#chrimatanet

C ﾐ CONFESSION

he would tell you how he feels simply and straight forward, and then let you decide what to do with the information. he’s ready to face rejection but he’s also hopeful. but the last thing he wants to do is put any kind of pressure on you, so he’s a bit cautious and careful with his confession. his heart would of course be racing like crazy anticipating what you’ll say in response, but he doesn’t let it show on his face how nervous he is. 

D ﾐ DATES

he’s a really good planner and would make sure to plan time for dates just as often as you do. he saves the fancier dates for more special occasions, like your birthday or anniversary, though. weekly dates would be more casual, like dinner and a movie, or just a game night. but he always makes sure that there’s some activity to enjoy together, because he really values quality time with you. 

E ﾐ EYE CONTACT

eye contact is important to yushi. not to say he stares at you often, but he’ll always find your eyes in a crowded room or subconsciously look for that subtle contact. your eyes relax him. he can never survive staring contests, though. he’ll crack up immediately. but natural eye contact could last for longer, and he may even zone out while staring at you on occasion </3

F ﾐ FIGHTS

fights with yushi are rare because he’s very grounded and level-headed. he’d much rather talk through any problems than let it lead to an argument. he tries to take into account your emotions and feelings without compromising his own, but sometimes it can be difficult. you both know what is most important for your relationship, and ultimately don’t let petty arguments come between you both. fights could be a bit more common in the evening when you’re both tired, but yushi will never let it go unresolved for the morning. he hates sleeping mad at you. 

G ﾐ GIGGLES

you are always making yushi laugh, more than anyone else. mostly because your humours match up perfectly. he’ll laugh when you’re intentionally trying to make him laugh, but he’ll also giggle at random things you do that he finds cute. his laughter always comes from a place of affection.

H ﾐ HUGS

he’s a casual hugger. if you’re cuddling on the couch, it would most likely just be holding hands or resting your head on his shoulder rather than his arms wrapped around your body. just a little bit of physical touch is enough to satisfy him. he’ll hold you tightly if that’s what you want/need though.

I ﾐ I LOVE YOU

i love you’s are saved for sentimental or romantic moments. he may slip them into a conversation at times, but they aren’t a set of words he uses lightly. to him, they hold a lot of weight and meaning, and he really wants you to know that when he says it, he really means it.

J ﾐ JEALOUSY

he doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, the feeling surprises him. he’s perfectly fine with the other guys spending time with you, whether it be playing games, eating together, or just talking. but what does strike a nerve with him is seeing any of them hug you or especially if sakuya or ryo tries to rest their head on your lap. he’ll push them away from you in an instant. his jealousy is rare but strong, only because you mean so much to him. 

K ﾐ KISSES

yushi loves kisses!! whether giving or receiving he doesn’t care. he loves the ticklish feeling of you peppering kisses all over his face. he loves the butterflies that grow in his stomach when you kiss him deeply, hands tangled in his hair. he loves kissing your hand as a silent way to say thank you, and he loves when you kiss his cheek in the middle of a conversation. 

L ﾐ LOVE LANGUAGE

his love languages are quality time and acts of service. due to his busy schedule, it’s often hard to spend quality time with you and he hates that :( but he tries to make it up by doing as much as he can for you. he tries to make sure he’s taking away stress from your life rather than adding to it. whether it be doing small chores or simple tasks for you, he makes sure he’s contributing positively to your life as a way to tell you that he loves you.

M ﾐ MARRIAGE

marriage isn’t something he's thought about often because he’s still very young. but he does definitely see himself getting married in the future. when the time is right and you’re both in the right phases of your life, that’s when he would most likely tie the knot. he looks forward to spending the rest of his life with you as husband and wife, but he isn’t in a rush. he likes to enjoy your current relationship as it is first. 

N ﾐ NICKNAMES

his nicknames or pet names for you would probably just be variations of your name. common pet names like baby or love don’t feel exclusive enough. during cute or casual moments, he’d call you a nickname. during more romantic or serious moments, he’d just call you by your name. there’s a certain intimacy and closeness that comes with it, and he likes that. 

O ﾐ OBSESSION

he’s obsessed with your heart. he values how other people act and care for people around them. he’s never met someone more thoughtful and caring than you, and it's one of the main things he admires about you.

P ﾐ PDA

he hates pda, especially around the other boys cause they’ll definitely tease him. he might hold your hand but that’s the most he’ll do to be honest. he’d rather save the romantic gestures and words for when there’s no one else to watch, because they’re just for you and you alone.

Q ﾐ QUESTIONS

he wants to know everything about you, especially in the beginning of your relationship. he’s like a curious cat about you, eager to find out what’s most important to you and all your habits. there’s a big sense of satisfaction once he can see that you love and value him as much as your other most favourite things. 

R ﾐ ROUTINE

yushi and you have created routines together like eating dinner together whenever you can, doing your skincare together, or even morning kisses before work. the simple structure is almost necessary amidst both your busy lives. it’s a small sense of calm and something to look forward to.

S ﾐ SENTIMENTAL

i think he looks forward to the future more than reminiscing about the past. he finds it cute to think about your moments together as just friends or in the beginning of your relationship, but he doesn’t miss it too much. he values the connection that you’ve built from all the time you’ve spent together, and the present moment is more precious to him than past memories.

T ﾐ TEARS

he doesn’t really cry often. he’s just not super emotional in that way. he also finds it a bit embarrassing to cry in front of other people, the same way he doesn’t like pda. you may be the exception to that, but seeing yushi cry would still be rare even for you. when he needs comfort, you’re the first person he will go to, though.

U ﾐ UNDERSTANDING

yushi tries hard to understand everything about you as best he can. your feelings, emotions, situations. but there is a lot of communication to get to that point of understanding. it's not immediate to him from just a glance what you’re feeling, so he would more likely ask you.

V ﾐ VULNERABLE

he’s very vulnerable with the people he trusts completely, and you are definitely one of them. he’d never keep secrets from you and would confide in you for advice or comfort if he needs it. he’s more guarded with people he doesn’t trust, so he often keeps things to himself, but he’s like an open book with you.

W ﾐ WHOLE

yushi definitely feels complete when he’s with you. like a missing puzzle piece, everything fits into place when you are together. he can certainly function without you, but there’s always a little piece of him that only you can bring out. he’s never more comfortable than when he is with you, and you know exactly how to put his mind and body at ease. he’s at his best with you.

Y ﾐ YEARNING

he only realizes how much he misses you once he’s back in your arms. he’s so focused on whatever he’s doing for work that his emotions wouldn’t even have a chance to distract or overwhelm him. you may cross his mind throughout the day of course, but he only vocalises how much he missed you in person when you’re no longer apart. 

Z ﾐ ZZZ

napping together may as well count as quality time for yushi. he gets tired and needs his sleep, but he’ll sleep better if you’re next to him <3 since it's rare to get multiple hours free to spend with you, he at least wants to feel close to you while he rests. he’s extra cuddly when tired. the type to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. somewhere close enough to smell your soap or shampoo since he loves those scents.

nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

But now? Now it’s Christmas morning, and you’re cocooned in a fortress of tissues and blankets. The air smells faintly of menthol rub, and the soft hum of holiday music from your neighbor’s house makes your head throb.

“Why am I like this?” you mumble, voice raspier than you’d like.

You barely have time to pity yourself before your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You glance at it. The bright screen momentarily blinds you, but the name glowing there is enough to make your headache take a backseat.

Woonhak.

Your best friend. The guy who’s been there through thick and thin, who’s probably spent more time at your house than his own. The guy who’s annoyingly, infuriatingly perfect.

You swipe to open the message.

“Merry Christmas! 🎄 Are you alive over there?”

You groan. He knows you’re sick—he knew yesterday when you had to cancel your annual Christmas Eve movie marathon. He’d dropped off a care package with a smug grin, promising to “check in.”

You type back:

“Barely. Thanks for the plague.”

His response is immediate.

“Rude. I’m coming over.”

You barely have time to protest before your doorbell rings. How does he do that? You shuffle to the door, dragging your blanket around your shoulders like some kind of discount holiday ghost.

When you open the door, there he is—Woonhak. Tall, annoyingly cheerful, holding two cups of something steaming in his hands. He’s wearing a ridiculous Santa hat that only makes him look more infuriatingly festive.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You’re going to catch this,” you warn, closing the door behind him.

He grins. “I have the immune system of a tank. Here.”

He thrusts one of the cups into your hands. It’s hot chocolate—you can smell it, rich and sweet.

“Bribery?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Christmas cheer,” he corrects. He plops down on your couch, kicking off his shoes and settling in like he owns the place.

You sigh, sitting next to him. “You really didn’t have to come.”

“Yeah, but you were wallowing,” he says, stealing a sip from your cup. “Can’t let that happen. Christmas is sacred.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the tiny smile that creeps onto your face. That’s the thing about Woonhak—he’s impossible to stay mad at.

It starts slow, like it always does with him. He pulls out his phone and forces you to watch a compilation of the worst Christmas fails he can find. He laughs until he’s clutching his stomach, and you’d roll your eyes again if his laugh weren’t so contagious.

Then it’s the Christmas playlist—Woonhak sings every song loudly and off-key, even adding a dramatic falsetto when Mariah Carey comes on. You groan and throw a pillow at him, but it only makes him louder.

By the time afternoon rolls around, you’re feeling less like a walking plague and more like...well, yourself. Your fever’s still lingering, and your voice is shot, but you’re laughing. And when Woonhak pulls out the board games he “just happened to bring,” you don’t even argue.

“I’m not letting you win just because you’re sick,” he says as he sets up the game.

“Good,” you croak. “I’d hate for you to get delusional.”

Somewhere between the fifth round of Uno and the second plate of cookies he insisted on baking (“Pre-made dough doesn’t count,” he said, all holier-than-thou as if he wasn’t the guy who once burnt toast), it hits you.

This is the best Christmas you’ve had in years.

Woonhak’s sprawled on the floor, arguing with himself over whether he should play a Draw Four card to win or “keep the spirit of Christmas alive” by going easy on you. You’re clutching your stomach, laughing harder than you have in weeks.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, wiping tears from your eyes.

“And you love it,” he shoots back, grinning.

You do. You really do.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re both bundled up on the couch. The lights on your tiny, slightly lopsided tree cast a warm glow around the room. “Home Alone” is playing on the TV, but neither of you is really watching.

“Hey,” Woonhak says, nudging you with his elbow. “Feeling better?”

You nod, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For...this. For always showing up. Even when I’m gross and sick and—”

“Stop,” he interrupts, nudging you again. “You’d do the same for me.”

You would. Without hesitation.

You’re quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft chatter of the movie and the faint buzz of holiday cheer in the air. Then he speaks again, quieter this time.

“Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you, you know.”

Your chest tightens, and you glance up at him. His eyes are focused on the TV, but there’s something in his expression—something soft, something real.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Same here.”

And in that moment, wrapped in a blanket, your best friend beside you, you realize something. Maybe being sick on Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

By the time New Year’s Eve rolls around, you’re finally feeling like yourself again. The sore throat is gone, your energy’s back, and your voice no longer sounds like a creaky door. It’s a miracle, really. You even manage to convince Woonhak to come over for a celebratory dinner.

“See?” you say smugly as you clear the table. “I told you I’d bounce back in time for the new year. Invincible.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Woonhak mutters, slouched on the couch with his arms crossed. But there’s something off about him. He’s not his usual, annoyingly chipper self.

“Something wrong?” you ask, pausing mid-step.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

But he’s not fine. You can tell by the way he’s rubbing his temples, the way his nose is slightly red, the way his voice has an edge of hoarseness to it.

“Woonhak…” you say slowly, setting the plates down and walking over to him. “Are you sick?”

“Nope,” he says too quickly, sinking deeper into the couch. “Definitely not.”

“Liar,” you accuse, crossing your arms.

He groans, tilting his head back. “Okay, maybe. Just a little. But it’s no big deal.”

You stare at him, realization dawning. “Oh my God. You caught it, didn’t you?”

“Caught what?”

“The plague I had! I told you this would happen!”

“Stop calling it the plague,” he grumbles, though his stuffy nose makes it sound more like plaaag.

You can’t help it—you laugh. You laugh so hard that tears prick at your eyes. Because of course this would happen. This is how things always go with you and Woonhak: you get sick, he shows up to save the day, and now here he is, on the verge of a cold.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he says, shooting you a half-hearted glare.

“A little,” you admit, biting your lip to stifle more laughter.

“Great. I take care of you, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to come over!”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Instead, he flops down dramatically, pulling the blanket over his head like some kind of defeated soldier.

“Guess I’m dying now,” he says, voice muffled.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you tease, yanking the blanket off his face.

“Dramatic?” He looks at you, eyes narrowing. “You were literally moaning about the ‘injustice of life’ two days ago.”

“Fine, you’ve got a point,” you concede, sitting next to him. “But don’t worry. I’ve had practice now. I’ll take care of you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You? Taking care of me? Should I be scared?”

You swat his arm. “Hey, I make great soup.”

He smirks. “Debatable.”

But despite his teasing, you notice the corners of his mouth tug upward in a small smile.

By the next morning, it’s official: Woonhak is down for the count. Fever, runny nose, the whole package. And true to your word, you step up. You make him soup (yes, real soup, not the instant stuff), keep his water glass full, and even let him hog the TV remote.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” he admits one evening, bundled up on the couch with a box of tissues at his side.

“See? Told you,” you say smugly. “And if you’re nice, I might even make cookies.”

“Homemade?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t push your luck.”

He laughs, and it’s a little wheezy, but it’s the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel warm.

As the days pass, you settle into a rhythm. You and Woonhak bicker over what to watch, argue about the proper way to steep tea, and inevitably end up laughing until your stomachs hurt.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize something: you wouldn’t trade this for anything. Not the sickness, not the chaos, not even the burnt cookies. Because as long as Woonhak’s there, it feels like home.

By the time he starts feeling better, you’re already planning your revenge.

“Next year,” you say as you hand him his coat at the door, “you’re banned from playing nurse.”

He grins, leaning against the doorframe. “Sure you won’t need me?”

“Oh, I’ll need you,” you admit. “But not if it means getting sick all over again.”

“We’ll see,” he says, shooting you a wink as he steps outside.

And as he walks down the snowy path, you can’t help but smile. Because deep down, you know the truth: next Christmas, he’ll be back. And so will you.

“Is that cherry flavoured?” 

You were speechless for a second, not sure what he was even referring to. It didn’t click until he was leaning back in to get another taste— he was trying to guess the flavour of your lip balm… by kissing it off your lips.

“Or strawberry?” He guessed again, his face twisted into the cutest expression of concentration. 

“Both, actually.” You smiled at his confusion before clarifying, “It’s mixed berry.” 

“Cherries aren’t berries, though.” He mumbled, not truly pressed about the false advertising, as he leaned in once again before you could comment back. 

You were quick to realise that the chances of getting anything productive done was slowly disappearing with each kiss Sakuya landed. Not that you could truly be upset about it. Maybe your future self would want to kill you for pulling him closer and kissing him harder, but your current self was far too busy drowning in the taste of his lips to worry about the Science test you would inevitably tank. 

You’d be sure to offer the spare chapstick that had come in the pack of 2 to Saku later, as you knew he loved sweetly flavoured cosmetics just as much as you. In the same way you shared your jewelry or nail polish with him, it was only natural that he would become obsessed with whatever flavour your lip balm was and want it for himself. He made your heart melt like that.

nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

You frowned, tapping out a quick reply. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

His response came almost immediately. "Not like that. I need... relief. Can't take care of this myself. I've tried, please come."

Your cheeks flushed as you read the message again. This wasn't like him. Leehan was always so composed, so professional. But here he was, practically begging for help in the middle of his workday. You bit your lip, considering your options. Showing up at the hospital unannounced would be strange, to say the least. But then again, this was your husband asking for your help.

"I can't just show up without a reason, Lee," you typed back, trying to keep your tone casual even though your pulse was racing.

"Come in for a checkup," he replied. "Say you've been feeling ill. I'll handle it personally."

A wave of heat washed over you as you imagined the scenario. You'd be lying, but the thought of being alone with Leehan in a hospital room, where anything could happen, was intoxicating. You swallowed hard, typing back a simple, "Okay."

The drive to the hospital was a blur. You parked in the visitor lot and made your way inside, your heart pounding in your chest. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit you as soon as you walked through the doors, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

Leehan had texted you directions to the examination room he'd be using. You followed them, your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp on the side table. Leehan stood by the exam table, his white coat hanging open to reveal the crisp blue shirt beneath. He looked up as you entered, his eyes dark with desire.

"Thanks for coming," he said, his voice low and husky. "I wasn't sure if you'd actually do it."

You closed the door behind you, leaning against it as you met his gaze. "You asked for my help, Lee. How could I say no?"

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to pull you into his arms. You melted against him, your body reacting to his touch even as your mind tried to process the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, making out with your husband in a hospital room, while he was supposed to be working.

Leehan's hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt to caress your skin. You gasped, arching into his touch as he continued to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

"Take off your coat," he murmured against your lips, his fingers already unbuttoning your blouse.

You complied, shrugging out of your jacket and letting it fall to the floor. Leehan's hands moved lower, unfastening your pants and slipping them down your hips. You kicked them off, standing there in nothing but your bra and panties, feeling exposed and exhilarated all at once.

Leehan's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you. "Beautiful," he whispered, lifting you onto the exam table. "Spread your legs for me."

Your breath caught in your throat as you obeyed, parting your thighs and leaning back on your elbows. The cold surface of the table pressed against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You watched as Leehan slipped off his shoes and climbed onto the table between your legs, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Keep your panties on," he ordered, his voice firm. "I want you desperate for me."

You nodded, your breath hitching as he traced a finger along the lace crotch of your underwear. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, making you squirm in anticipation.

"Good girl," he praised, his finger dipping beneath the edge of the lace to brush against your clit. "Now, tell me how bad you want this."

"So bad," you breathed, your hips bucking against his hand. "Please, Lee..."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. "Not yet," he murmured, his fingers moving faster, teasing your aching flesh. "You're going to beg me for it."

You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the table as he continued to stroke you, driving you wild with need. The thrill of being caught made every touch more intense, every sensation magnified a hundredfold.

"Lee... I can't... please..." you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation.

He chuckled softly, pulling his hand away. "Patience," he said, slipping off the table and kneeling between your legs. "I'm not done with you yet."

You feel the cool, sterile air of the hospital examination room as Leehan's fingers delve deeper into you. The sensation is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, knowing that at any moment someone could walk in. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway, a soft, breathy sound that makes Leehan's eyes gleam with pleasure.

"Leehan, please," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I can't take much more of this."

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Then beg me," he commands, his tone dripping with dominance. "Tell me what you want."

You shiver, caught between the desire to submit and the fear of being overheard. But the throbbing ache between your legs overrides any hesitation. "Please, Leehan, I need you. Inside me, now. Please."

His fingers withdraw slowly, leaving you aching for more. He stands up, unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease, releasing his hard erection. You watch him, mesmerized by the sight, your body trembling with anticipation.

"On your knees," he orders, his voice firm. You comply immediately, sinking down onto the cold linoleum floor. The sensation against your skin adds another layer of excitement to the encounter. You look up at him, your eyes filled with longing.

He guides himself to your mouth, his cock nudging against your lips. You open willingly, taking him in, feeling the warmth and hardness filling your mouth. He groans, his hands threading through your hair, guiding you deeper. Your tongue swirls around him, tasting the pre-cum that beads at the tip.

The sounds of the hospital—distant footsteps, muffled conversations, the occasional beep of medical equipment—create a backdrop that heightens every sensation. Each time you hear a noise, your heart races, unsure if someone might be about to enter the room.

Leehan's grip on your hair tightens as he thrusts deeper, his breathing growing ragged. You match his rhythm, eager to bring him pleasure, to give him release. His hand moves from your hair to your cheek, cupping it gently as he looks down at you, his expression a mix of pride and raw desire.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "So good."

You feel a surge of pride, your cheeks flushing with heat. You redouble your efforts, sucking him harder, using your tongue to tease the underside of his shaft. His hips buck involuntarily, pushing deeper, driving you further into submission.

But just as you sense he's close, he pulls away abruptly, leaving you panting and desperate. You look up at him, confusion and frustration etched on your face.

"Not yet," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you first."

He helps you back onto the examination table, positioning you so your back rests against the padded headrest. You spread your legs wide, giving him full access. He kneels between them, his eyes locked onto yours as he begins to lick and kiss his way up your inner thighs.

The sensation is electric, sending shivers through your body. You arch your back, pressing yourself closer to his mouth. His tongue finds your clit, circling it slowly at first, then increasing in speed and pressure. You cry out, your hands gripping the edge of the table for support.

"Leehan!" you gasp, your voice high and strained. "Oh God, yes! Right there! Don't stop!"

He doesn't stop. Instead, he uses one hand to hold your hips steady while his other teases your entrance, playing with your folds, stroking the sensitive skin just outside your opening. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, your body trembling with impending release.

Your moans grow louder, blending with the ever-present hospital noises. You close your eyes, lost in the pleasure, barely registering when Leehan shifts, lining himself up with your entrance. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, allowing your body to adjust to his size.

You feel full, stretched around him, your muscles clenching instinctively. He pauses, letting you get used to the feeling before he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building towards an inevitable climax.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with need. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity of his stare sends a jolt of energy through you, heightening every sensation.

With each thrust, the bed creaks softly, adding to the urgency of the moment. You can feel the vibrations through the mattress, amplifying the physical connection between you. Your breaths come in short, sharp gasps, your body arching upwards to meet his.

"Leehan, I'm so close," you whimper, your voice breaking with desperation. "Please, I need..."

"Just let go," he whispers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. "Let it happen."

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, you do. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, overwhelming your senses. You cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Leehan follows soon after, his own release washing over him as he buries himself deep inside you. His breath comes in harsh gasps, his chest heaving with exertion. For a few moments, neither of you speak, simply basking in the aftermath of your shared pleasure.

But then, just as you begin to relax, the door handle jiggles.

The door handle jiggles again, and the room falls silent for a split second. Leehan pulls away slightly but keeping you close, your bodies still glistening with sweat. "Shh," he whispers, his voice barely audible as he presses a finger to his lips. The door handle stops moving, and you both hold your breath, listening intently.

After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps fade away, and Leehan relaxes, his hand still resting on your waist. "We can't stay here much longer," he murmurs, his voice low and urgent. "But before we leave, I need you to finish what you started."

You gaze up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you mean?" you ask, though you already know the answer.

Leehan's eyes darken with desire as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I want you to take control this time," he whispers. "Show me how much you need me."

Your pulse quickens at his words, your body responding instantly to the suggestion. You nod slowly, your resolve strengthening. "Lie back," you command, your voice steady despite the tremor of excitement running through you.

Leehan obeys without hesitation, stretching out on the examination table, his hands resting above his head. The sight of him, spread out and vulnerable, sends a jolt of heat through your body. You cup his balls gently, feeling the weight of them in your hand, and then trail your fingers up the length of his shaft.

Leehan groans softly, his hips arching off the table in response to the touch. "Please," he breathes, his eyes closed, "don't make me wait."

You smirk, your confidence growing. "Patience," you say, your voice a sultry drawl. "You're going to earn this."

You continue to stroke him, your grip firm yet teasing. Each pass of your hand brings him closer to the edge, but you slow your pace just as he starts to build toward release. You lean in closer, your mouth hovering just above his cock, but you don't give him the satisfaction of taking him in.

"Beg me," you whisper, your breath warm against his skin. "Tell me why you need this."

Leehan's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you, his expression a mixture of desperation and desire. "Please," he murmurs, his voice thick with need. "I need you... I need to feel you."

Your heart races at his words, your own desire flaring hotter. "Good boy," you say, voice laced with approval. You finally lower your mouth to his cock, taking him in deeply, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down his length.

Leehan's hands clamp down on the edges of the table, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. "Fuck," he gasps, his voice ragged. "That's it... just like that."

You continue to suck him, movements precise and deliberate. You vary your pace, sometimes quickening until Leehan is thrusting into your mouth, other times slowing to a torturous crawl. You take your hand to guide him, adding pressure at the base to heighten the sensation.

Leehan's moans grow louder, more desperate, letting you know he's close. You pull off him briefly, looking up into his eyes. "Do you want to come?" Your voice soft and seductive.

"Yes," Leehan answers immediately, his chest heaving with exertion. "God, yes..."

You smile, lips curling into a wicked grin. "Then come for me," you say, returning to his cock with renewed intensity. You take him deep, swallowing around him as you quicken your pace, working him harder and faster.

Leehan's head falls back, his eyes rolling shut as he surrenders to the pleasure. "Ah, fuck... I'm gonna...!" His words cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, his cock pulsing between your lips. He comes hard, his seed filling your mouth as his body convulses with each powerful spasm.

You swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him, then you pull off slowly, licking your lips clean. You stand up straight, watching as Leehan lies there, spent and panting, his eyes glazed with satisfaction.

"Did you enjoy that?" You ask, voice dripping with smugness.

Leehan opens his eyes and meets your gaze, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "More than words can say," he replies.

Your heart swells with pride, the earlier tension melting away under the warmth of his gratitude. You reach down to help him sit up, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Let's get cleaned up," you suggest, your tone gentle now.

As you start to redress, the hospital intercom crackles to life overhead, announcing the next patient to be seen. Leehan freezes momentarily, his eyes darting to the door. "We should go," he says, his voice tinged with urgency.

You nod, understanding the risk you're taking by staying any longer. You finish buttoning your clothes and quickly gather your things. Just as your about to leave, Leehan catches your hand, stopping you.

"Wait," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, pressing a kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to convey his gratitude. "Thank you," he murmurs against your mouth.

You smile, heart swelling with affection. "Anytime, doctor," you reply.

"Of course," you whisper to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. You sit up and rub your eyes, already thinking of ways to spoil him.

But then you notice something: the unmistakable sound of clattering dishes coming from the kitchen. You get out of bed quickly, padding down the hallway in your pajamas. The scent of bacon wafts toward you, and as you turn the corner, you find Leehan standing at the stove, cooking breakfast.

"Leehan?" you ask, a bit incredulous. "What are you doing?"

He turns to you with a warm smile, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "Morning! I'm just making breakfast. Thought I'd surprise you and the girls."

You walk closer, arms crossed, and give him a playful glare. "But it's your birthday! You shouldn't be the one cooking."

He shrugs, casual and calm as always. "I wanted to. It's no big deal. You go sit with the girls. I've got this."

You huff in protest, but he's already back to focusing on the food. "Leehan," you press, moving to his side. "Seriously, let me take over. I want to do something for you today. You deserve to relax."

He shakes his head, shooting you a quick smile. "I'm fine, really. I like doing this. Go sit down; spend some time with the kids."

You roll your eyes but don't push it further. There's something endearing about how he never lets you fuss over him, even on his birthday. "Fine," you grumble, throwing your hands up. "But you're going to let me spoil you later."

"We'll see," he replies with a chuckle.

You shake your head, making your way to the living room where your two little girls are already awake and playing with their toys on the floor. They light up when they see you.

"Mommy!" your oldest, Mina, calls out, abandoning her dolls to rush over to you. Her twin sister, Minji, follows close behind.

"Morning, sweethearts," you say, kneeling down to hug them both. "Did you say good morning to Daddy?"

Mina nods enthusiastically. "He's making pancakes!"

"I know, but it's Daddy's birthday. Don't you think Mommy should be the one cooking?"

They both shake their heads in unison, giggling.

"Daddy's pancakes are the best," Mina declares confidently.

You laugh and ruffle her hair. "Well, you're not wrong there."

A few minutes later, Leehan calls out from the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready!"

You usher the girls to the table, where Leehan has laid out plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit. It looks amazing, as always.

You sit down next to Mina while Minji climbs into the seat across from you. "Thanks, babe," you say, appreciating the spread.

"No problem," Leehan says, taking a seat. "Dig in."

The four of you start eating, the chatter between bites filling the room with warmth. The girls are old enough to feed themselves, though you keep an eye on them just in case. You take a moment to appreciate the scene: your little family sitting together, enjoying a simple breakfast. It feels... perfect.

After a while, you glance over at Leehan and ask, "So, birthday boy, what do you want to do today?"

He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee before answering. "I was thinking we could have a family day. I don't get much time with you all because of work, and I just want to relax with my girls today."

Your heart swells at his words, and you smile softly. "That sounds perfect."

Mina, always quick with suggestions, perks up. "We should watch a movie!"

Minji nods eagerly. "Yeah, a movie!"

You laugh, knowing exactly what's coming. "I bet I can guess which movie."

Mina grins, bouncing in her seat. "Frozen!"

Of course. You've seen it a million times, but you can't deny how much the girls love it.

"Well, it is Daddy's birthday," you remind them. "Maybe we should let him pick?"

But Leehan shakes his head, smiling. "Frozen sounds good to me."

The girls cheer in unison, and you chuckle, knowing you're in for yet another viewing of the animated classic. "Alright, Frozen it is."

Once everyone finishes eating, you all head to the living room. Mina and Minji race ahead, practically launching themselves onto the couch, while you and Leehan follow more slowly, hand in hand.

"I'm still going to do something for you today," you insist as you settle next to him on the couch.

He squeezes your hand, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Just being with you all is enough."

The movie starts, and before long, the familiar songs and scenes fill the room. You glance over at the girls, both of them completely captivated, and then at Leehan, who seems just as content watching them as the movie itself.

It doesn't take long for the soothing sounds of the movie to lull you into a doze. The comfort of the moment, the warmth of your family, it all pulls you under.

When you wake up, you blink groggily and realize the room is much quieter than it should be. Sitting up, you notice that the couch is empty. Mina, Minji, and Leehan are nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd they go?" you mumble to yourself, standing up and stretching. You wander through the house, checking the kitchen, the hallway, and finally making your way to the girls' room.

When you peek inside, the sight before you makes your heart melt. There, in the middle of the room, is Leehan, sitting on the floor with Mina and Minji. They've pulled out their dress-up clothes, and Leehan is fully participating in the game. He's wearing a plastic crown, a cape made of a pink blanket, and the girls are twirling around him in princess dresses.

You stifle a laugh, watching from the doorway as Mina adjusts the crown on Leehan's head.

"You're the prince, Daddy!" she declares proudly.

"And we're the princesses!" Minji adds, spinning in her gown.

Leehan looks at them both with pure adoration in his eyes. "Well, if I'm the prince, I guess I have to protect the princesses, right?"

Mina nods seriously. "Yes, from dragons!"

Leehan puts on a mock-serious face. "Dragons? Oh no! Where are they?"

The girls giggle, running around the room as if they're being chased by invisible dragons, while Leehan pretends to battle them off with a toy sword.

You lean against the doorframe, watching the three of them with a mix of amusement and affection. This is exactly why you love him so much. Even on his birthday, he's putting the girls first, making their day as magical as possible.

After a few more minutes of watching the playful scene unfold, you finally step into the room. "And what's going on in here?" you ask, grinning.

Minji runs over to you, grabbing your hand. "Mommy! Daddy's the prince, and we're playing princesses!"

You raise an eyebrow at Leehan, who just shrugs, still wearing the ridiculous crown. "I couldn't say no."

You laugh, kneeling down to join them. "Well, it looks like you're doing a great job as prince."

He grins, reaching out to pull you into the game. "Care to join us, my lady?"

You roll your eyes but play along, taking his hand. "Of course, your highness."

The rest of the day is spent in pure joy—playing, laughing, and enjoying the kind of simple, precious moments that make everything worth it.

Later, after the girls have been tucked into bed, you and Leehan sit together on the couch, exhausted but content. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

"Today was perfect," you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kisses the top of your head softly. "It was, wasn't it?"

You smile to yourself, feeling incredibly lucky to have this little family, to have him. "Happy birthday, baby."

He squeezes your hand gently. "Thank you. For everything."

And in that quiet moment, as the house falls into peaceful silence, you realize that this is exactly how birthdays should be—filled with love, laughter, and the people who matter most.

Carefully, you slip out of bed, making sure not to disturb him. You move with the grace of a cat, padding quietly out of the room and into the kitchen. The plan is to surprise him with breakfast in bed, followed by a day filled with love, laughter, and sweet indulgences. You’ve thought of every detail, knowing that he deserves the best today.

You start by preparing his favorite breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the scent of sizzling bacon. Eggs are whisked and scrambled to perfection, toast is buttered just right, and you even cut up some fresh fruit, arranging it artfully on the plate. As you work, you can’t help but hum a little tune, excitement bubbling up inside you.

Once everything is ready, you carefully arrange the food on a tray, adding a small vase with a single flower for that extra touch. You glance at the clock; it’s still early enough that he should be sound asleep. Perfect.

Balancing the tray in your hands, you make your way back to the bedroom. You pause at the door, taking a moment to admire him. He’s lying on his side, his face relaxed and peaceful, one arm draped over the pillow. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, and you can’t help but feel a surge of affection. He’s twenty-one today, and you want to make sure he remembers this birthday forever.

Gently, you place the tray on the bedside table and lean down, your lips hovering just above his ear. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you whisper, your voice soft and full of warmth.

He stirs slightly, a sleepy smile spreading across his face before his eyes flutter open. “Morning,” he mumbles, his voice husky with sleep. He blinks a few times, trying to focus, and then his gaze lands on the tray beside him. “You didn’t have to do all this…”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Of course, I did. Today’s your day, and I want it to start off perfectly.”

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is adorably tousled, and you can’t resist leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday,” you murmur against his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep, but there’s a genuine happiness in his eyes. “This looks amazing.”

You hand him the tray, watching as he takes his first sip of coffee. The look of pure bliss on his face makes all the effort worth it. You smile, knowing that the day has only just begun. As he digs into his breakfast, you inch closer, leaning in to press another kiss on his cheek.

“One,” you count softly.

He glances at you, eyebrows raised. “One what?”

You grin, not answering, and plant another kiss on his jawline. “Two.”

He laughs, a sound that makes your heart flutter. “What are you up to?”

“Shh,” you hush him playfully, placing another kiss just below his ear. “Three.”

“Are you counting kisses?”

You nod, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s a special tradition. Twenty-one kisses for twenty-one years.”

A warm blush spreads across his cheeks as he takes another bite of his breakfast. “I like this tradition.”

You continue, kissing every part of his face—his forehead, his nose, his chin—counting each one until you reach twenty-one. By the time you’re done, he’s laughing, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Okay, okay, you’ve outdone yourself,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “What else do you have planned?”

You pretend to think for a moment, tapping your chin. “Well, I was thinking… how about we bake your birthday cake together?”

His eyes light up at the suggestion. “That sounds perfect.”

After he finishes his breakfast, you both head to the kitchen, where all the ingredients for the cake are laid out. You’ve chosen a recipe you know he loves—rich, chocolatey, and just a little bit indulgent.

You work side by side, measuring flour, cracking eggs, and mixing the batter. It’s a dance you’ve done many times before, moving around each other effortlessly. There’s something comforting about baking together, the shared activity bringing you closer.

He’s in charge of the whisk, and as he mixes the batter, you watch the muscles in his arms flex with the motion. You bite your lip, a sudden rush of affection flooding through you. He notices you staring and grins. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, trying to keep a straight face. “Just admiring your skills.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Sure you are.”

Once the batter is ready, you pour it into the cake pan and slide it into the oven. You set the timer and turn to him, a playful glint in your eye. “Now we wait.”

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “What should we do while we wait?”

You smile, leaning into him. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

Time seems to slip away as you talk, laugh, and steal kisses. Before long, the timer goes off, and the smell of freshly baked cake fills the kitchen. You pull the cake out of the oven, setting it on the counter to cool.

As you wait, you start preparing the icing. It’s a simple vanilla buttercream, sweet and creamy, the perfect complement to the rich chocolate cake. You add a few drops of food coloring, turning it a soft, pale blue—his favorite color.

He watches as you spread the icing over the cake, his expression one of pure contentment. “You really went all out,” he says, his voice soft.

You glance up at him, smiling. “You deserve it.”

As you finish icing the cake, you scoop a bit of the icing onto your finger and hold it out to him. “Want a taste?”

He leans in, but instead of tasting it, he narrows his eyes playfully. “You’re up to something.”

You try to look innocent, but the grin on your face gives you away. He takes a step back, shaking his head. “Put the icing down.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, stepping closer. “It’s your birthday!”

He laughs, dodging as you try to swipe the icing on his cheek. But you’re faster, and with a triumphant smile, you manage to get a smear of blue icing on his face.

He looks at you in mock outrage. “You’re going to pay for that.”

You’re laughing too hard to respond, and before you know it, he’s grabbed a handful of icing from the bowl and is chasing you around the kitchen. You try to dodge him, but he’s quicker than you anticipated, and soon you’re both covered in icing, laughing like children.

When you finally call a truce, you’re both out of breath, leaning against the counter, icing smeared on your faces and clothes. He looks at you, his eyes shining with affection. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You smile, reaching up to wipe a bit of icing from his cheek. “I’m glad. That was the goal.”

After you clean up, you slice into the cake, each of you taking a piece. It’s rich and decadent, just as you knew it would be. You share a few bites, feeding each other and savoring the sweetness of the moment.

As the afternoon wears on, you start preparing his favorite meal for dinner. You want everything to be perfect, so you put in as much effort as possible, carefully following the recipe and adding your own little touches here and there. He watches you cook, offering to help, but you shake your head, insisting that today is his day to relax.

As you work, you can feel his eyes on you, and when you glance over, he’s smiling softly. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You blush, focusing on the task at hand. “I just want to make you happy.”

“You do,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “More than anything.”

Finally, the meal is ready, and you sit down to eat together. The table is set with candles, the food is laid out beautifully, and everything is just as you imagined it. You watch as he takes his first bite, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes widen, and he lets out a low hum of appreciation. “This is incredible.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “I’m glad you like it.”

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “I don’t just like it. I love it. I love everything about today. You’ve made me feel so special.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with affection. “That’s because you are special. And I wanted to make sure you knew that.”

After dinner, as you’re clearing the table, he suddenly pulls you into a hug, holding you close. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, “I didn’t need any gifts today. Having you, and everything you’ve done, is more than enough.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t prepare anything more. I just wanted to focus on spending time with you.”

He shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t be sorry. This day… it’s been perfect. You’ve given me the best gift of all.”

You smile, your heart full. “What’s that?”

“You,” he says simply, his voice filled with love. “Having you in my life is the greatest gift I could ever ask for.”

You lean into him, your heart overflowing with emotion. “I love you,” you whisper, the words feeling both simple and profound in the moment.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice full of warmth. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The two of you stand there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading away. Today has been about more than just a birthday; it’s been a celebration of your love, your connection, and the life you’ve built together.

Later, as the day winds down and you find yourselves back in bed, you think about everything that’s happened. The laughter, the sweetness, the quiet moments of affection—all of it has made this day unforgettable.

As you lie there, his arms wrapped around you, you realize that this is what true happiness feels like. It’s not about grand gestures or expensive gifts; it’s about the simple, everyday moments that you share with the person you love.

And as you drift off to sleep, you know that today, and every day, you have given him the greatest gift of all—your heart.

“Y/n? Y/n! Where are you?” Hanbin’s shouts landed on deaf ears, echoing around the dark void without anyone to receive them. He didn’t know where he was, or how he ended up there in the first place. The last thing he remembered was you holding him close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead with tears in your eyes. Why were you crying? Why did you look so scared?

His gaze dropped to his hands, inspecting them as if they would give him some answers. They looked normal, but something felt different. He couldn’t feel his magic surging in his veins. Before, he could sense his heart beating slowly if he focused, but now, it felt like it was pounding in his chest, so loud he couldn’t stop hearing it. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth: no fangs. 

Was he… no longer a vampire? 

He touched his collarbone, feeling for the tattoos. They were still there, yet they didn’t react to his touch. No glowing, no surge of his powers, just stillness. He gulped. For the first time, unquenchable fear filled his body.

For hundreds of years he had learned to live a certain way. Always close to you, so that his powers could be strongest. Always in harmony between his natural body and supernatural vampiric features. He never needed to worry about sickness or the cold. He could transform into a bat at will or heal wounds, both physical and mental. 

He felt useless now, unable to do any of the things he used to. Lost, without a single direction to go towards. He couldn’t remember what he did as a human; what he used to fill his time with. It was too long ago to recall. He felt like he had just been born again, with no sense of how to go about the world. He’d have to learn all over again. But first, he was determined to find you. 

He wasn’t himself without you. You had held a part of him for too long, caring for his soul as if it was your own. If he wasn’t with you, he had no purpose. So, he took a few steps forward, slowly getting used to the feeling of the ground beneath his feet. Every step took energy he wasn’t used to expending. He felt weak, as if he could pass out at any moment. A pounding headache across his forehead and a weak unstable feeling in his knees. He had never felt this weak as a vampire. 

With each step he took, more ground appeared beneath his feet. Slowly, a sort of town came into view. It was quaint. Little wooden cottages topped with red roofs. Signs pointed out the street names and directions. He stopped to read a few, figuring out which way to head next. He hesitantly chose the town centre, deciding it was a reasonable spot to start. 

People stared at him as he walked by. He didn’t care to find out why. Years of only caring about your opinions trained him to not give them a second glance. He knew his purpose, sure of himself and confident. Although he was scared to admit that his confidence was wavering without you by his side. 

He reached the town square where an official looking building stood next to a fountain. He assumed it must be the governor’s office or some mayor’s building. Maybe he could get a list of residents? He stepped up the stairs, pulling the door open to be met with a fairly empty entranceway. There was a line of counters, behind which secretaries typed away at their typewriters and scribbled on paper with pens. He walked up to one of the open spots on the counter, face-to-face with an elderly man who’s fingers flew across the typewriter with practised ease.

“How may I help you?” His accent was thick and his tone weighted down by dull tiredness. He didn’t seem fazed by whatever had caused the other residents to stare unabashedly at Hanbin. The old man barely blinked twice at him.

“I’m looking for a list of residents in the town. I need to contact someone.” Hanbin said quietly. The man nodded, muttering that he would find a list in the back somewhere. As Hanbin was left alone for the time being, he surveyed the other people in the building, each talking at the counter as well. They were too quiet for him to make out the conversations; his hearing significantly weakened since he lost his powers. One voice stood out, though.

“No, not Hanjin— I’m looking for Hanbin! Sung Hanbin.”

Hanbin’s eyes widened, his head whipping around to try to find the owner of the loud voice. 

“How many times do I have to repeat myself? He’s about 180cm tall, has dark black hair, pale skin, and a slim face. He has to be in your records somewhere.”

“Ma’am, I’m sure we can find him, rest assured. What did you say his birthday was again?”

“June thirteenth.”

“What year?”

“25.”

“1925?”

“No. 25. The year 25. Zero, zero, two, five.”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure I follow. Do you mean to say he is over nineteen hundred years old? No human has ever—”  

Hanbin had never felt his heart race so fast. Adrenaline pulled at every muscle in his body so suddenly he could hardly comprehend what was happening before his legs were rushing him over to where you stood, arguing with the lady at the counter.

“Y/n,” He called to you, and time seemed to slow as you turned your head. “Excuse us,” He mumbled quickly to the lady at the counter, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out the door of the building. He kept walking, his hold on your arm tight, afraid you would disappear. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, entranced by his appearance. Once he had found a secluded area, he stopped walking, trailing his hand up your arm to your shoulder instead.

“What happened? Where are we?” The questions flew out of his mouth. You didn’t have an answer for him. 

“I’ve been looking for you for days.” Tears brimmed in your eyes as you looked at him. You touched his cheek with your hand. It felt warm. 

“What happened on the day of the battle?” He asked again, prying for an answer. You shook your head, tears falling. You just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him, head against his chest. Shaky breaths in as you felt his heartbeat; steady, fast, warm. 

“I don’t want to think about it.” You told him quietly. Hanbin could only hold you, mind confused and worried. There were so many questions he had. He was sure you had the answers, if only you’d tell him. But he wouldn’t push you, not when you clearly were in a delicate mental state. 

He wished he could feel you like he used to. You had only been in his arms a few minutes, but it felt different. He couldn’t relax your body with a spell, or get a peek into your thoughts. He tried to figure you out from the outside, and that was a difficult task. 

“We should get you new clothes. These ones are soaked with blood.” You mumbled after a while, face still buried against his chest. Hanbin looked down to his sleeve, noticing for the first time that he did have very obvious stains. No wonder he got so many curious stares. He wondered what they were from. Surely, it couldn’t have been his own blood. He wasn’t injured or bleeding. 

“Y/n, what is this town?” Hanbin asked anxiously, as he spotted someone looking at you both from across the road. 

“It’s for the undead. Everyone here has already passed away, including you and me.”

“What?”

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You remember Riwoo mentioning a couple dance routine a few months ago. He had suggested the two of you try it together, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he showed you the video. But you’d laughed it off, making some excuse about having two left feet, and the moment passed. You could still see the disappointment in his eyes, though he never mentioned it again.

So, here you are, standing in the middle of a dance studio, feeling completely out of place.

“You must be here for the lessons,” a voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn and see a man in his late thirties, a warm smile on his face. “I’m Jihoon, your instructor.”

You nod, swallowing nervously. “Yeah, that’s me. I, uh, need to learn a dance routine. Fast.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How fast are we talking?”

You hesitate. “Riwoo’s birthday is in two weeks. I want to surprise him.”

Jihoon chuckles softly, stepping closer. “That’s ambitious. Do you have any experience with dancing?”

“Not… really,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “Actually, I’m pretty terrible at it. I don’t pick things up easily.”

“Two weeks, huh?” Jihoon sighs but doesn’t lose his smile. “Alright. Tell me about the routine.”

You explain it as best you can, describing the video Riwoo had shown you, and Jihoon listens carefully. When you’re done, he nods and stretches his arms.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

The first lesson goes about as well as you expected. Which is to say, terribly.

“Step forward with your right foot—no, your *other* right foot,” Jihoon says, barely hiding his amusement.

You groan, stumbling over yourself again. “I told you I was bad at this.”

“You’re not bad, you’re learning,” he corrects. “It’s different. Trust me, everyone struggles at first.”

But it doesn’t feel like just struggling. It feels like you’re never going to get it right. You keep stepping in the wrong direction, tripping over your own feet, and every time Jihoon goes over the moves, your mind blanks out halfway through.

After the first hour, you’re exhausted. Jihoon hands you a bottle of water, and you take it gratefully, collapsing onto a bench.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

He sits beside you, his expression patient. “It’s normal to feel that way in the beginning. Dancing is hard, but it’s not impossible. You just have to push through the frustration.”

You glance at him, unsure. “What if I mess it up? I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Riwoo.”

“Then you keep practicing until you don’t mess up,” he says simply. “The fact that you’re doing this at all means a lot. Riwoo’s going to love it, whether you get every step right or not.”

You nod, trying to let his words sink in. But as you leave the studio that day, all you can think about is how much more you have to learn. Two weeks feels impossibly short.

The second lesson doesn’t go much better.

Jihoon watches as you stumble through the moves, his brow furrowing. “Okay, stop for a second.”

You stop, panting, feeling the sweat dripping down your face. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Your timing’s off. You’re anticipating the next step before you’ve finished the first one. Relax. Focus on one movement at a time.”

Easier said than done. You try again, concentrating hard on each step, but by the end of the routine, you’ve still missed half of them.

You slump against the wall, frustrated. “I’m never going to get this right.”

Jihoon crosses his arms, watching you carefully. “You’re overthinking it. Dancing isn’t just about following steps—it’s about feeling the rhythm. Don’t let your head get in the way.”

“I can’t help it,” you snap, more at yourself than at him. “I don’t want to mess this up for him.”

He softens, understanding in his eyes. “You’re not going to. You’re already putting in more effort than most people would. That says a lot.”

You don’t answer, but his words stay with you, lingering in your mind as you drive home. You’re trying to do something special for Riwoo. That’s what matters, right?

By the time you hit your tenth lesson, you’ve at least gotten three steps out of seven. It’s not great progress, but it’s something. You’ve memorized the first half of the routine, though it’s still clumsy and awkward when you try to string the steps together.

Jihoon has been patient through all of it, offering encouragement even when you feel like quitting. Today, however, you’ve hit a wall.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you blurt out, dropping your arms to your sides. “I’m exhausted, and it’s still not coming together.”

Jihoon looks at you, his expression unreadable. You’re sure he’s about to tell you to push through, to keep going even though you feel like collapsing on the floor.

Instead, he says, “Take five.”

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Take a break,” he repeats. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. Relax for a bit.”

Relief washes over you, and you don’t argue. You sit down, stretching out your legs and taking deep breaths. Jihoon walks over to the stereo, switching off the music.

“I know this feels impossible right now,” he says after a moment. “But you’ve made progress. More than you think.”

You shake your head, not convinced. “I’ve barely learned half of it.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But you’ve learned something. You didn’t give up after the first day, did you?”

“No, but—”

“Then that’s progress,” he interrupts gently. “You’re not going to master the whole routine in two weeks. That was never realistic. But you’re showing up, and you’re trying. That counts.”

You stare at the floor, feeling the weight of exhaustion and doubt pressing down on you. “I just want it to be perfect for Riwoo.”

Jihoon crouches down in front of you, meeting your eyes. “Riwoo doesn’t care about perfect. He cares about you. And he’s going to love this because it’s coming from you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for the first time in days, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Riwoo won’t care if you don’t get every step right.

“Take a few more minutes,” Jihoon says, standing up again. “Then we’ll go over the first half one more time.”

You nod, letting yourself breathe. You’re tired, but you’re not giving up. Not yet.

On the night of Riwoo’s birthday, you’re nervous. No, more than nervous—you’re terrified.

You stand outside his apartment, shifting from foot to foot, your hands shaking. The small speaker in your bag feels heavier than it should, and you wonder if this was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just said “Happy Birthday” like a normal person.

But it’s too late now. You’ve come this far, and there’s no turning back.

You knock on the door, and a few seconds later, Riwoo opens it, his face lighting up when he sees you.

“Hey!” he greets you with that easy smile that always makes your heart race. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to surprise you,” you mumble, stepping inside.

He looks around as if expecting to see something else, like a wrapped gift or a cake. “Surprise? What is it?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I… I learned something for you.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Learned something? What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, you pull the speaker out of your bag and set it on the floor. You find the song you’ve been practicing to and press play. The familiar beat fills the room, and you turn to face him.

“I—remember that dance you showed me a while back?” you say, barely meeting his eyes. “The one I said I couldn’t do? Well, I—um, I’ve been learning it. For your birthday.”

Riwoo’s eyes widen, his mouth parting in surprise. “Wait, you’re serious?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “I’m not good at it, but… I wanted to try. For you.”

For a moment, he’s speechless, and you’re sure this was a terrible idea. But then, he smiles—the kind of smile that reaches his eyes—and suddenly, all the nerves and doubt don’t seem to matter.

“You did all that for me?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you mutter, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t want to just say ‘Happy Birthday.’”

His eyes are shining as he steps closer. “Can I see it?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you nod. You position yourself, take a deep breath, and begin.

The first few steps go smoothly. You’ve practiced them enough that your body moves on instinct, even if you still feel awkward. But as the routine continues, you fumble—just like you knew you would. Your feet get tangled, you miss a turn, and by the time you hit the fifth step, you’re completely out of sync with the music.

But you don’t stop. You keep going, pushing through the mistakes, because this isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing Riwoo how much you care.

When the song ends, you’re breathless and flushed, waiting for his reaction. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like you’ve just laid your heart on the line.

Riwoo steps forward, and before you can say anything, he pulls you into a tight hug.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers into your ear. “That was the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

You exhale, tension leaving your body in a rush of relief. “Even though I messed up?”

“Especially because you messed up,” he says with a laugh, pulling back to look at you. “You didn’t have to do all that for me, but you did. That means more than you know.”

You smile, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. Maybe Jihoon was right. Riwoo doesn’t care about perfect. He cares about you.

And in the end, that’s all that matters.