning into long, rambling monologues while you folded laundry or washed dishes. Minho would follow you from room to room, a silent shadow with sharp, intelligent eyes that made you feel strangely seen.

One evening, you came home later than usual.

Your steps were slower.

Heavier.

The door opened with a tired creak, and the usual burst of energy you carried was missing entirely.

Minho noticed immediately.

He was already by the door before you even turned the key, small body tense with anticipation, ears pricked forward.

The moment you stepped in, he stilled.

Something was off.

You didn’t greet him with your usual soft “Hey, little guy” or that tired but genuine smile.

Didn’t smile.

Just kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag a little too carelessly onto the floor, the thud echoing louder than it should have.

“…Hey,” you mumbled, like an afterthought, voice flat and distant as you shrugged off your damp coat.

Minho followed you.

Silent.

Watching.

Every movement catalogued: the way your shoulders curved inward, the slight drag in your steps, the absence of the usual light in your eyes.

You sank onto the couch.

And just… stayed there.

Still.

Too still.

Like the weight of the entire day had finally crushed whatever strength you had left.

Minho hesitated for only a second, tail perfectly motionless as always.

Then he jumped up beside you, landing with careful grace so he wouldn’t startle you.

You didn’t react. Didn’t even look at him.

Minutes passed. Too many.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator.

A quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat.

Minho froze.

Your shoulders trembled.

Your hands came up to your face.

And suddenly you were crying. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… quiet.

Like you didn’t want anyone to hear, like you were trying to fold the pain back inside yourself before it could escape.

Something twisted in his chest.

Unfamiliar.

Unwelcome.

A tight, aching pull that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way you looked so small on your own couch.

Minho stood there, stiff, unsure.

He didn’t do this. He didn’t… comfort.

He didn’t know how to fix tears or quiet sobs or the kind of exhaustion that sank into bones.

He was Lee Minho—sharp-tongued and independent, not the one who offered softness.

You curled in on yourself.

Small.

Alone.

And something in him snapped.

Before he could think, before pride could stop him, he moved.

Clumsy, awkward, completely out of his depth.

He climbed onto your lap, paws slipping once on the fabric of your pants before he found balance.

You startled slightly, breath hitching as you looked down at him through blurred eyes.

Minho froze.

For a second, he almost backed away.

Almost pretended it didn’t happen, almost let his usual judgmental stare take over to hide how exposed he felt.

But then, you let out a shaky breath.

“…Hi.”

Your voice cracked on the single syllable, raw and fragile.

Your hand came up, resting gently against his back.

Warm.

Careful.

Like he might disappear if you pressed too hard.

Minho didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t even complain when you pulled him closer, burying your face into his soft fur with a trembling sigh.

Your tears soaked into him, warm and quiet against his neck.

He hated it.

He hated how helpless you looked.

How broken you sounded.

How his chest ached in a way that made no sense, like something inside him was cracking open against his will.

Slowly, he leaned into you.

Just a little.

Just enough to let you feel his steady warmth, his small body a solid anchor in the middle of whatever storm you were weathering.

Your grip tightened around him, fingers curling gently into his fur.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words muffled and wet.

Minho’s eyes flickered.

Something in him shifted.

Deep. Quiet. Irreversible.

A quiet surrender he wasn’t ready to name.

That night, he didn’t sleep beside you.

He slept against you.

Pressed close.

Listening to your breathing even out into something calmer, steadier.

Making sure you were okay.

His tiny heart kept time with yours, the earlier panic slowly easing into something warmer, more protective.

Across the room.

The shadows stretched long and thin under the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

And something unseen stirred.

A low, familiar voice echoed faintly in the back of his mind, cold and amused,

“You’re getting closer.”

Minho’s eyes snapped open.

Terrified.

For the first time.

Not of the curse.

But of what it meant.

Because this feeling in his chest, this quiet pull toward you, this need to stay…

No.

He shut his eyes again.

Tense.

Unwilling to name it.

Temporary, he told himself firmly, repeating the word like a shield.

It was still temporary. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, then the curse wasn’t the problem anymore.

He was.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Minho started noticing it before he admitted it.

The way his ears would perk at the faintest sound outside the door. The way his body would automatically move—paws padding quickly across the floor, positioning himself right by the entrance like it was instinct. Like he was waiting.

He hated that.

He hated how predictable it was becoming, how his tiny frame betrayed him every single day without fail.

He was Lee Minho, not some lovesick stray.

Yet here he was, ears twitching at every footstep in the hallway, heart doing something annoyingly complicated whenever the clock ticked closer to your usual return time.

The click of your keys.

His head snapped up.

Before he could stop himself—before he could even pretend he didn’t care—he was already there.

His body froze mid-step.

His tail was wagging.

Minho stared at it like it had personally betrayed him, eyes wide with pure horror at the uncontrollable little motion.

“Stop.”

It did not stop.

The door opened.

And the moment you stepped in,

“Hi, baby—oh!”

You barely had time to react before he was at your feet, circling, pressing against your legs, small sounds slipping out of him that he definitely did not approve of—soft whines and eager little huffs that made his own ears burn with embarrassment.

You laughed, surprised, balancing your bag as you looked down at the sudden whirlwind of cream-colored fluff. “Whoa—okay, what’s gotten into you?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You bent down, hands instantly finding him, scratching behind his ears with that familiar gentle pressure.

Minho melted.

Immediately.

Shamelessly.

Disgustingly.

His eyes half-closed despite himself, body leaning hard into your palms like he had no control left.

“You missed me?” you teased softly, voice warm and amused as you continued the scratches.

He did not.

He refused to acknowledge that.

But he leaned into your touch anyway.

Your smile softened, the tired lines around your eyes easing just a little.

“I missed you too.”

Minho stilled.

Just for a second.

Then—without thinking—he climbed up your leg, paws pressing insistently until you sighed and lifted him into your arms with a fond huff.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re clingy today.”

He settled in your arms like he belonged there.

Like that was where he was supposed to be.

And when you pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head, Minho’s brain short-circuited.

He went completely still. Eyes wide.

Heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with running.

The soft press of your lips against his fur sent a spark straight through him, warm and electric and entirely unfair.

“….”

You didn’t notice.

Just walked further inside, still holding him close to your chest.

Talking.

Rambling about your day—the annoying meeting, the coffee that spilled on your notes, the way the train was delayed again.

And Minho, for once, didn’t mind the sound.

He let it wash over him, eyes half-lidded, secretly cataloguing every detail like it mattered more than anything else in his cursed little world.

It became a routine.

A pattern.

Something dangerously close to comfort.

He would wait.

You would come home.

And no matter how much he tried to act indifferent, the moment you walked in,

He was yours.

Until the day you didn’t come home alone.

The moment the door opened, Minho was already there.

Ready.

Waiting.

Expecting you.

Only you.

But then another scent hit him.

Wrong. Unfamiliar. Too close.

Minho’s body went rigid, every muscle tensing under his soft fur.

You stepped in, laughing lightly at something behind you, the sound bright but casual.

“I’m telling you, it’s not that serious—oh, wait, hold on—”

You turned slightly.

And a man followed you in.

Minho froze.

Everything in him sharpened instantly—senses heightened, instincts flaring like wildfire.

Who. Was. That.

The man stepped inside comfortably, like he belonged there.

Like he had the right to be in your space, smiling easily as he glanced around your small apartment.

Minho’s gaze darkened.

Low. Dangerous. His ears flattened against his head.

His body lowered slightly.

And then, he barked.

Aggressive.

The sound echoed off the walls, far fiercer than his small size should have allowed.

You startled. “Oh!”

The man paused mid-step. “Whoa—”

Minho moved in front of you immediately.

Blocking.

Positioning himself between you and him without hesitation, tiny frame planted like a living shield.

Another bark.

Then a growl.

Don’t come closer.

You blinked, confused, setting your bag down slowly. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Minho didn’t look at you.

Eyes locked on the man like he was a threat that needed to be eliminated right then and there.

The man raised his hands slightly in surrender, chuckling awkwardly. “Uh… I don’t think he likes me.”

Correct.

Minho bared his teeth, a low rumble still vibrating in his chest.

You frowned, stepping forward. “No, he’s not usually like this—”

Minho panicked the moment you moved.

He turned, pressing himself against your leg, practically climbing you, small whines mixing with his earlier aggression, paws scrabbling for purchase.

Stay back.

Stay with me.

Don’t go near him.

You looked down at him, surprised, voice softening despite the confusion. “Hey…”

He clung tighter.

Possessive.

Desperate in a way he didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.

The man shifted awkwardly by the door. “Do you… want me to wait outside?”

“Yes,” Minho thought immediately, the word burning in his mind like a command.

“No, it’s fine,” you said at the same time, waving a hand.

Minho’s head snapped up.

No, it’s not.

You sighed softly, crouching down to his level, one hand reaching out. “Hey… what’s gotten into you, huh?”

Your hand came up, cupping his face gently.

Warm. Familiar. Safe.

Minho leaned into it instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment despite the storm still raging inside him.

But his eyes flicked back to the man.

Still there.

Still too close.

Still wrong.

A quiet growl slipped out again, involuntary and sharp.

You frowned. “That’s not nice…”

I don’t care.

You glanced back at your friend, apologetic. “Sorry, he’s usually really calm.”

The man chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s okay… I think he’s just protective.”

Protective.

The word echoed in the quiet space.

Minho stilled.

“…Protective?” you repeated softly, almost to yourself, a strange note in your voice.

Minho didn’t react. But something about the way you looked at him shifted — subtle and curious.

Like you were seeing him a little differently now, eyes lingering on his tense little body with newfound wonder.

And he didn’t like that.

Didn’t like how aware he suddenly felt under your gaze.

Didn’t like how his chest tightened when you looked away from him.

Back at the man.

“Anyway,” you said, standing up again with a small smile, “come in. I’ll make some tea or something.”

Minho’s heart dropped.

You stepped away.

Just a step.

But it felt too far.

He barked again. Sharper this time. More desperate.

You turned. “Hey!”

Minho moved immediately, following, pressing against your leg again, refusing to let any space exist between you, weaving between your feet like a living barrier.

Mine.

The thought hit him so suddenly he froze.

…What?

He swallowed.

Confused.

Frustrated.

But when the man laughed at something you said, or when you smiled at him, easy and familiar, Minho felt it again.

That sharp, ugly twist in his chest.

Worse than before.

Stronger.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel in control of it.

That night, the man left. Eventually.

Too late for Minho’s liking, the goodbye at the door dragging on with polite laughter and promises to hang out again soon.

The moment the door closed behind him, silence.

Minho didn’t move from where he sat in the middle of the floor.

Watching.

Waiting.

You sighed, leaning back against the door for a second, rubbing your temples.

“What was that about?”

Minho looked at you. Still. Unreadable.

You crouched down slowly, studying him with that same curious tilt to your head. “You didn’t like him?”

No. Not even a little.

You studied him for a moment longer, fingers brushing lightly over his head.

Then, softly,

“Were you jealous?”

Minho froze.

His entire body went still, every muscle locking up as the word landed like a direct hit.

Your lips twitched slightly, like you weren’t fully serious—but not entirely joking either, a playful glint in your tired eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, reaching out to pet him again, voice warm and fond.

But this time, Minho didn’t just lean in. He climbed into your lap without hesitation. Without dignity.

Pressing himself close like he needed to erase any space that had existed earlier, burying his face against your stomach with a quiet huff.

You blinked, surprised.

Then laughed quietly, the sound gentle in the quiet apartment. “Okay… okay, I get it.”

Your arms wrapped around him naturally.

Easily.

Like it was second nature now.

Minho closed his eyes.

Relief washing over him in a way that made no sense.

That felt too big.

Too real.

Your fingers traced softly along his back in slow, soothing strokes.

“You’re really attached to me, huh?”

Minho didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

Because if he did—if he even tried to think about it—he’d have to admit something he wasn’t ready to face.

Something the curse had already begun to whisper in the back of his mind.

Something that was becoming harder to deny with every passing day.

Across the room, that same voice lingered.

Teasing.

“Say it.”

Minho’s eyes snapped open.

Heart pounding.

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Because the moment he did—

Everything would change.

But deep down, he knew better.

Because the curse had never made his heart race when you hummed while cooking.

It had never made him feel warm all over when you apologized for being late and immediately checked if he had enough water.

It had never made him want to bite anyone who made you smile the way that man had.

No.

This was something else. Something worse. Something real.

And then it hit him.

All at once.

He had fallen.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

Not because the curse demanded it.

Not because he needed an owner to survive.

But because you were you.

The truth was already there, loud and clear in every beat of his small, stubborn heart.

He loved you.

And for the first time since the curse began, he didn't know if he wanted it to end.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It started with a dream.

At least—that’s what it felt like.

Minho could feel warmth.

Not just the usual kind—the kind from blankets or your hands or the quiet comfort of being near you.

No.

This was… different.

Heavier.

Deeper.

Like something was pulling at him.

A strange pressure built under his skin, tugging at every cell, every bone, every inch of the small fluffy body he had grown far too used to.

His body jerked. A sharp inhale tore through his chest.

And suddenly, everything hurt. Not unbearable.

Just… too much.

Limbs too long. Breathing too big. Heartbeat too loud.

Minho’s eyes snapped open in your room.

The bed felt impossibly large beneath him, the mattress dipping under a weight that no longer belonged to a tiny puppy.

The air against his skin was cooler than it should have been, and the faint scent of your laundry detergent clung to the sheets in a way that made his head spin.

He shifted. And froze. Because that wasn’t right.

His hand pressed against the mattress.

Fingers. Long. Human.

Minho stared at it.

Unmoving.

The fingers flexed slowly, joints cracking faintly, nails blunt and clean instead of tiny claws. He turned the hand over, watching the way the veins shifted under the skin, the subtle play of muscle.

“….”

Slowly, he pushed himself up.

The blanket slid slightly off his shoulder. Cold air hit his skin.

Skin. Not fur.

Minho’s breath caught in his throat, a rough sound that felt foreign in his own ears.

His other hand came up—touching his arm, his chest, his face like he didn’t trust it was real. He traced the sharp line of his jaw, the familiar slope of his nose, the soft strands of dark hair falling over his forehead.

“…No way.”

His voice. His actual voice.

For a moment, he just sat there.

Processing.

Trying to catch up with what had just happened.

The room spun slightly as memories rushed back. The curse had finally answered.

Reality hit.

He looked down.

And immediately grabbed the blanket.

“…This is worse.”

He was completely naked, the thin fabric barely covering anything important. His long legs were tangled in the sheets, bare chest exposed to the cool night air, and the realization sent a flush of pure mortification up his neck.

You stirred.

His head snapped towards you, heart slamming against his ribs.

“No, no—wait—”

Too late. You shifted and slightly turned your body to the side.

You lay there, half-awake, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, hair messy from sleep and wearing an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder.

“…Did I hear—”

You stopped.

Your eyes landed on the figure sitting there.

A man.

In your room. In your bed.

Wrapped in your blanket. Bare shoulders exposed. Hair messy. Eyes wide.

Staring right back at you with that same sharp, feline intensity you had seen every day for weeks—only now they belonged to a very human, very real face.

Your brain tried to process it.

Failed.

The pillow you had been clutching slipped from your fingers.

“What...”

Minho didn’t move.

His grip on the blanket tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“I can explain.”

Your scream tore through the apartment.

Scrambling and falling off the bed.

“WHAT THE HELL—?!”

You stumbled back, nearly tripping over your own feet as you grabbed the nearest thing you could find—a pillow—and held it up like a weapon, arms shaking.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” you demanded, voice shaking with pure terror. “HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!”

Minho flinched.

The sharp sound cut through him worse than any curse ever had.

“Can you not scream—”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO?!”

Fair.

You pointed at him, horrified, eyes wide and glistening with panic. “WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!”

Minho looked down at himself, then immediately looked away, ears burning red.

“That’s not the main issue right now.”

“THAT IS VERY MUCH THE MAIN ISSUE?!”

You backed up another step, panic rising, eyes darting around the room like you were calculating escape routes, weapons, anything that could help.

Minho tightened the blanket around himself, jaw clenching as he tried to keep his voice steady and calm.

“This is going to sound insane,” he said, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment, “but you need to calm down.”

“I AM NOT CALMING DOWN—THERE IS A STRANGE NAKED MAN IN MY BED?!”

This was worse than he thought.

You shook your head rapidly, hair flying. “No—no, I’m calling someone—this is—this is insane—”

You turned slightly, reaching for your phone on the nightstand with trembling fingers.

“Wait.”

Something in his voice made you pause. Not fully. But enough.

You hesitated. Just for a second. Minho saw it and took the chance.

“I didn’t break in.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, sharp and edged with fear. “Oh, really? So you just spawned there?!”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“You’re insane.”

“I was a dog.”

“WHAT?!”

Minho squeezed his eyes shut for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“Not just any dog,” he muttered, voice low and careful. “Your dog.”

You stared at him.

Blank.

“I’m actually going to call the police now.”

“Wait—!”

He leaned forward slightly. The blanket slipped dangerously low.

You gasped, eyes widening in fresh horror.

“OH MY GOD—STOP MOVING?!”

He yanked it back up instantly, equally horrified, cheeks flushed. “I’m not doing it on purpose—!”

“DON’T EXPLAIN—JUST—STAY THERE?!”

“I am!”

“STAY MORE!”

You made a strangled sound, half-sob, half-laugh of pure disbelief.

This was a nightmare.

This had to be a nightmare.

You pointed at him again, hand shaking so badly the pillow trembled in your grip. “If you say one more insane thing—”

“You named me ‘baby.’”

You froze.

Minho watched your expression carefully.

“You talk to me when you’re tired,” he continued, voice quieter now, almost gentle. “You complain about your boss. You forget to eat unless someone reminds you.”

Your grip on the pillow tightened until your knuckles went white.

“You cry quietly,” he added, softer now, like he was handling something fragile. “Like you don’t want anyone to hear.”

Your breathing hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“And you always,” he said, even softer, “leave a small light on. Even when you say you don’t need it.”

Silence fell.

Heavy.

Your eyes searched his face. Really looked this time.

Not just panic. Not just fear.

But something else. Recognition. Faint.

Impossible.

The same quiet intensity you had seen in those tiny judgmental eyes every single day.

“…That’s not…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper, “…that’s not possible.”

Minho swallowed, throat tight.

“I know.”

A beat.

“You’re really weird,” you whispered, the words shaky but no longer screaming.

He huffed weakly, a tiny, self-deprecating sound that somehow sounded exactly like the little huff the puppy used to make.

“You have no idea.”

Your gaze dropped briefly—to the blanket, to the way he clutched it like it was the only thing keeping his dignity intact.

Then back to his face.

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not.”

“If this is some kind of joke—”

“It’s not.”

You hesitated. Still unsure. Still scared.

But not screaming anymore.

The pillow lowered just a fraction.

“Where is my dog?” you asked quietly, voice cracking on the last word.

Minho met your eyes.

“Right here.”

Your breath caught.

And for the first time, you didn’t step back.

You just stared at him.

Like you were trying to find something familiar in someone completely unknown.

And Minho, for the first time since waking up, didn’t feel like running.

Because even like this, even human again, the only place he wanted to stay was still right in front of you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

⤷ ゛ TAGLIST ˎˊ˗

The gravel crunched under the tires as the rental SUV finally rolled to a stop in front of the cottage. Chan killed the engine and for a long moment neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty, it was full: of pine sap, distant woodpeckers, the faint metallic tick of the cooling motor and the sudden, almost embarrassing awareness that this was real. You were here. Married. Alone. For ten whole days.

Chan turned to you first. His left hand still rested on the wheel; the new platinum band on his fourth finger caught a stray shaft of late-afternoon sun and threw a tiny prism across the dashboard. He noticed you looking at it the same second you did.

"Still feels weird" he murmured, flexing his fingers once like he was testing whether the ring would stay put.

You reached over and covered his hand with yours. Your own ring, thinner, more delicate, but matching, clicked softly against his.

"Good weird?" you asked.

He exhaled through his nose, the sound half-laugh, half-sigh. "The best kind."

Then he was out of the car before you could answer, rounding the hood with that quick, purposeful stride he always used when he was trying not to look nervous. He opened your door like it was ceremony. Offered his hand. You took it and let him help you down even though the drop was barely 10 cm.

The air smelled sharply of resin and damp earth. Somewhere a stream flows. The cottage sat maybe twenty meters ahead, dark cedar siding, wide windows framed in forest green, a generous wraparound porch already dusted with fallen needles. Smoke was supposed to curl from the stone chimney later; right now the sky was still too bright for that kind of coziness.

Chan didn’t let go of your hand. Instead he tugged you gently toward the front door, then stopped short on the bottom porch step. You felt the shift in him before he even spoke, the way his shoulders squared, the sudden sheepish tilt of his head.

"What?" you asked, already smiling.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Ears going faintly pink. "I, uh… I know no one’s watching. But I still want to do it right."

You blinked. "Do what right?"

He didn’t answer with words. In one smooth motion he bent, hooked an arm under your knees and the other behind your back and lifted. You yelped, more surprise than anything, then dissolved into helpless laughter as he carried you up the three steps. Your arms automatically wound around his neck; his hoodie smelled like the airport, your perfume, and him.

"Chan-"

"Tradition" he said solemnly, though the corners of his mouth were fighting a grin. "Can’t skip tradition on day eleven."

"Day eleven of forever" you corrected and felt the way his chest stuttered under your palms at the reminder.

He paused at the threshold long enough to nudge the door open with his foot. The hinges gave a soft, almost polite creak. Then he stepped inside, careful not to knock your head against the frame, and only set you down once he was fully over the line.

The moment your feet touched the wide-plank floorboards he kissed you. Not the quick, giddy ones from the past few days. This was slower. Deeper. His hands framed your face like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. When he finally pulled back his forehead rested against yours.

"Hi, wife" he whispered.

Your heart did something ridiculous: tripped, then soared.

"Hi, husband."

He smiled against your mouth, small and private, then kissed you again. Shorter this time. A punctuation mark rather than a paragraph.

Only then did he step back and actually look around. The cottage was exactly as the photos had promised, only better in person. Open-plan living area with a vaulted ceiling crossed by exposed beams. A stone fireplace that took up most of one wall. A kitchen island made from a single thick slab of walnut, still showing faint saw marks. Windows everywhere, floor-to-ceiling on the back wall looking straight into dense evergreens. The light inside was green-gold, filtered through needles.

Chan let out a low whistle. "This is… wow."

You wandered toward the windows while he went back outside to grab the suitcases. By the time he returned, two trips, stubbornly refusing your help, you had already kicked off your sneakers and were padding barefoot across the cool floorboards.

He dropped the bags near the couch, then came up behind you. Arms sliding around your waist. Chin hooking over your shoulder.

"Smell that?" he murmured.

You inhaled. Cedar. Woodsmoke from the last guests. Something faintly sweet, maybe wax polish. Underneath it all, him. Warm skin, faint traces of cologne that had survived twelve hours of travel.

"Yeah" you said softly.

He pressed his lips to the side of your neck. Just once. Lingering. "We’re really here."

You turned in his arms, hands sliding up to rest against his chest. His heart was beating a little fast. "We are."

For a few minutes you just stood like that, swaying slightly, not quite dancing, just breathing each other in. Eventually hunger won out. You hadn’t eaten since the airport breakfast sandwiches.

Chan insisted on making dinner. You perched on one of the bar stools at the island and watched him move around the tiny kitchen like he’d lived there for years. He’d packed half the suitcase with groceries from a market stop an hour back: fresh vegetables, thick slices of hanwoo beef, garlic, gochujang, sesame oil, a bottle of soju wrapped in a towel so it wouldn’t clink.

He hummed under his breath while he worked. Some melody you didn’t recognize, probably something he was still tinkering with in his head. Every so often he’d glance over at you and smile. Small. Secret. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were sitting there in his hoodie (the black one with the frayed drawstrings you’d stolen three years ago) watching your brand-new husband cook.

When the beef hit the hot pan the kitchen filled with sharp, caramelizing sizzle. You inhaled so deeply your eyes watered a little.

He laughed. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

He plated everything family-style: thin slices of perfectly seared meat, blistered shishito peppers, quick-pickled radish, steamed rice still sticking slightly to the sides of the pot. You ate at the little dining table near the windows as the sun dropped behind the ridge and turned the forest into velvet black.

After dinner you didn’t bother clearing the table right away. Instead Chan pulled you onto his lap on the wide leather couch. The fire he’d started earlier was crackling now, throwing shifting shadows across the walls. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and felt him exhale, long and slow, like he was finally letting the last of the city tension bleed out of him.

"Tell me something" he said quietly.

"Hm?"

"Anything. Just… talk to me."

So you did. You told him about the way your mom had sobbed when she saw you in the wedding dress for the first time. How your little cousin had tried to sneak an entire tray of macarons under the table. How you’d caught Chan’s youngest sister filming you both during the first dance and making kissy faces behind the camera.

He laughed, soft, rumbling, every time you got to a funny part. His fingers kept tracing absent circles on your lower back.

Eventually you ran out of stories and just listened to his heartbeat instead. After a while he spoke again, voice so low you felt it more than heard it.

"I keep thinking about the vows."

You lifted your head. "Yeah?"

He nodded. Eyes on the fire. "When I said ‘in all the chaos and all the quiet’… I didn’t know what the quiet would actually feel like. Not really. Not until right now."

You cupped his cheek. Thumb brushing the faint freckle under his eye.

"It’s nice, isn’t it?"

"More than nice."

He turned his head to kiss your palm. "I could get used to this."

You smiled. "We’ve got nine more days to practice."

His grin turned a little wicked. "Nine days" he echoed. "And nights."

You laughed and swatted his chest. He caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it, then tugged you closer until you were straddling him properly. The hoodie rode up your thighs; his hands found skin immediately: warm, possessive, but still careful.

"Not tonight" you murmured against his mouth. "Tonight I just want… this."

He searched your face for a second, then nodded. "Okay."

So you stayed like that, kissing slow and lazy, hands wandering without urgency, the fire popping every so often like it was keeping time. Eventually you migrated to the bedroom upstairs. It had a king bed made up with cream linens, a thick wool throw at the foot, and another wall of windows that looked out over nothing but treetops.

You changed into sleep clothes while Chan brushed his teeth. When he came back he was shirtless, sweatpants slung low. The new tattoo on his ribs: the tiny crescent moon you’d drawn on a napkin three years ago and begged him to keep forever, was stark against his skin in the low lamplight.

He caught you staring. "Like what you see, Mrs. Bahng?"

The name hit like a soft punch every time.

You crossed the room and slid your arms around his waist. "Very much, Mr. Bahng."

He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your mouth, gentle, lingering. When you finally crawled under the covers he followed, pulling you back against his chest the way he always did. One arm under your pillow. The other wrapped around your middle. His breath warm against your nape.

"Love you" he whispered into your hair.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Not even close. But tonight it felt different. Permanent. Etched.

You turned your head just enough to find his lips in the dark. "Love you too."

Sleep came slow and sweet, wrapped in laundry scented sheets and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The next morning you woke to birds and the smell of coffee.

Chan was already up, barefoot, hair a disaster, wearing the soft gray hoodie you’d abandoned last night. He’d opened every window on the ground floor; cool morning air moved through the house like a sigh.

He handed you a mug without a word. Black. Two sugars. Exactly how you liked it.

You sat together on the porch steps while the mist still clung to the pines. Neither of you spoke for almost twenty minutes. Just sipped. Watched. Breathed.

Eventually he bumped your shoulder with his. "Walk?"

You nodded. So you walked. Hand in hand down the narrow dirt path that curved behind the cottage and disappeared into the trees. The forest smelled like wet bark and green life. Ferns brushed your calves. Chan didn’t talk much. Just pointed out little things: a woodpecker flashing red against a trunk, mushrooms the color of apricots growing in a fallen log, the way sunlight shattered through the canopy and landed in bright coins on the path.

At one point he stopped, crouched, and picked up a perfect pinecone. Turned it over in his fingers like it was treasure.

"Souvenir?" you teased.

He looked up at you, eyes soft. "For the studio. Put it on the desk. Every time I look at it I’ll remember this."

Your throat tightened. He stood, slipped the pinecone into his hoodie pocket, then pulled you close and kissed you right there in the middle of the path. Slow. Thorough. Like he had all the time in the world. Because for once, he did.

The rest of the day passed in that same gentle rhythm. Coffee. Breakfast (pancakes he insisted on flipping dramatically, nearly catching the ceiling fan). A long nap on the couch with your head in his lap while he scrolled through photos from the wedding on his phone, showing you his favorites and pretending he wasn’t tearing up at the candid of you laughing during your vows.

Late lunch turned into early dinner because neither of you wanted to stop touching long enough to cook properly. You ended up eating cheese and crackers and fruit on the rug in front of the fire, feeding each other bites and laughing when strawberry juice dripped on his chin.

Night fell soft and cool. You took a bath together in the deep clawfoot tub, bubbles up to your chin, his long legs folded awkwardly around yours, both of you giggling like teenagers when water sloshed over the side.

Afterward he wrapped you in the biggest towel like you were something precious, carried you to bed, and spent twenty minutes just kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Not trying to start anything. Just… worshipping.

When he finally settled behind you again, spooning close, his voice was rough with sleep and something deeper.

"Best decision I ever made" he mumbled into your shoulder.

You laced your fingers with his. Felt the rings click together. "Second best" you whispered back. "First was letting me steal your hoodie three years ago."

He huffed a laugh against your neck. "Fair."

And then you both drifted off to the sound of wind moving through the pines and the soft crackle of embers dying in the hearth downstairs.

The golden hour had stretched longer than usual that afternoon, painting the entire cottage in honey and amber through the tall windows. You’d spent most of the day barefoot, wearing nothing but Chan’s oversized black hoodie, the one with the faded logo across the chest and sleeves so long they swallowed your hands. It hit you mid-thigh when you stood still, shorter when you reached or bent. You hadn’t bothered with anything underneath. Not today.

Chan had noticed. He’d noticed the first time you stretched up to grab a mug from the high shelf and the hem rode up just enough to show the soft curve where thigh met hip. He’d noticed again when you leaned across the kitchen island to steal a slice of apple from the cutting board he was using, the fabric shifting, exposing skin that made his knife pause mid-chop. He’d noticed every single time you walked past him, slow, deliberate, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of his gaze dragging down your legs like a physical touch.

By four, the air inside felt thicker than the pine-scented breeze drifting through the open windows. The fire he’d built earlier had died down to glowing coals; neither of you had bothered to add more wood. You were both too distracted.

You were rinsing a glass at the sink when you felt him move behind you. Not sudden. Not rushed. Just… inevitable. His chest pressed lightly to your back first. Then his hands, those beautiful, veined, calloused hands, slid over your hips, thumbs brushing the bare skin just under the hoodie’s hem. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, breathing you in, letting you feel how hard he already was through the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

You tilted your head back against his shoulder. "You’ve been staring all day."

His laugh was low. Rough. "Can you blame me?"

One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until his palm flattened against your stomach under the hoodie. The other stayed low, fingers splaying across the top of your thigh, not quite touching where you wanted him most. Teasing.

"You look…" He swallowed. Voice dropped even lower. "…like mine."

The words landed heavy in your belly. You turned in his arms. The glass clinked forgotten against the sink edge.

Chan’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, that familiar flush creeping up his neck and into his ears. He looked wrecked already and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

You reached up, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, tugging just enough to make him exhale sharply through his nose. "Then take what’s yours, husband."

The word snapped something in him. He kissed you like he was starving, open-mouthed, hungry, tongue sliding against yours with none of the careful sweetness from the night before. His hands shoved under the hoodie immediately, rough palms skating up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arched into him; he groaned into your mouth at the feel of bare skin, no bra, no barriers.

"Fuck" he breathed against your lips. "No underwear?"

"Thought you might like the surprise."

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Then he was lifting you, effortless, like you weighed nothing, until your thighs wrapped around his waist. The hoodie rucked up completely now, bunched around your ribs. Cool air hit overheated skin; you shivered.

Chan carried you the few steps to the sturdy oak kitchen table. He didn’t bother clearing the cutting board or the half-chopped vegetables. Just shoved them aside with one forearm, carrots rolling, knife clattering and set you down on the edge.

He stepped between your legs, hands immediately pushing the hoodie higher until it bunched under your arms, exposing you completely to him. His gaze raked down your body like he was trying to memorize every inch all over again.

"God…" His voice cracked. "Look at you."

You leaned back on your palms, thighs parting wider in invitation. "Like what you see?"

He didn’t answer with words. Instead he dropped to his knees, right there on the worn rug in front of the table and hooked your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You gasped when his mouth found the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing just enough to sting. He worked his way up slowly, deliberately, kissing and licking and sucking marks into skin that would bloom purple by morning.

When he finally reached where you were already slick and aching, he paused, just long enough to meet your eyes.

"Been thinking about this since the second we walked through the door yesterday" he murmured, breath hot against you. "About spreading you out. Tasting my wife on my tongue. Making you come so hard you forget your own name."

Then he licked a slow, broad stripe up your center. Your head fell back on a broken moan.

Chan didn’t tease after that. He devoured. Tongue flat and firm, then pointed and quick, circling your clit with devastating precision. Two fingers slid inside you without warning, thick, curled just right and you clenched around them immediately. He groaned at the feel of it, the sound vibrating through you.

"Fuck, you’re so wet" he rasped between licks. "So fucking perfect."

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss. He only doubled down, sucking your clit into his mouth, fingers pumping steadily, thumb brushing the sensitive spot just above where his tongue worked.

The table creaked under your shifting weight. Your heels dug into his back. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly until it snapped, sudden, blinding. You came with a cry that echoed off the high ceiling, thighs trembling around his head, fingers yanking at his hair so hard it had to hurt.

He didn’t stop. Kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, until the aftershocks faded and you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did he pull back.

His lips were swollen, chin glistening. Eyes wild. He rose slowly, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave prints. When he kissed you again you tasted yourself on his tongue, salty, intimate. You moaned into his mouth.

"Need you" you whispered against his lips. "Now."

Chan didn’t make you ask twice. He shoved his sweatpants down just enough, cock springing free, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. He fisted himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours. "Condom?" he asked, voice gravel.

You shook your head. "I’m still on the pill. And we’re married now." You smiled, small and wicked. "I want to feel you. All of you."

Something feral flickered across his face. He lined himself up, notched the head against your entrance and pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch, every ridge, until he was buried to the hilt. Both of you froze.

He dropped his forehead to yours. Breathing ragged. "Fuck…" The word was punched out of him. "You feel, shit, baby, you feel like heaven."

You clenched around him on purpose. He jerked. Swore under his breath in Korean, low, filthy things you only half-understood but felt everywhere. Then he started moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. Letting you adjust. Letting you feel him stretch you, fill you, claim you in a way that felt brand new even after years together. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your hip bones.

"Look at me" he breathed.

You did. His eyes were liquid dark, pupils swallowing the brown. Sweat already beading at his temples. That stupidly beautiful face flushed and focused entirely on you.

"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered, testing the words again like they were still new magic. "My wife."

He thrust harder on the next stroke. Deeper. You gasped. He smiled, slow, dangerous.

"That’s it. Let me hear you."

The pace built steadily. The table rocked beneath you now, wood groaning in protest. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents across ink and skin. He fucked you like he was trying to imprint himself inside you: long, punishing strokes that hit exactly where you needed, grinding his pelvis against your clit on every deep thrust.

"God, you’re so tight" he groaned. "So fucking wet for me. Always so ready."

You wrapped your legs higher around his waist, changing the angle. He swore again, loud this time, head dropping to your shoulder as he drove in harder.

"Chan-"

"Say it again" he demanded against your neck. Teeth grazing your pulse. "Say my name."

"Chan" you gasped. "Husband, fuck, please-"

He lifted his head. Kissed you messy and desperate. One hand slid between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his hips.

"Come for me again" he growled against your mouth. "Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Wanna feel my wife fall apart."

The words, combined with the relentless pressure, the stretch, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe, sent you over the edge for the second time.

You shattered. Loud. Unrestrained. Back arching off the table, thighs shaking, walls pulsing around him so hard he nearly lost rhythm.

"Fuck, yes...fuck..." His voice broke. "That’s it, baby, milk me, fuck..."

He fucked you through it, harder, faster, chasing his own release now. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping, breath coming in sharp pants against your throat.

"Where?" he managed, voice wrecked. "Tell me where-"

"Inside" you breathed without hesitation. "Want it inside. Want all of you."

That did it. He slammed in one last time, deep, grinding and came with a guttural moan that vibrated through both of you. You felt him pulse, felt the hot rush of him filling you, felt the way his whole body shuddered as he emptied inside.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed buried deep, arms wrapping around you, pulling you up until you were sitting pressed chest-to-chest. His forehead rested against yours again. Both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.

For long minutes there was only the sound of your breathing, the faint crackle of dying coals in the fireplace, and the occasional drip of water from the sink you’d never turned off.

Chan kissed your temple. Soft. Reverent.

"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered again, like he couldn’t stop tasting it.

You smiled against his cheek. "Mr. Bahng."

He huffed a laugh, still breathless, then kissed you properly. Slow. Lazy. Full of all the things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.

Eventually he softened enough to slip out. You both winced at the loss. He glanced down between you, watched the slow trickle of his come leak out and made a low, appreciative sound in his throat.

"Fuck. That’s hot."

You laughed, swatting his chest weakly. "Perv."

"Your perv." He grinned. Kissed the tip of your nose. "Forever."

He helped you down from the table, legs shaky, thighs sticky then scooped you up bridal-style like he had on the threshold yesterday. You looped your arms around his neck.

"Bed?" you asked.

"Shower first" he decided. "Then bed. Then maybe round two."

You raised an eyebrow. "Already?"

He carried you toward the stairs anyway. "I’ve got eight more days to make sure you can still feel me when we get home" he murmured against your ear. "Gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be mine."

You shivered. Pressed closer.

"Good" you whispered back. "Because I don’t ever want to forget."

He kissed you again, right there on the stairs, slow and deep and full of promise.

Then he carried you the rest of the way upstairs, into the bathroom, under the warm spray of the shower where he washed you carefully, reverently, like you were something sacred.

And when you finally collapsed into the big bed afterward, clean, boneless, tangled together under the thick quilts, he pulled you close, lips brushing your shoulder.

"Love you" he murmured into your skin.

You turned just enough to find his mouth in the dark. "Love you too."

The forest outside was quiet except for the wind in the pines.

Inside, it was only the sound of two hearts beating in time. And the soft click of wedding rings brushing together under the covers.

time always seemed to crawl whenever you were there.

you scrolled through your phone in boredom, replying to messages with little interest, lazily flicking between unfinished conversations and videos of cats doing something adorable or ridiculously unnecessary.

the day was uncomfortably hot. the heat felt suffocating, sticky, heavy. and the laundry room wasn’t helping at all.

the man beside you, crouched down with a deep frown etched across his face, muttered curses under his breath as he shoved clothes into the washing machine like each piece was personally responsible for his misery.

you sat perched on top of the dryer, legs swinging idly near jisung’s face. the machine hummed beneath you, vibrating softly, blending into the thick tension filling the small room.

a mischievous smile slowly spread across your lips.

“maybe if you worked with a smile on your face, you’d finish faster,” you hummed, eyes never leaving your phone.

jisung clicked his tongue and tossed a shirt into the washer harder than necessary. then another and another until his patience finally snapped.

he let his palms fall heavily onto his knees before straightening just enough to look at you. his expression was tinted with that deliciously familiar, childish annoyance.

“this is unfair,” jisung declared, his voice thick with indignation, as though he were the victim of some elaborate conspiracy.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a soft laugh. setting your phone aside, you crossed your arms and looked at him with shameless amusement.

“you agreed to the bet. you lost,” you listed with mocking calm. “i don’t see the injustice.”

you leaned forward slightly, just enough to ruffle his hair. his scowl deepened instantly, making him look like a sulking cat.

"all i see is a sore loser, ji."

jisung jerked away from your touch as if it burned. he began stuffing clothes into the machine in careless piles, clearly determined to get it over with as fast as possible.

he was in a mood today.

which was… curious.

anyone watching from the outside would have assumed you were sworn enemies.

but not.

quite the opposite.

you had been best friends for years. changbin had been the original culprit. a casual introduction with no expectations that somehow turned into an instant connection.

since then, you’d been practically inseparable.

that didn’t stop the constant friction, of course. or the endless teasing.

provoking each other.

pushing boundaries with a dangerously comfortable familiarity. after all, you’d always known exactly how far you could go without crossing the line. or at least, usually.

this wasn’t supposed to be any different.

after a stupid bet based on "who could get someone to believe the most ridiculous lie" —which jisung had lost spectacularly in less than twenty-four hours— your teasing hadn’t stopped.

and there you were, two weeks later, on a sweltering summer afternoon at jisung’s place, arguing yet again about that same ridiculous bet.

“no. it’s unfair because you know how gullible felix is,” he shot back, pointing at you with genuine irritation. “of course you’d win if you talked to him!”

“and yet you never thought to do the same. there weren’t any rules against it, sweetheart.”

the detergent and fabric softener landed in their compartments with far more aggression than necessary. jisung clenched his jaw, clearly searching for inner peace somewhere deep in his mind.

he shouldn’t have been taking this so personally. he never really did.

but something felt different today. something tense that threatened the fragile thread holding your friendship together.

he simply clicked his tongue, shoved the laundry basket aside, and threw you a dangerous look before walking out of the room like a walking storm cloud.

maybe this was that limit you both knew so well.

maybe the smart thing would’ve been to leave it alone. go talk about something else, make tea, eat cookies, and watch one of those stupid dating shows you both loved mocking.

but not.

something in your brain urged you to keep going. to push him just a little further. to get some kind of reaction.

you didn’t know whether it was boredom or jeongin’s words from that morning.

“jisung’s been acting weird about you lately. i’m not saying anything, but… there’s something there.”

the slam of the refrigerator door pulled you from the memory. you walked into the kitchen with your usual calm, eyes landing on jisung’s tense back as he moved around gathering ingredients for a hastily made sandwich.

with an easy hop, you seated yourself on the counter. you watched him closely, studying how he reacted to tiny frustrations like the cheese tearing or the knife not being where he expected.

"what’s your problem now? you’re crankier than usual."

okay… maybe not the best choice of words.

jisung glanced at you over his shoulder. his dark eyes carried something you couldn’t quite name. he abandoned everything he was doing and turned fully toward you.

he closed the distance in long, determined strides, planting both hands on either side of your thighs. his knuckles were white from the unnecessary force. his body leaned in, face dangerously close to yours.

"you're being more bratty than usual,” he said, voice tight. “you haven’t stopped pushing my buttons since you got here. what’s up with that?"

you rolled your eyes, casually running your fingers through your hair.

"you're just being sensitive, ji. drop that and let's do something fun," you said sweetly, flashing him a gentle smile and batting your lashes.

your foolproof trick. jisung could never resist that.

except today… he didn’t budge.

“no thanks. you can go watch tv. i’m going to my room.” jisung cut, his voice sounding irritated.

but he didn't move an inch. he seemed to be waiting for something from you. your breathing stalled as you finally became aware of just how close he really was.

his breath brushed against your lips. his gaze locked onto yours. his tongue slowly swept across his own lips. your body reacted before your mind could catch up. a tense heat coiled deep in your tummy.

something dangerously familiar.

jisung suddenly let his head fall forward, resting against your chest. an old habit. one born from the first heartbreak he’d ever suffered. you’d always been his safe place. where he could breathe, reset, gather himself when the world became too heavy.

now you were the one unraveling him. and it was costing him more than he wanted to admit.

“you’re messing with my head…” jisung whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin.

saying it felt like a release. one that somehow trapped him even more. never, not once, had he imagined the day he’d stand this close to you and confess how completely insane you made him. he could feel your racing heartbeat and your uneven breathing against his neck.

you didn’t know whether to lean further into the moment or shatter it with some terrible joke like always.

but that was impossible now.

you were already far too deep. pressing your lips together, you gently stroked his hair, staring into nothing as you searched for some kind of answer.

“do you really not see it?” his voice cracked more with every word. “am i reading this wrong?”

you couldn't run now.

you swallowed hard. your pulse screamed at you to get out, to break away. but when jisung lifted his head and looked at you again, eyes glassy and painfully vulnerable, you knew you couldn’t leave him hanging there.

with a soft sigh, you cradled his face carefully, as though he were something fragile that might shatter with the slightest misstep. it had been so long since you’d seen him this distressed.

and it hurt like hell knowing you were the reason.

"hey, i don’t know what you mean. but we can talk. what’s going on?"

his silence only tightened the knot in your chest. adrenaline rushed through your veins. jisung’s hands settled against your waist with something almost reverent.

"do you like me...?"

not the usual way.

not as friends.

“of course i do. what kind of question is that?” you laughed weakly, thumb brushing lovingly across his cheek.

“no. i want to know if you like me… the way i like you,” jisung murmured, his voice barely rose above a whisper.

the world seemed to stop.

you hesitated before speaking. you needed to be careful. but his doe eyes simply made thinking rationally nearly impossible. they begged for something you weren’t even sure you could admit to yourself yet.

"and how exactly do you like me, jisung?"

he straightened abruptly, intensifying the electricity between you. his grip on your waist tightened as he looked at you with unmistakable urgency. your heart pounded, caught somewhere between anticipation and caution.

slowly, he pulled you closer, sliding you along the counter until your legs rested on either side of his hips. your hands trembled as they came to his chest, fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

your breathing grew heavy, erratic. the heat in your tummy deepened, clouding your thoughts completely. and your eyes traveling from his eyes to his lips only worsened the feeling that was growing inside you.

this was so fucking wrong.

but you were already leaning in.

“i can’t keep pretending this is nothing… i could kiss you right now,” jisung declared. his fingers pressed firmly into your hips.

it wasn't a warning or a threat. it was something even worse: a confession.

your grip on his shirt tightened.

the air between you became unbearably thick, charged with something that had been building for far too long beneath jokes, petty arguments, and lingering glances neither of you had ever dared analyze.

the consequences could haunt you later.

fuck it.

you yanked him forward by his shirt, and the collision of your lips was clumsy, almost violent. completely desperate. anything but graceful.

his mouth crashed into yours with a raw, unfiltered urgency that stole the air from your lungs, teeth bumped, breaths tangled, noses pressed awkwardly, but neither of you cared. it was messy, heated, years of tension detonating all at once.

jisung let out a strangled sound against your lips, something wracked and helpless, vibrating straight into your mouth. your tummy tightened violently at the noise.

your legs instantly wrapped around his hips, locking him in place, pulling him impossibly closer. the heat of his body slammed against yours, solid and overwhelming.

“y/n…” he breathed, the word dissolving between your mouths.

his hands slid down your sides with frantic impatience before gripping your ass hard enough to make you gasp. fingers digging in, possessive, desperate. and then, suddenly, you weren’t touching the floor anymore.

the sharp intake of your breath between you as jisung lifted you with startling ease, your bodies pressing together even tighter. your chest crushed against his, his racing heartbeat hammering wildly against your ribs.

the world shrank to mouths moving feverishly against each other. kisses turned erratic, hungry, borderline reckless. your tongues clashing without rhythm, teeth grazing lips, jaw, whatever skin they could reach. every breath came out shaky, broken.

jisung stumbled toward his bedroom, movements clumsy but determined. you could feel the tension coiled tight in his body, the barely restrained urgency in the way he held you. he bumped lightly into the doorframe.

“mmh– shit…”

you laughed softly against his lips, breathless, your mouth still chasing his.

even now, he was still jisung.

the moment you crossed the threshold, your lips abandoned his mouth, trailing down to his neck like gravity itself had taken control.

the reaction was immediate.

a violent shudder ripped through his body and ended on his crotch. you felt the way his hips jerked involuntarily as his grip tightened. a sharp, broken gasp tore from his throat.

“ah– wait– not there…”

his voice came out wrecked, trembling, completely betrayed by the way his body arched into your touch.

you didn’t wait for shit.

you sucked, bit, and licked at his skin like it was your final mission in life, lips moving hungrily along the sensitive column of his throat. his skin burned beneath your mouth, hot and slightly damp. jisung’s breathing completely lost its rhythm.

“f-fuck…”

his knees hit the mattress in a graceless collapse, dragging you down with him. the impact sent a jolt through both your bodies, a tangle of limbs, heat, and desperate hands.

the air in the room felt thick and charged. you settled astride his lap, thighs pressing against his hips. instantly you felt his hard, heated cock pulsing insistently beneath you.

the sensation sent a sharp spark of heat straight through your core. your hips reacted instinctively, a slow, testing grind that pulled a broken whimper from jisung’s lips.

“look at you…” you purred.

his chest heaved beneath you, breath coming shallow, eyes blown wide as he stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. like you might disappear. his hands slid up your waist agonizingly slow, being a stark contrast to the earlier desperation.

his fingers dragged over your sides, memorizing, savoring, burning a trail across your skin. the touch was almost reverent, sending goosebumps racing along your body despite the heat pooling between your legs.

your hips moved again in a subtle, torturous grind. the friction was soft, maddening, yet utterly delicious. jisung’s head fell back with a shaky exhale.

his fingers slipped beneath your blouse without hesitation, sliding against bare skin. the contact drew a sharp gasp from his throat, his entire body tensing under you.

“i– i always wanted to…”

his voice fractured completely. he couldn’t even finish the sentence, no matter how much he wanted to. but you felt it in the way his hands trembled, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way his cock twitched beneath you.

his hands wandered everywhere like he’d lost all sense of direction: your belly, your waist, your thighs. fingers pressing, ripping, sliding, like he needed to feel everything at once. like he was starving.

and when his hands reached your breasts, the air left his lungs entirely. his mouth parted in a silent, stunned inhale. a broken, incoherent curse fell from his lips. the look in his face made heat explode low in your tummy.

pure awe and adoration.

like you’d just handed him something sacred.

the kiss that followed was different. it had become a slower, deeper motion that carried something dangerously intimate. mouths moving together in an intoxicating sway that made your head spin. his lips were warm, soft, slightly swollen against yours.

clothes vanished between clumsy hands and nervous laughter. a few stubborn buttons, a shirt caught around your wrist, a breathless “wait”, and suddenly—nothing. cool air kissed your heated skin.

you lay naked against his rumpled sheets, chest rising unevenly, skin buzzing with anticipation. jisung stared down at you like you’d committed some unforgivable crime. his pupils were blown wide, his breath completely wrecked, and his lips parted in stunned disbelief.

“what are you waiting for?” you whispered against his ear, teeth grazing softly.

jisung let out a trembling whimper that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight between your legs. "god... you’re driving me insane."

his hands gripped your hips tight, yet he still didn’t move. instead, his lips found your jaw, your neck, your mouth in slow kisses that burned and lingered.

kisses that made your body ache with every second he refused to give you what you both wanted. like he wanted to savor this. like he wanted to torture you.

“you’re always so bossy…”

“and you’re always so slow…”

that crooked smile appeared on his lips. the same smile you used when you challenged each other in the university cafeteria or when you started a dangerous fight that ended in raucous laughter.

and then, finally, jisung aligned himself with you.

the first push inside was slow enough to make your entire body jolt. a sharp, breathless moan tore from your throat as your walls stretched around him, the sensation overwhelming, almost too much.

jisung’s breath hitched violently and his forehead dropped against yours. neither of you moved. both of you just felt the fullness, the unbearable tension of being joined like this. completely. he didn’t move again until he was fully buried inside you.

the stretch made your toes curl. your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders meanwhile your breathing collapses into something shaky and broken. and then his movements began slow, deep, and torturously deliberate.

each thrust dragging pleasure through your body like a slow burn. your nerves felt raw, hypersensitive, every tiny motion amplified. your breaths merged into one. jisung let out a broken sound.

"fuck…"

your nails dug into his shoulders as you felt him pulse inside you, warm and wrenchingly perfect. your eyes locked, and no words were needed.

you both knew you could completely lose control.

and jisung didn’t need anything more.

his hips began moving without mercy. the rhythm snapped violently from slow to desperate, thrusts turning chaotic, knocking the air from your lungs. your body jolted with every impact, pleasure crashing through you in violent waves.

your nails scraped down his back, leaving burning trails across his skin while his fingers dug brutally into your hips. the wet sounds of your bodies filled the room obscenely, mixed with gasps, moans, and breathless curses.

jisung's necklace brushes against your skin, the cool metal being a ridiculous contrast to the inferno consuming your body. each swing of it sent tiny sparks of sensation across your overheated nerves.

“shit… look at me, y/n…” jisung whined.

his fingers tilted your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. his face was a work of art. he looked wrecked, beautifully ruined. hair damp and clinging to his forehead, lips bitten raw, and eyes blown wide with pure pleasure.

“look what you do to me… completely fucked because of you…”

each thrust tore sounds from your throat you could no longer control. pleasure rose like an unstoppable, hot, and overwhelming wave.

“mmh– just like that… fuck, ji–” all the words dissolved into muffled, broken moans.

your body trembled violently beneath him, muscles tightening, pleasure spiraling uncontrollably higher.

the rhythm faltered, movements turning erratic, desperate. like both of you were tumbling toward an unavoidable edge.

“i’m so close…” he gasped against your ear.

your legs shook and your tummy tightened violently. your entire body coiled around the unbearable pressure building inside you.

"ji… ah– fuck–" you whimpered.

the world seemed to shrink at the overwhelming sensation of his cock filling you completely.

your entire body tightened and shattered. the orgasm ripped through you like a brutal electric shock, pleasure detonating violently, your back arching as a broken cry escaped from your lips.

jisung completely lost control seconds later.

a few sloppy, desperate thrusts, a strangled groan, and then he collapsed. your walls tightening mercilessly around him, clenching and dragging the orgasm straight out of him as he came hard inside you.

he fell beside you with a weary gasp that lasted longer than necessary. there he was. your dramatic, teasing, hopelessly clumsy jisung. you laughed softly, still gasping for air, weakly hitting his bare chest.

the silence afterward felt deafening. your ragged breaths merged into one, your hearts pounded, and your bodies trembled.

that is, until the beep of the washing machine completely broke the atmosphere, announcing that its cycle had ended.

you both remained silent for a few seconds. then turned to each other in perfect sync and burst out laughing. because obviously that had to happen right now.

jisung tried to sit up first. yes, he tried.

“shit- my legs!” he groaned, touching his legs dramatically.

you laughed loudly, nudging him with your foot and receiving a dirty look. from where you stood, the view was dangerously tempting. biting your lip, you slipped on his oversized graphic tee before he could reach it.

“you should move the laundry to the dryer, ji,” you teased playfully.

your fingers traced his bare back and a shiver immediately ran through his entire body.

he turned to look at you, smiling at the sight of you wearing his shirt, hair messy, expression thoroughly satisfied. he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“when i get back… you wanna…?” he tilted his head suggestively.

you flopped back onto the bed, wiggling your brows as you tugged the hem of the shirt higher, revealing your thighs with a shameless grin. jisung let out a low whistle, leaning against the doorway, eyes dragging hungrily over your body.

“don’t think i’m gonna stop calling you a sore loser after this, baby,” you stuck your tongue out.

jisung rolled his eyes with a fond smile, like he already knew he was completely doomed when it came to you. as he walked toward the laundry room, he started laughing under his breath like he’d just heard the best joke of his life.

and watching him disappear down the hall, you could only think one thing.

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!

The man’s silhouette moved slowly across the field, swaying between the tall grass, feeling the flower heads brushing against his palms. The autumn wind probably graced gently against his face, and for a moment, from a distance, he looked so peaceful… he... it… a walker.

My finger edged closer to the trigger. Easy target. They always were. I exhaled once and loosened my grip on the gun, pulling my eye away from the tight tunnel of the sights. I couldn’t afford the luxury of killing those creatures for sport, wasting bullets on something that barely mattered. Ammo was harder to find than food these days and I've been lucky lately without many of them roaming around. But one thing was true, if humanity thought the Covid-19 pandemic was rough, little did we know what awaited us in the future.

I pushed myself up from the concrete roof of the gas station’s shop. The place sat alone in the middle of nowhere, with its old sign hanging crooked above empty pumps. My limbs ached with every movement after days of walking settled deep into my muscles.

As I climbed down the side ladder, I noticed another walker drifting along the road. They were starting to gather. Great. It was time to move. I slipped inside the small shop and started scanning the shelves, though the place had been picked through,

It has been a little bit over a year this whole situation started and dust already clung to everything like a second skin. Still, there were some scraps left for me to pick up, a few bottles of Gatorade, chocolate bars, cleaning alcohol. Not much, but enough to keep me going a little longer.

I was stuffing the supplies into my bag when something clanked in the next aisle. I froze for a moment as a door creaked shut somewhere inside the store, then another loud metallic noise, followed by a loud curse and a low pained moan. 

Outside, the walker by the road turned its head toward the shop, it had certainly noticed the sound. Fantastic. I moved quietly toward the back exit, hoping to slip out unnoticed by both of them. Whoever was in here could deal with their own problems, until a male voice called out behind me.

“Hey!” I stopped dead and spun around hastily, raising a finger to my lips.

“Shut up. There’s one of them outside.” I hissed, my eyes narrowed at his figure crouched on the ground, clutching his foot. “Where did you come from? Who are you?”

The guy leaned against a shelf, breathing hard. “I think what you meant to say is ‘how are you?’” he muttered. “To which I’d answer ‘very shitty, thanks’. Now c’mon—help me out here.”

I followed his gaze downward, his ankle was caught in a homemade trap, crude but quite effective. Two metal jaws clamped around his boot, bolted to a short chain attached into the floor, not strong enough to kill anything big, but painful enough to hold someone in place.

Probably meant for animals. Maybe for people too. Perhaps even me. 

“No.” I stepped back quickly, putting some distance between us.

“What?” His voice jumped. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m not helping someone I just met.” I shook my head. “You could be a crazy survivalist, a murderer, or whatever.”

“I’m not a murderer,” he shrieked, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Sounds like something one would say.”

A sudden crack echoed from the front of the store, both of us looked toward the door. Wood splintered as the walker forced its way inside. 

“Please! You need to help me! What kind of soulless human being are you?” His voice dropped into something raw.

The walker staggered into the shop, cloudy eyes scanning slowly as it followed the noise. I glanced toward the back door, a clean escape, I’d be gone in seconds. The creature groaned again, shuffling closer down the aisle. I muttered a curse under my breath and turned around.

“Fuck it. Pull up the hem.” The guy didn’t waste a second. 

He yanked his pant leg up while I knelt beside the trap and forced the metal jaws apart. My hands slipped on the bars as the spring finally gave out, and the trap snapped open. I pulled his ankle free just as the walker turned into our aisle.

“Get up.” I pulled him up, he tried to stand for himself and nearly collapsed, limping quite badly as I grabbed his hand and pushed him forward.

We rushed through the back door into the open air, but it only took a few seconds until the walker stumbled outside, dragging its feet toward us across the cracked pavement.

“Inside,” I muttered, shoving the guy toward an abandoned Waffle House across the lot.

The windows were grimy and a bit shattered, its yellow sign also hung crooked above the door. We slipped inside and ducked behind the counter, crouching low, holding the few breaths we still had inside our lungs. For an almost endless moment, neither of us spoke, listening for any footsteps outside, glass cracking, a groan, anything at all.

Time went by in silence, the sky outside had grown darker, autumn had only just begun and the days were already shrinking, the light draining away earlier than it used to. Through the dusty windows of the Waffle House, the last gray sliver of evening faded behind the empty road.

Neither of us dared to speak, we sat in silence as if waiting for something to happen, or maybe too afraid of what might follow the moment one of us opened their mouth.

Outside, nothing moved, no dragging footsteps, no hollow groans drifting through the air, only the wind brushing against the broken glass. A whole hour passed like that, by then it was clear that we were completely alone.

I pushed myself up from the floor with a strained groan, my knees felt stiff and aching after sitting so long. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a small first aid kit and tossed it into the guy’s direction. He caught it midair with surprising speed, his eyebrows lifting in mild shock.

“See if you can find something for your leg in there,” I mumbled, already turning away before taking a quick glance over my shoulder. “I’ll try to find some food. And don’t try anything on me. I’ve got some questions for you.”

My grip tightened slightly around the rifle hanging at my side, he held my gaze for a moment before silently nodding his head. Good. I moved toward the back of the kitchen area, stepping over overturned stools and greasy tiles, where everything smelled faintly of old oil and dust.

Behind me, I could hear him working, the rustle of gauze, the soft clink of metal tools inside the kit. I gazed back toward him, he had cleaned the wound as best as he could and was wrapping a bandage tightly around his ankle, improvising something decent out of what little was inside the kit. 

Up close, now that things were calmer, I noticed him properly. Shaved head, worn-down clothes that accentuated his lean build, dark circles under his sharp and alert eyes, which still had some kind of softness clinging on, stubbornly refusing to die.

I found a small stash of frozen waffles in the back freezer, buried under frost and old packaging, staring at them for a moment before letting out a quiet scoff. So funny to think something so simple can spark even the tiniest glint of hope inside someone.

Behind me, the young man cleared his throat, the sound snapped my attention back to him instantly while I went back to set up the waffles on our small fire.

“Thanks,” he said carefully. “For all of this. I’m Hyun—”

“No.” The word cut through the room before he could finish. “I don’t fucking wanna know who you are,” I said flatly. His mouth shut. 

“We’re not in this together. I don’t need to know your name, your story, or whatever else you’re about to tell me.” I flipped one of the waffles in the pan with the edge of my knife. “I’ll help you tonight cause you’re hurt. But I need to know where you came from and why the hell you were in that store.”

He studied me for a moment, then tilted his head slightly with a shy smile. “We could stay together if we were heading to the same place though.”

“Answer the questions.” I didn’t even look at him, he let out a quiet breath.

“I was in Missouri when all of this started, but my last stop was Atlanta, a few weeks ago, until I got caught in a horde.”

That made me pause just slightly. “Yeah, there isn’t much to see there anymore.” I mumbled.

His lips twitched faintly, like he almost smiled. “We were looking for a friend’s family.”

“You were in a group then?” I turned halfway toward him now.

“Kind of. Look, this conversation is starting to feel a bit unbalanced.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I want to ask some questions too.”  

“I’m not telling you my name.”

“Alright, might as well call you cutie then.” He leaned back against the counter, watching me with a teasing smile. I glared at him, but he didn’t look particularly worried. “Where are you heading, cutie?”

I took a deep inhale, hesitating for a moment before finally answering. “New York.”

“New—” He blinked and straightened slightly. “Are you insane? That place must be infested with dead people.”

I shrugged faintly, pulling the waffles off the pan. “Well, then I hope you’ve got somewhere else to be, cause I wasn’t planning on taking you with me anyway.”

“Maine.” He blurted out on a whim. “I’m going to Maine... I think my group is heading there. If we keep up a pace, maybe I could still find them in New York.”

“Sure, and you remembered that five seconds ago?”

“Please, let me come with you. I promise I won’t slow you down.” His voice got quieter, a little bit raw. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The room fell quiet again, only the small fire crackled between us, somewhere far outside the wind dragged across the empty highway. He didn't try to convince me about his skills, or how essential he was, or how I would regret this. Just laying bare the loneliness disease we had all been dealing with, way before the whole apocalypse started.

—

Morning crept slowly over the empty highway, pale and thin like watered-down milk spreading across the sky. The world had that damp chill that came with early autumn mornings, a faint mist hovered over the fields on both sides of the road, blurring the distant tree lines into gray.

The asphalt stretched ahead of us in a long cracked path, endless and silent, except for the steady rhythm of boots against pavement. Three days, that was how long it had been since the Waffle House. Three days since I decided, against every survival instinct I had, to let that guy walk with me.

Maybe it was the ankle, or the way he hadn’t complained much while limping along the first day, or because two sets of eyes were better than one, perhaps I just grew tired of hearing my own thoughts echo in empty buildings every night. Still that didn't mean he wasn’t annoying. Because for hell’s sake, he absolutely was.

Hyun walked a few steps behind me now, his limp noticeably better than it had been two days ago. He’d found himself a walking stick out of a broken broom handle we picked in a shed yesterday, though he mostly spun it around rather than used it.

“You know,” he started, voice carrying easily through the quiet air, “most people would be happy to have a teammate in the current situation.”

“Most people are dead.”

“Fair point.” A few seconds passed. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

I sighed through my nose, not slowing down. “Not happening.”

“You know I kind of gave you a hint of what mine could be.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Hyun,” he repeated anyway, cheerful as ever. “Just in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He kicked a loose pebble across the road. “You’ve got trust issues, cutie.”

I stopped walking and turned around, the rifle rested comfortably in my hands, its barrel pointing loosely toward his legs.

“Keep calling me that and you’re walking the rest of the way with one less kneecap.”

He raised both hands in surrender with a giggle, grinning proudly for getting a reaction out of me. “Alright, alright. Message received, captain.”

I turned and kept walking, behind me I could practically feel the smile still sitting on his face. God, he was annoying. At least we hadn’t seen many walkers around, just a few scattered ones in the distance, but now the fields stretched wide and empty around us, only the yellow grass swaying softly in the breeze and a rusted billboard leaning crooked near the roadside ahead. 

We walked in silence for a while after that, boots crunching lightly over gravel whenever the pavement broke apart. The sun was higher, after a while we stepped off the highway and cut through an open field to avoid a small group of walkers wandering near a crashed truck. Tall grass brushed against our legs while the wind carried away their morbid groaning.

Hyun walked a little closer now, careful with his steps. “You know,” he said after a moment, “you’re surprisingly patient.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“Exactly. Most people would’ve shot me already.”

“I still might. Our journey isn’t over yet.” He laughed quietly.

The tree line at the edge of the field got closer and we stopped there for a short break, a fallen log sat hidden in the leaves, perfect enough to sit on. I dropped my bag beside it and took a long drink from my water bottle. Hyun sat across from me, stretching his injured leg carefully, the bandage was dirty but holding, still he noticed me glancing at it.

“It’s hanging on," he said.

“Barely.”

“Optimism suits you, cutie.” I ignored that.

The wind rustled through the branches above us, scattering a few leaves onto the ground between us. For a while neither of us spoke, until he shifted on his seat, a bit too hesitant for someone like him.

“Why have you been walking alone all this time?” 

I stared out through the trees, watching the empty road beyond the field, my fingers traced the edge of the bottle slowly as I let out a tired exhale.

“A couple of months after all this started, my boyfriend and I found a group of people on our way upstate… unfortunately, at the time we didn’t know people could be very shitty in such situations and basically use people as bait for walkers.” A silent leaf drifted down between us. “I think being alone isn’t always the worst choice in a world like this.”

“Sorry.” Hyun’s voice softened. 

I shrugged. “Did your group leave you behind too?”

He shook his head slowly. “I kinda got lost actually.” I turned my head at him again. 

“We were running from a horde,” he continued after a moment. “Then one of them got stuck behind. I went back to help him, but when I was coming back I had to take a different path to get rid of the walkers.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I finally realized where I was… the only path I had in front of me was forward.” His voice dropped slightly. “Didn’t see them again after that.”

The forest around us creaked quietly with the wind. “Do you think they are looking for you?” I asked.

Hyun stared down at the dirt for a moment. “I don’t know anymore. A part of me wants to believe they aren’t, that they moved on and are following the plan.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t seem quite genuine. “But another part kind of wants them to be out there looking for me, or just waiting for me to come back.”

“How many are there in the group?”

“Eight, counting with me.”

“Not much.”

He smirked faintly. “Just enough to cause a bit of trouble.”

For a moment we just looked at each other, the wind shifted through the trees again. Somewhere far off in the distance, a lone walker groaned faintly, and Hyun leaned back slightly on his hands.

“You know,” he said, studying me carefully, “for someone who doesn’t want to tell me their name, you’re getting pretty chatty.”

I stood up with a scoff, slinging my bag back over my shoulder and offering him a hand to help him up. He looked at it, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes before a small smirk curled on his lips, his touch was warm and he got up with a small grunt. 

We stepped back out of the trees together and onto the road again, a long way to the north awaited us. The sky above stretched wide and pale blue, the kind of empty sky that made the world feel bigger than it should be, and for the first time in a long while, walking didn’t feel quite so lonely anymore.

—

A few days later, rain started falling sometime around morning and kept going until night settled. A thin mist still clung into the air while both our clothes clung miserably to our skin, boots squelched with every step, and cold rainwater ran down the back of my neck in the worst imaginable way.

A school appeared through the gray haze of rain like a forgotten memory of a world that didn’t exist anymore, a faded sign above the entrance still read Bridgeway Elementary. Hyun wiped rain from his eyes and looked up at it, tracing his gaze all over its brick walls and shattered windows.

“Well… this feels quite promising,” he said, pushing more water out of his face. “It's like a scene from a horror movie.”

“Everything is a horror movie now,” I muttered and walked towards its tilted gates.

We pushed through the front doors carefully, the hallway smelled like old paper and mold, lockers lined the walls, some ripped from their hinges, as posters still clung to the boards full of faded motivational slogans. Children’s drawings covered the wall of one of the classrooms, bright suns and happy kittens, all of it frozen in time.

Hyun took a glance around. “No walkers,” he said quietly.

It felt safe enough to spend the night. Either way he went for a quick search around the whole school to check for any threats while I found a spot in the cafeteria to set up a quick camp and a small fire to dry our soaked clothes.

Luckily we had some dry spare clothes that we found in some abandoned shop on the road and managed to keep away from all the water. Hyun hadn’t come back from his search, so I set them on the side and peeled the soaked shirt away from my wet skin, cold air brushing across my nipples. 

I wrung the water from the fabric before tossing it over one of the tables, taking off one drenched piece after the other, staying only in my underwear. Before changing into the dry pieces, I decided to check on some bruises on my skin from the past few days, when a sudden squeaky sound echoed behind me. 

A chill ran all over my spine, making me quickly press the shirt against my chest and turn around just in time to see the blur of a shadow hiding behind the corner.

“Fuck! I’m sorry!” Hyun’s panicked voice cut through the awkward silence. “I thought you had changed already.”

A wave of heat spread through my whole face as I quickly put on the clothes. “It’s fine. You can come out now.” I mumbled, though my voice came out weaker than intended.

He approached me by the fire a bit hesitant. “That was…” He stopped himself. “You know, I think nudity is an overrated concept, humans are animals—”

“Go change in some fucking classroom, Hyun, and we’ll pretend it never happened.” I cut him over.

He nodded rapidly and turned to leave, not really looking into my eyes. Though I could notice just the smallest flicker in it after hearing his name come out of my mouth for the first time, surprising even me by how natural it felt on my lips.

Later that night, the rain eased into a soft drizzle, while the fire crackled quietly while our damp clothes hung from improvised lines. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, though sometimes we could try to have a full night of it without having to take shifts all night long. Tonight, however, I tossed and turned for hours, feeling the sleep embrace me and drift away every now and then.

I finally let out a tired sigh and turned again to face Hyun’s side, only this time it was empty. He wasn’t usually one to stay still all night long, but he also wasn’t one to disappear in the middle of it either. Adrenaline spiked through my veins. There was no sound near the cafeteria, it all felt the same as when we came in. He could have heard something… or someone could have taken him.

The sky was still pitch black outside. I wasn’t sure how long he had been away, or for how many hours I managed to stay asleep. A few minutes passed in blood freezing silence, until worry finally crept in. 

The hallway stretched quiet and dark beyond the firelight. There was no apparent movement in the classrooms, near the stairs, not even on the playground outside. I reached the last room on the hallway and was about to turn back when I heard a strained groan cutting through the silence.

My entire body tensed. A walker? It didn’t sound like one. I decided to take a quick peek inside to check if there was someone inside.

He was sitting on one of the front row’s chairs as his body faced the door sideways, his legs were stretched in front of him. A few seconds later he shifted on his seat a bit breathless, an almost pained moan scratching through his throat again. One of his hands moved in a frantic motion on his lap, quickly adjusting his pants a bit downwards and bucking his hips up on the seat.

My heart pounded faster in my chest. None of that felt like it was really happening. Hyun adjusted the pace of his hand again, opening more of his zipper, revealing a bit more of the stiff member half covered by his large palm. I couldn’t see much of it besides its plump tip almost bursting through each stroke he made with his skilled hand. 

He covered his mouth with his other hand, hiding another moan as a fluid overflowed from his shaft in one long spurt, followed by another, and another, until he slumped his back on the chair at last, completely spent.

His hand still held on to his softening length, drawing slow circles on its middle with his thumb, feeling the aftershocks shiver their way through his more relaxed body now. The rise and fall of his heaving chest was enough to tell me how long he was in need to do that. In the fraction of a second his posture stiffened like he’d realized something embarrassing.

Heat crept up the back of my neck and I quickly stepped back from the door just as he was about to turn his head.

I heard ruffling inside the classroom and tip-toed as fast as I could back to my improvised sleeping bag, shutting my eyelids too tight. A few minutes later I heard the sound of Hyun’s feet scraping the dusty floor and settling down. I heard a shuffle of clothes behind me, where he must have turned away. My thighs pressed together agonizingly, dampness spreading all over my core, as my clit flickered in sync with my heartbeat underneath my underwear. God, it was going to be a long night.

—

A couple weeks later, we finally came across an open mall just a few miles outside New York. The parking lot stretched out like a gray desert, cracked and overtaken by weeds, shopping carts lay scattered everywhere, flipped on their sides and completely rusted.

Some smaller buildings stood around the mall, fast food places, a gas station, a small condo and a pharmacy, but most of the area was empty. Though the closer we got to the city, the more walkers we started seeing, not hordes yet but enough to make the air feel a bit too tight and our eyes a bit more alert.

We slipped inside the pharmacy through a half-broken glass door, stepping over the shattered pieces carefully. Shelves were mostly empty, the floor littered with old packaging and things long since picked through, still places like this sometimes had something left behind.

“Check the back cabinets,” I said quietly, scanning the aisles. “Painkillers, antiseptics, anything like that.”

“Roger that,” Hyun answered from somewhere to my right.

I moved slowly along the shelves, pushing aside boxes with the barrel of my rifle, scanning labels, gauze, expired cold medicine, vitamins nobody probably needed anymore.

“Oh, look what I found!” His voice suddenly rang out excitedly from the next aisle. I flinched slightly at the volume.

“Wh—” I stepped around the corner and immediately stopped. “For fuck’s sake.”

Hyun stood there holding an extra-large condom he’d pulled from a dusty box and had blown up like a balloon, kicking the transparent latex in his knees.

“Put that thing away,” I groaned. “We don't need it.”

“Says who? I might need it,” he said defensively, clutching it against his chest. “I mean it’s not my size, but we could use it for a lot of things—water recipient, a glove, suffocating our enemies. Use your imagination, there's like tons of it here.”

I stared at him. “Whatever. Focus on finding some medicine. Your leg is almost healed but it’s good to have extras just in case.”

“Yes, captain!” he answered and saluted me with the condom balloon, then proceeded to keep playing with it. God. I turned back toward the shelves, shaking my head annoyed, though I could feel the faintest smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Why do I feel like we would hate each other in real life?” I said after a moment.

“What do you mean? This is real life.”

“You know what I mean, outside of this whole situation. Apart from our only thing in common being running from dead people.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I kinda think I'd like meeting you in a ‘normal’ setting.”

I glanced back at him as he casually leaned against a shelf, still wobbling the stupid balloon on his hand.

“Maybe we wouldn’t want to talk with each other at first,” he continued. “But if we gave each other a chance we could've some great time together… we still can actually.” 

I felt a slight flush warming up my face and let out a small breath through my nose. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess I could say you’re kinda nice.”

Hyun stepped closer this time, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “Well, look at that, am I finally breaking the ice wall?”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the shelf. “Don’t get cocky.”

He opened his mouth to respond when the condom suddenly popped on his hands. The sound echoed in the quiet store. Both of us froze. For a second nothing happened. Then somewhere outside a low groan answered. My head snapped toward the front windows when another groan followed.

Hyun slowly turned his head toward me, “…that might’ve been a mistake,” he said quietly.

A shadow moved past the front glass while others followed. Walkers. Too fucking many of them. My stomach twisted in a knot. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The front door creaked as one of them pushed against it and another slammed into the glass beside it. More groans began echoing through the parking lot, calling in even more of them.

“Back door,” I said quickly. We ran towards it, boots crunching over broken plastic and scattered boxes.

Behind us the glass shattered as the first walker stumbled inside and their dreadful groaning filled the store. I shoved open the hallway door leading to the stockroom and we sprinted through it. Behind us the sound grew louder, more footsteps dragging across the tiles. 

The back exit door burst open as I slammed into it, we bolted out into the alley behind the building, but the noise had already spread. Walkers were turning the corner from the street, staggered between the nearby buildings.

“There!” I shouted, pointing to the small condo we saw earlier, circled by some tilted but apparently sturdy fence. It would have to do for now.

We ran towards it, the city skyline looming far ahead of us, silent towers rising above the horizon like broken skeletons. Our boots pounded against cracked pavement as we cut between buildings. A cluster of walkers stumbled out from a side street, Hyun shoved one aside with his shoulder.

“Keep going!” he yelled.

I sprinted ahead, we were almost there, until I realized the footsteps behind me were sounding further. I glanced back at his figure lagging behind, not by much, but his leg, even mostly healed, still slowed him down when we had to run like this.

A walker lunged toward him from the side. He shoved it back hard, but it cost him another step. My chest tightened. “Hyun!”

“Fucking go!” he shouted. “Don’t look back!”

Another walker grabbed him, he swung his crowbar and cracked its skull with a sickening crunch. I jumped over the fence and fell with a hard thud on the ground. Two walkers reached for him as he ducked between them and sprinted straight for the building. 

He jumped over the fence with a crooked move, and let out a sharp hiss as his shirt got ripped on the side. We ran into the first open apartment we could find, slamming the door shut together behind us.

Both of us collapsed against it, holding it closed as the sounds of walkers echoed outside but not near. The fence would keep them far away from us at least for a few hours.

Hyun bent over, gasping for air. “Okay,” he panted, “that was… not very nice.”

My heart was still hammering and for a moment I just stared at him, making sure he was actually there, alive, with me. I shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, asshole.”

“Do what? The balloon? C’mon, it was funny before it exploded out of nowhere.”

“No. Falling behind like that.” His breathing slowed a little, then a small grin crept onto his face.

“Were you worried about me?”

I crossed my arms immediately. “I hate you.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back against the door. Outside the walkers continued groaning, but inside the abandoned apartment, for the moment, it was just the two of us, and the city waiting ahead.

Night painted the sky a deep, heavy blue. The city lights that once drowned the stars were long gone, leaving only darkness and a thin trace of constellations overhead. From the terrace you could still hear some walkers wandering below, distant groans drifting between the empty buildings, but most of them had already scattered, pulled away by other sounds.

Hyun had gone upstairs earlier to check the rest of the building for unpleasant surprises or any unlucky survivors hiding out in the shadows. I stayed behind, trying to make the place feel less like a ruin and more like somewhere two people could sleep without waking up with a knife to their throat.

A few minutes later his voice echoed down the stairwell. “Hey, cutie! Come check this out! You are not going to believe it.”

I dragged myself up the stairs, every muscle in my legs pulling tight beneath my skin after the long day we’d had, running from the dead still lingered in my bones.

I reached the top of the staircase and stepped into a small, unlit hallway. Hyun stood by the terrace door, holding it open, there was some blood in his hands. At first I didn’t understand what he was pointing at, when I finally saw it. The buckets, bowls, plastic containers of all sizes, lined up across the terrace floor, each one filled with rainwater.

Someone had clearly been collecting water here for a long time. Maybe they’d lived here, maybe they died, maybe they ran when the walkers flooded the streets. Either way, the water remained.

Hyun turned toward me with the widest grin I’d seen on his face in days. “Hell yeah, cutie. We are taking a bath today,” he cheered. “This is starting to feel like a five-star hotel!”

I let out a quiet laugh and for the first time in what felt like forever, the idea didn’t feel ridiculous.

We boiled what water we could over our small fire and carried the buckets inside. The bathroom tiles were cracked and the mirror fogged with age, but the tub still held water. Taking a bath in the apocalypse felt like a long distant dream, but when the warm water touched my skin, the tension that had lived in my shoulders for months finally loosened just a little.

Later we sat in the living room again, cleaner and less miserable. Hyun sat cross-legged in front of me, shirtless as I finished cleaning the cut he’d got when jumping over the rusted fence earlier. The wound stretched along his side, red but shallow, nothing life threatening. Still, infection kills faster than walkers sometimes.

“I think I’m feeling my blood being poisoned by the rust,” he said dramatically while I dabbed antiseptic against the cut. “You think I might die because of it?”

“I've seen worse.”

“I don’t remember if I ever took a tetanus boost.”

I tightened the bandage slightly. “I can take you back to the walkers so they can take care of it for you.”

“No, thanks.” He chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, watching me for a moment. “Hey,” his voice softened a bit. “Are you sure you’re good? No scratches, wounds… bites or whatever?”

I frowned slightly, he looked away a bit embarrassed. “I didn't mean to listen, but I think I heard you crying in the bathroom,” he added gently. “And now you’re all quiet.”

My eyes glanced down at his bandage for a second and how my hands still lingered there. “I’m fine.” The words came out softer than I meant them to. “I just didn’t expect to get so attached to a stranger in this hellhole.”

“Ouch,” he laughed. “A stranger? Really? After all we’ve been through?”

“Shut up.” I pressed the bandage a little harder into the wound. 

“Ouch!” Silence slowly settled between us again, but it felt closer this time, more intimate than I remembered it being. Hyun looked like he wanted to say something, his fingers tapped nervously against the floor.

“Is it too weird if I… ask to kiss you right now?” he whispered. “Just to remember how it feels.”

I froze for a moment, his expression was serious, but there was something shy hiding underneath it. The world was ending, cities were full of walking corpses, and somehow he still looked nervous asking that.

My body leaned forward slowly, his eyes widened slightly as the distance between us disappeared. The kiss started soft, careful, like both of us were remembering something we hadn’t felt in a long time, the simple proof that someone else was still alive.

Hyun’s hand hesitated in the air before gently settling on my waist as mine slid up from his hard chest to the back of his neck. We shifted closer and with a soft tug he pulled me into his lap, where I adjusted both my legs on his sides and could feel his member hardening underneath his jeans against my core.

We both separated a bit breathless, a thin string of saliva breaking between us. He looked up at me with pleading eyes, chest heaving under my palms. I could feel the tension in his shoulders immediately as he hesitated for a second and pulled back slightly, cheeks flushing slightly in the dim firelight.

“Uh—” He reached behind him awkwardly and grabbed something from the pile of supplies near the wall, holding up with shaky hands a small square package. The condom pack from the pharmacy. He looked both embarrassed and a bit proud at the same time.

“I mean,” he said quickly. “I just thought, you know, better be prepared than not.” A nervous laugh escaped his lips.

I scoffed softly, lowering my forehead on his toned shoulder, biting my lower lip to hide my growing smirk. “You're unbelievable.” 

“Can you blame me? How lucky am I to find such a cutie in the middle of the apocalypse?”

“How unlucky am I to get stuck with such an annoying idiot in the middle of Armagedom?”

“Let me take you to heaven tonight then,” he whispered close to my ear. His large hands slipped under my tank top, caressing the skin on my back.

“Flirt,” I muttered against his skin, so warm under my lips, so alive. I planted a kiss on his neck, earning a small whimper out of his throat and a soft moan when I accidentally brushed against his bandage.

Our hands worked in sync while taking each other's remaining clothes. Under the flickering firelight I could see the soft definition of his muscled body, the lines that carved his chest all the way down to the stretched fabric of his underwear. Skilled fingers hooked around my panties and pulled it lower, taking in the scent of my desire after slowly tracing a line over my sticky core.

I pressed another wet kiss on his lips and helped him out of his underwear, finally releasing his rigid member, hanging heavy between us. He slid the condom around its girth, placing a steady palm over my hips and guiding his tip to my soaked entrance.

With a shaky breath I sinked slowly into it, feeling every inch of him filling me up until I reached his base. After a few hesitating movements, we both found a steady, slow rhythm, one that two people could only match after weeks walking beside each other. But his soft groans grew louder, my hands gripped his strong back, harmony didn’t matter anymore when there was only raw need left.

He wrapped his arms tighter around me, pressing our chest flush against each other. “It’s Hyunjin.” A teasing smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. “My name. In case you want to say it”

“Hyunjin…” I moaned, at last tasting his name on my tongue as we leaned for another sloppy kiss, lips trembling in his absence when he pulled away. “I’m…”

“You don’t have to.” Hyunjin pressed a finger over my lower lip, tracing a line down my chin and lifting it for me to meet his eyes. “I like calling you cutie.”

He angled his hips closer to mine again and I could feel my insides getting warmer, my walls pressing tighter around him, his throbbing length pulsing deeper with each ragged breath. A moan slipped from my throat, followed by his, and now all I could feel was his shivers under my fingertips, rolling from my skin to his, from his to mine. 

With gentle yet trembling palms, Hyunjin lowered me in my sleep without pulling away, slowly softening up inside me, but still not letting go of the grip on my flesh. Not when we were this close, this young, this alive.

—

The walk over the Narrows Bridge had been quieter than either of us expected. Walkers wandered through the outskirts of the city in slow drifting pockets, like ghosts pacing through the ruins of a world they barely remember. Burned-out cars clogged the streets leading deeper into the city. Some still had squirming corpses under their wheels, others were just abandoned, rust spreading over the metal like a slow infection.

But we made it through, step by step, and eventually the high buildings rose around us like a graveyard of steel. Tall towers stood silent against the pale sky, shadows stretching across the pavement filled with weeds and debris. Hyunjin stopped in the middle of the street and slowly turned in a circle.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I take back what I said before. Apart from the occasional walkers we gotta terminate… this place is actually insane.”

A small grin tugged on my lips as I adjusted the strap of my rifle on my shoulder. “Yeah, it still is.”

I kept walking while Hyunjin followed after a second. “So,” he continued. “Where exactly are we going? You’ve been talking about New York since day one. Are you going to tell me where the final destination is?”

“Coney Island.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The amusement park?”

I nodded and kept walking forward. He studied my face for a second. “Alright, let’s go then.”

My feet stopped in a halt. “Wait, you coming with me?”

He glared at me in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t I? Whatever’s there clearly matters to you.” He adjusted his crowbar against his shoulder with a smirk. “And before you say I don't have to. I want to. Just in case you need some extra help.”

The sound of the waves grew louder as we finally approached the pier. Coney Island looked like a dream someone had left out in the rain, the boardwalk stretched along the shoreline, rusted amusement rides towered over the empty park as wind carried the sound of seagulls above us. 

The place felt strangely peaceful while we walked slowly through the abandoned park until I eventually stopped near the old railing overlooking the beach. The sand stretched wide and empty below us, waves rolling endlessly toward the shore. 

Hyunjin leaned against it beside me, I stepped away and walked toward a small cluster of rocks near the edge of the boardwalk. He watched silently as I crouched down and brushed aside some sand and debris. My fingers found what I’d been hoping to find after all this time. A small metal box, half-buried, still exactly where I remembered leaving it.

He stepped closer. “What’s that?”

I opened it slowly, inside were some trinkets and two thin papers—amusement ride tickets.  For a moment all I could see was a memory, bright lights, music playing from the rides, my boyfriend laughing beside me while we argued about which ride to go on first.

Hyunjin didn’t have to ask anything to understand what it meant. We walked back to the railing and climbed up onto it, sitting side by side in silence while the waves rolled below us. The wind pushed gently against our faces, sky stretching wide and open above the water.

“I had my first kiss here,” I said quietly.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Fuck off.” I pushed him lightly, and we both laughed.

“Where to now?” He asked after a while.

“I have no idea.” Those words felt strange to say out loud, for months I’d been walking toward this place, this moment, and now it was over. “I thought some closure would be good, but now that I got it… I don't know what to do.”

Hyun leaned back slightly, holding tighter onto the railing. “Given how Chan likes to follow the plan,” he said thoughtfully, “he might be around this area though.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like he’s predictable.”

“He kind of is.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Depends on the day.” He chuckled.

We sat there for a few quiet minutes, when suddenly Hyunjin stiffened. His eyes sharpened and at first I thought he’d seen a walker, but his gaze wasn’t scanning the streets, it was focused somewhere behind us. Confusion flickered across his features and settled in disbelief.

“Hyunjin?” A faint voice carried across the empty boardwalk. Male, a bit rough from shouting, too familiar to his ears. “HYUNJIN!”

His eyes widened and his entire posture changed instantly. A figure emerged fully from between two abandoned food stands further ahead. Eight of them actually.

With a swift motion, Hyunjin jumped down from the railing so fast his boots nearly slipped on the wood. “No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath.

The guy in front of the group skidded to a stop just a few feet away, staring at Hyunjin like he’d just seen a corpse. He was tall, broad-shouldered, hair tied back messily. “Dude,” he said breathlessly. “What the hell?”

“Chan?” Hyunjin’s voice came out shaky and raw when he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulders and pulled into a rough hug.

“You idiot!” Chan shouted. “We thought you were dead!”

The others crowded around both immediately, laughing, crying, talking all at once. Relief exploded through the group while I quietly watched from afar as Hyunjin laughed for the first time in a way I had never heard before. Lighter, younger, like he’d stepped back into a life that existed before we met.

After a moment he looked over his shoulder toward me, our eyes met and for the first time since we started walking together, I realized something. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want to just survive until the world finally decided to swallow me. I wanted to stay with him until the end of time. Until his voice was the last thing I heard. He called me to come over.

Let us die young or let us live forever

We don’t have the power but we never say never

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan that decides to stay just for a little bit more as you start your class, his eyes not leaving once from your skin-tight set, perfectly clinging to every curve of your body, especially when you bend down and give him the perfect view of your ass, though pretty much halfway through the class his tight muscles by stress are barely hanging on there

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who wants to leave the mirrored room asap after you say namaste, but you stop him right before he goes through the door and offer a quick massage to soothe his muscles after noticing his difficulty with some positions, quite oblivious to the growing pain on his crotch

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan that after ten unbearable minutes of feeling your soft, skilled hands pressing against his sore body and tight spots, runs to a shower on the locker room to jerk off his bursting member, thinking about how your hands would look and feel around him, shooting a big load on the wet stall wall as he stood there completely breathless, feeling the cool water rolling down his buzzing body

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who can't help feeling his member stretching his gym shorts after every set he does, getting hard every time he picks too much weight and starts thinking about how easy it would be to lift your body off the ground and fuck you against the nearest wall

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who starts talking more often to the cute teacher, asking for tips on stretching, new positions and sometimes some quick massages to ease his muscle pain after a heavy workout session, until the day he lets out a much embarrassing moan when you go through a really tight spot on the back of his thigh

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan that apologizes profoundly but notices your sparkling eyes quickly glancing down to the quite noticeable tent forming on his shorts and the small clenching motion on your legs as you slowly bite your lower lips and place your hand on his broad, hard chest while leaning in for a very wet kiss  

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who gets slightly turnt on when he stands in front of you and your face is inches away from his crotch, tracing a soft line along his carved v-line and inhaling the deep manly scent coming from his training shorts before pulling it down along with his underwear, finally releasing his thick, throbbing member

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who feels a shiver running down his spine when your hands barely go around his girth, and another one when you give the lightest kiss on his very sensitive tip, relishing it from the top all the way down the base and giving a small squeeze on his loaded balls

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan when he can't handle it anymore and pushes your face against your pink yoga mat, quickly caressing your round butt and positioning you in the downward-facing dog, on your knees, as he slides in with a swift movement, almost not  being able to push his entire length inside you, stretching you more at each inch he gets inside your dripping folds

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who can't stop teasing your clit with each hip thrust he gives you, counting up the usual set repetitions and paced breathings he does on his workout, but barely getting to the final one as he finally spills a big load in your pussy that clenches eagerly around his pulsating shaft, your thighs and back burning from staying a bit too long on that position

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who at last feels all of his muscles softening and unclenching after months of stress piling up on his body, all gone with one last thrust before pulling his dripping member off your glistening folds and laying on the mat beside your also limp body

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ gym guy! chan who starts going to the gym every day of the week and manages to always sneak up some private yoga sessions with his favorite teacher, for his usual post-workout stretching and relaxation moment