#saesangs

♪♪ But I won't feel blue, Like I always do.

'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you... ♪♪

The song hums softly in your ears, familiar and comforting in that quiet, late-evening kind of way. The kind that makes everything feel a little slower, a little softer—like the world isn’t actively trying to ruin your life for once.

You swing the plastic bag in your hand absentmindedly, the crinkle of it barely audible over the music. Chips, instant ramen, a chocolate bar you definitely didn’t need but bought anyway—your survival kit for the night.

Honestly? You deserved this.

A whole week of corporate torture—emails, fake smiles, “per my last email” energy, and pretending you actually cared about whatever meeting could’ve been a message—and now you were finally free. No alarms. No deadlines. No people. Just you, your snacks, and absolutely zero responsibilities.

You take a small skip in your step, not even realizing you’re doing it, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The streetlights flicker on one by one, casting that warm, golden glow over the pavement. It’s quiet—not dead silent, but peaceful enough that your shoulders finally relax for the first time all day. One earbud shifts slightly as you adjust it, humming along under your breath, completely in your own little world.

This was the plan.

Get home. Change into your comfiest clothes. Flop onto your bed like you’ve just survived a war. Eat everything in that bag like it personally offended you. Maybe put on something mindless in the background and just… exist.

No chaos. No drama. No unexpected plot twists. Just a normal, peaceful night.

…yeah, that was the plan.

You’re mid-hum, fully vibing, when something feels… off. Not dramatic. Just—off. At first, it’s just noise. Footsteps. Fast ones. You barely notice it, still in your own world, until the sound gets louder. Closer. Messier. Like someone’s not just walking—but running.

Your brows knit slightly as you pull one earbud out. That’s when you see him. A guy—dressed head to toe in black—running like his life depends on it. Not jogging. Not late-for-something running. No—this is panic running.

His hair catches under the streetlight for a second—cherry red—and his face…

Yeah. Not okay. He looks exhausted. Like he’s been running for way too long. Breathing uneven, steps slightly unsteady, like he could trip any second.

And then—

Voices. High-pitched. Loud. Too loud. You glance past him and your stomach twists. A group of girls, phones out, chasing him. Actually chasing him.

Not normal. Not excited-fan normal. Something about it feels wrong. Pushy. Aggressive. Your grip tightens around your snack bag.

Yeah… no. That’s weird.

Your brain told you that it's not your problem. But your body was already moving.

“Hey—!”

You don’t even think it through. You just step forward and grab his wrist as he passes you. He stumbles, clearly not expecting it, and you don’t give him time to react—just pull him hard toward the narrow gap between two buildings.

“Don’t fight me, just—come here,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

You shove him into the tight space, pushing him back into the shadows. He nearly collapses right there, one hand hitting the wall to steady himself.

Crap.

No time. You step out just as the girls catch up. Phones still up. Eyes scanning. One of them looks straight at you.

“Did you see someone pass by? Red hair? Black clothes?”

You blink at her. Tilt your head slightly. Confused. Blank. Innocent.

“…No?”

A pause.

You even add a small frown, like they’re mildly inconveniencing you.

“I’ve just been walking. There’s no one here.”

They groan—actual, loud frustration—and one of them mutters something under her breath before they all rush past you, heading the other direction. You stand there for a second. Still. Listening. Footsteps fading. Voices disappearing. And only when you’re sure—completely sure—they’re gone…

You let out a breath. Silence. You turn back toward the gap.

“…Hey?”

He’s still there. Barely.

Pressed against the wall, shoulders slumped, breathing like he’s been holding himself together by pure willpower alone.

Up close, he looks worse. Way worse.

Hair messy, sticking slightly to his forehead. Clothes disheveled. His chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.

You step closer, cautious now.

“Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Obviously not.

He tries to straighten, like he wants to respond, but it doesn’t really work. His hand slips slightly against the wall.

“…You shouldn’t—” he starts, voice hoarse, barely audible.

And then he sways. Your eyes widen.

“Wait—”

Too late. His entire weight drops forward. Right onto you.

“—oh my god—!”

You barely manage to catch him, arms wrapping around him on instinct as you stagger back a step.

He’s heavy. Like—really heavy. And completely out.

“Hey—hey, hello??”

You shift your grip, trying not to let both of you fall over. No response. Great.

“Please don’t be dead, I literally just met you.”

You adjust him again, struggling as his full weight leans into you. One of your hands presses against his neck—pulse.

Okay. He’s alive. Barely cooperating, but alive. You let out a shaky breath, then pause.

He’s… warm. No—not warm. Burning.

“…Why are you so hot?” you mumble, pressing the back of your hand lightly against his forehead.

Yeah. Fever. Definitely fever.

You look around, suddenly hyper-aware of everything again. The empty street. The direction those girls ran. The fact that you’re standing here holding an unconscious stranger like this is completely normal.

Your brain starts firing off all at once—

You don’t know him. This is unsafe. You should leave. You can’t leave. What if they come back? What if he wakes up and—what? Kills you? Great. Nice plan.

“Wow. Amazing. Love this situation for me,” you mutter under your breath. You shift again, nearly losing balance.

“Okay—nope—can’t stay here.”

You look down at him. Unconscious. Breathing heavy. Completely out of it.

“…You’re actually so inconvenient right now.”

A pause. A deep sigh escaped your lips. You just wanted a damn peaceful night to yourself. So much for having a great night.

“Yeah… no. I’m not letting you die in an alley. Congrats.”

You adjust your grip on him, already regretting every life decision that led you here.

“Okay—stand. Stand up. Help me out a little, yeah?” you mumble, even though he’s very clearly unconscious and not helping at all.

Useless. You hook one of his arms over your shoulder, wrapping your arm around his waist to keep him upright. Or… attempt to. The moment you try to move, his full weight drops into you again.

“—oh my god you’re HEAVY—”

You stumble forward, nearly dragging both of you to the ground. Great. Perfect. This is how you die. Crushed under a random hot stranger in an alley. You pause, breathing hard already, adjusting your stance.

“Did you eat bricks or something…?”

No response. Obviously. You shift again, lifting him properly this time, forcing yourself to stand straight.

“Okay. We walk. Slowly. No dying. No collapsing. We’re both surviving this.”

One step. Then another. And wow. This is hell. You’re half-dragging, half-carrying him down the street, your snack bag awkwardly hooked onto your wrist, hitting your leg with every step like it’s mocking you. Your pace is slow. Painfully slow. Every few seconds you have to stop and readjust because he keeps slipping.

“Stay UP—please—just pretend you have bones—”

You huff, pushing his weight higher on your shoulder. Your arms are already starting to ache. Your back? Screaming.

“Yeah… I really need to start working out. This is embarrassing.”

The walk to your apartment has never felt this long in your life. It’s literally a few minutes away. A few. And yet here you are, fighting for your life like you’re climbing a mountain. You pause near the corner, slightly bent forward under his weight, trying to catch your breath.

“Okay… okay… we’re almost there. You better appreciate this when you wake up.”

He does not, in fact, appreciate anything. Because he is still unconscious. Rude. You glance around quickly. Still clear. Good. You keep moving, steps uneven but determined, until your building finally comes into view.

“Oh thank god—”

You almost cry. At this point, you don’t even care if someone sees you. You just need to get inside. You fumble with your keys the moment you reach the door, your hands shaking slightly from exhaustion.

“Why is this suddenly so hard—”

The key slips. Of course it does. “Great. Love that.”

You adjust him again with a frustrated groan, pressing him against your side just enough so you can use both hands. Second try. The key slides in. You unlock the door, push it open with your foot, and basically drag both of you inside. The second the door shuts behind you—

You stop. Still. Silent. Safe. You let out a long, shaky breath. “…Okay.”

You don’t even make it far. You somehow get him to your room—honestly, you don’t even remember how—and the moment you reach your bed, you just—Drop him. Not aggressively. Just… no more strength left. He lands on the mattress, body sinking into it as you immediately stumble back. You stand there for a second. Hands on your knees. Breathing like you just ran a marathon.

“…what the hell did I just do.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to process everything. You went out to buy snacks. That’s it. That was the plan. And now there’s an unconscious man on your bed. A very attractive, very questionable-life-decision man.

“…I actually look like a kidnapper right now.” You straighten slightly, running a hand through your hair, still trying to catch your breath.

“Wow. If anyone walks in right now, I’m done. Jail. Immediately.” You glance at him again. Really look this time. Messy red hair. Sharp features. Even in this state, he looks… unreal. Familiar too. But your brain’s too tired to connect anything right now.

“Yeah… no. We’ll deal with that later.” You sigh, stepping closer to the bed. “Okay… let’s see if you’re at least not dying.”

You crouch beside him, hesitating for a second before reaching out. Your fingers hover near his forehead… then lightly touch. Still burning. “Yeah, no, that’s not normal.”

You frown, standing up immediately and heading to the kitchen. Water. Cloth. Basic survival instincts kicking in. You come back quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed as you gently press the damp cloth against his forehead. He shifts slightly at the contact, brows furrowing faintly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not fun,” you mumble softly. You adjust it carefully, your movements slower now. Gentler. His breathing is still uneven, but a little less harsh than before. You notice how tense he looks. Even unconscious. Like his body hasn’t realized it’s safe yet. Your hand moves without thinking, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. You pause.

“…you’re gonna owe me for this.” There’s no response. Of course not. Still… you don’t pull your hand away immediately. The room is quiet. Too quiet compared to everything that just happened. You lean back slightly, sitting beside him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. Your body aches. Your head feels heavy. And yet—you can’t really relax. Your eyes drift back to him again. Still unconscious. Still in your bed. Still a complete stranger.

“…you better not wake up and be a serial killer,” you mutter under your breath. A small pause. “…because I did not carry you all the way here for that.”

You let out a quiet breath, resting your head against the wall behind you. For a moment, everything feels still. Then—A slight movement. You glance back. His fingers twitch faintly. His breathing shifts. Like he’s on the edge of waking up. You straighten slightly without realizing it.

“…oh.” And just like that—Your peaceful night Officially over.

Heeseung's phone was going off like a time bomb beside his semi-conscious self and you were contemplating whether to check it or let it be. The incessant buzzing had been going on for what felt like hours, each notification making the poor guy beside you twitch in his sleep.

You had made the executive decision to not touch his phone. Obviously. You weren't some creep who went through people's shit while they were passed out. So you just sat there, on the floor of your tiny apartment, watching this stranger sleep on your bed, wondering what fresh hell you had stumbled into.

Heeseung slowly wakes up, registering his unfamiliar surroundings and also an unfamiliar figure sitting in front of him, watching him with curious eyes. His eyes fluttered open, heavy and confused. He squinted, trying to focus, and when he finally did, they widened in pure panic.

He panics, of course. Hostile because he doesn't know you. He sits up fast, in alarm, nearly giving himself whiplash. His eyes were wandering around the room, wild and frantic, trying to piece together where the hell he was. The wet cloth on his forehead drops in his lap with a soft plop. His head was throbbing, a dull, persistent ache that made his vision swim.

"Who are you? Where am I?" His voice was raspy, laced with suspicion.

You filling him in while slowly trying to calm him down. "Hey, hey, relax. You're safe. You're in my apartment. You... uh... you kind of collapsed on me a few hours ago?" You said it like a question, because this whole situation was still so surreal to you too.

Heeseung just stared, his breathing still a little too fast. He was running a hand through his hair, and that's when the memories came flooding back. The chase, the girls, the alley, and then... you. He let out a resigned sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looked up at you, his expression guarded.

"What do you want from me? Now that you 'saved' me from those saesangs." His tone had a bite to it, sharp and cynical, as if he couldn't trust you as far as he could throw you.

You got offended, not knowing he has a reason for being like this. Like his idol life isn't exactly rainbows and sunshines, not that you know that.

"Excuse me?" You say in disbelief, your own temper flaring up. "What do I want? How about a 'thank you' for not leaving your ass to get mauled by a pack of rabid fangirls?"

Then you start ranting to him on how you just wanted a lazy night with your snacks but ended up being a caretaker. "I was having a perfectly good night, okay? A sacred night. My one night off from corporate slavery. I had my ramen, I had my dumb reality shows lined up, and then you happened. Literally ran into me. And now I'm here, playing nurse to some ungrateful stranger who's probably going to get me sued or something. So yeah, excuse me for having basic human decency."

He also snapped that you didn't have to bother with him. He was just frustrated. No, not at you but at the whole situation. Poor man just wanted to get some fresh air, not have his privacy wrecked. Even at the HQ, he was in hot waters with his company. Not that you know any of that, again. You don't even know him.

"I didn't ask you to 'bother' with me!" He shot back, his voice rising. "You could have just walked away! I would have been fine!"

"Hello!?" You were on your feet now, hands on your hips. "You ungrateful human, I have basic humanity and I couldn't just leave you there to die!? You were literally burning up!"

He softened at that, the fight draining out of him. He looked away, his jaw tight. "Sorry," he mumbled, back to being his soft-spoken persona. "I... thank you. For helping me."

Then he went silent and remembering how he ended up like this in the first place.

The poor male was out to get some fresh air in the evening, after being stressed and not feeling quite fine. The air in the dorm had been thick with tension, the same old suffocating feeling that had been lingering for months. He and his members were at their breaking point, treated like fucking slaves by their own company. They were overworked, underappreciated, and Heeseung's solo debut? The one he'd poured his heart and soul into, the one he'd been promised for two years now? It was being shelved. Again. 'The timing isn't right,' they'd said. 'Focus on the group comeback.'

So he'd left. Just for a bit. To breathe. To feel like a person and not a product. But then he got mobbed by saesangs, their faces a twisted mask of obsession. He started running, his lungs burning, his head spinning, and then you saving him. Him falling unconscious, the last thing he remembered being the shock of your apartment's cool air and the softness of your couch as everything went black.

He reminds everything in his mind while you just admire his pretty eyes and face. God, he was even more attractive when he was all broody and vulnerable. His eyes, a deep, dark brown that seemed to hold a universe of sadness, were framed by long lashes. His jaw was sharp, his lips plush even when they were set in a firm line. It was unfair, really.

You broke out of your trance when he clears his throat, and you want the ground to open up and swallow you before you die from embarrassment. You whipped your face to the other side at the speed of lightning, your cheeks burning.

"Right," he said, a small, almost amused smile playing on his lips. "Water?"

"Yeah. Water. Good." You practically fled to the kitchen, your heart hammering against your ribs. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were just harboring a ridiculously handsome, possibly famous, definitely traumatized stranger in your home. No big deal.

you come back with water, medicine, and soup to take medicine. And sat it in front of him on a tray on the bed. The little tray looked ridiculously domestic sitting on your coffee table, a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few hours.

He clearly had not expected that hospitality and now he felt even more embarrassed for lashing out earlier. His eyes softened as he looked at the simple meal, a flush creeping up his neck. He quietly thanked you, his voice barely a whisper, and did what you told him, taking the pills with a grimace and then slowly sipping the soup.

After finishing taking medicine, you tell him that his phone was going off for a while now. "Your phone, by the way. It's been having a seizure. I think it's important."

He should check it and he did and cursed softly under his breath before quickly dialing someone and not even a sec the phone got picked and he heard a very exasperated yet worried loud voice asking him where the hell he is, it's close to midnight now. "Where the hell are you, Heeseung!? Do you have any idea what time it is? We've been calling you for hours! The manager is about to have an aneurysm!"

Heeseung briefly looked at you, a flicker of apology in his eyes, before turning away and filling the other person about what happened to him, who you got to know was someone named Jay. He kept it vague, just mentioned getting cornered and needing to hide, and that a stranger had helped him.

Then Heeseung asked you if it was fine to tell your address so that his friend can come and pick him up. He covered the receiver with his hand. "Is it... is it okay if I tell my friend where I am? He can come get me. He won't cause any trouble."

You nodded, rattling off your address before he went back to the call. After a few minutes of being reprimanded by someone younger than him, he cut the call with a weary sigh, looking like he'd just aged ten years.

There was an awkward moment of heavy silence between you before you broke it by asking him a question. "Who are you, if you don't mind telling me? Are you like an idol or something? Well if yes, that would explain why you were being chased by those people like rabid animals."

Heeseung laughed at that, a real, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Rabid animals... that's one way to put it." He slowly confirmed your statement, introducing himself. "I'm Heeseung. From Enhypen." He looked at you, his expression suddenly serious, almost pleading. "But... you can't tell anyone. Please. You have to keep it a secret."

You felt bad for him. You felt like you needed to explain yourself that you are not that kind of person who ruins other people's lives for fun or whatever. "Oh my god, of course not! I would never! I'm not like that, I swear. I don't even follow celebrity news, I barely have time to follow my own life, let alone someone else's. I just work and come home and eat snacks and that's my whole personality. I promise I'm not some psycho fan who's going to sell your story to the highest bidder or post your location online. I value my peace and quiet too much for that kind of drama, you know? And I just—"

You kept yapping, thinking you are doing a good job explaining yourself and Heeseung was listening to you in amusement. A small smile was playing on his lips, his head tilted slightly as he watched you gesture wildly. But when he realized you would talk his ear off, he didn't know what came over him.

He stopped you talking by clasping your lips shut by his index and thumb, a low sound escaping him akin to a laugh. Your eyes went wide, your words dying instantly against his warm fingers.

"You talk too much," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I get it. You're a good person. I trust you... for now." He let his hand fall away, his touch lingering for a second too long.

Your cheeks were on fire. You opened your mouth, then closed it, completely at a loss for words for the first time all night.

He chuckled again, a little shyly this time. "Sorry. It was the only way I could think of to stop you."

The doorbell rang, startling you both. It was a sharp, insistent buzz that cut through the weird, charged silence that had fallen between you.

"That'll be Jay," Heeseung said, already trying to get up. He swayed on his feet, and you rushed forward to steady him, your hands landing on his arm. His skin was still warm, and you could feel the lean muscle beneath his shirt.

"Easy there," you murmured. "You're not exactly ready for a marathon."

He leaned into you just a little, his head bowing. "Right. Thanks."

You helped him to the door, your heart doing a weird little fluttery thing every time your hands brushed against him. When you opened it, a guy with piercing eyes and a face full of worry was standing there, his relief so palpable it was almost comical.

"Heeseung!" he said, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. "You idiot. Are you okay?"

"Fine, Jay. Just... tired," Heeseung mumbled.

Jay's gaze then shifted to you, and he gave you a polite but wary nod. "Thank you. For helping him. I'm Jay, by the way. His... handler, I guess."

You just waved a hand, feeling awkward. "No problem. He was just... here."

There was another awkward silence as Jay helped Heeseung, who was still looking a bit unsteady. Heeseung turned back to you at the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," he said, his voice low. "I really don't know how to thank you. For... everything."

"You don't have to," you said, trying to sound casual. "Just... get some rest, yeah? And maybe don't go for late-night strolls in dark alleys anymore."

He smiled, a small, tired smile. "I'll try."

And then they were gone, swallowed by the dimly lit hallway, leaving you standing in your doorway, the silence of your apartment rushing back in. You closed the door, leaning against it for a second, your mind replaying the whole bizarre night.

Your eyes fell on the coffee table. The soup bowl, the empty water glass, the damp washcloth. It was all evidence of a night that was supposed to be lazy and uneventful, a night that had instead been hijacked by a beautiful, wounded stranger.

You sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. So much for your peaceful night. You had a feeling this was just the beginning of something way more complicated. And as much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, a tiny, reckless part of you was already looking forward to it.

The next few days were a strange, quiet blur. You went to work, came home, ate your snacks, and tried to forget the boy with the sad eyes who had invaded your life for a few chaotic hours. But you couldn't. You'd find yourself zoning out during meetings, his voice echoing in your head. 'I trust you... for now.' You'd catch yourself looking over your shoulder on the street, half-expecting to see a pack of rabid fangirls or maybe just him.

You even googled him. Just once. You typed "Enhypen Heeseung" into the search bar and immediately felt like a creep. The pictures that popped up were polished, professional, a world away from the exhausted, vulnerable guy who had collapsed on your bed. He looked like a different person, and it made your chest feel weirdly tight.

It was on the fourth night, a Friday, when your phone buzzed with an unknown number. You almost ignored it, assuming it was a spam call. But something, a stupid, hopeful little flutter in your stomach, made you pick up.

"Hello?"

"Uh... hi. Is this..." A familiar voice, hesitant and a little shaky. "Is this the girl with the ramen and the very strong opinions on basic humanity?"

Your breath hitched. "Heeseung?"

"Yeah," he let out a small, relieved sigh. "It's me. I hope it's okay that I... you know. Called. Jay got your number from the building's emergency contact list. I know that's probably weird and I'm sorry, I just—"

"No, it's fine," you interrupted, sitting up straighter on your couch. "It's... fine. Are you okay? Did you get in trouble?"

"Define 'okay'," he said with a dry laugh. "I'm alive. The company freaked out, obviously. I'm on 'temporary leave' which is their nice way of saying they're locking me in the dorm until I stop being a 'liability'." He said the word with so much bitterness it made you wince. "But I'm... better. Thanks to you. And the soup."

You couldn't help but smile. "Glad my emergency ramen soup could be of service."

There was a pause, a comfortable sort of silence this time.

"Listen," he started, his voice lower. "I... I feel like I owe you. A proper thank you. And an apology for being a dick."

"You already apologized."

"Yeah, but that was the fever-induced, delirious apology. This is the... I've had time to reflect and realize I was an asshole to the one person who helped me apology."

"You're forgiven," you said softly. "Again."

"Good," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "So... how do you feel about repaying my debt with coffee? Or... something that isn't in your apartment? My treat. Somewhere private. I know a place."

And that's how you found yourself, two days later, sitting in a ridiculously overpriced, yet strangely empty, cafe in a part of town you'd never been to. It was all velvet curtains and hushed lighting, the kind of place that screamed "celebrity hideout."

He showed up ten minutes late, looking nervous. He was wearing a mask and a beanie pulled low over his eyes, but you would have recognized him anywhere. It was the way he carried himself, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes scanned the room before they landed on you.

He slid into the booth across from you, pulling his mask down to his chin. "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, trying to act casual while your heart was doing a full-on drum solo against your ribs. "Nice digs. Very 'secret agent' of you."

He cracked a smile. "Perks of the job, I guess." He fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Thanks for coming. I know this is weird."

"A little bit," you admitted. "But my life has been weirdly normal lately, so a little weird is probably good for me."

A barista came over, and Heeseung ordered for you both, his voice quiet and polite. When she left, he turned back to you, his expression serious.

"I really am sorry," he said, leaning forward. "For how I acted. I'm... not always like that. It's just... a lot. The company, the fans, the lack of privacy... sometimes it feels like I'm suffocating. And I took it out on you."

"I get it," you said, and you did. Even without knowing the full extent of it, you could see the weight he was carrying. "You were having a bad day. A really, really bad day."

"The worst," he agreed. "Until it wasn't."

You looked at him, really looked at him. In the soft light of the cafe, you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the tiredness that clung to him even now. But you also saw the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the genuine warmth in his expression.

"So," you said, changing the subject. "What's it like? Being an idol? Is it all private jets and free clothes?"

He snorted. "It's all practice and diets and smiling when you feel like screaming. And the clothes aren't free, they just make you wear them. It's... not what it looks like from the outside."

You talked for hours. He told you about the relentless schedule, the pressure to be perfect, the way his solo debut kept getting pushed back. He didn't name names or spill any huge secrets, but he gave you a glimpse into the gilded cage he lived in. In return, you told him about your soul-crushing corporate job, your love of trashy reality TV, and your dream of one day opening a small, cozy bookstore where no one would bother you.

He listened to everything with an intensity that made you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world. He laughed at your jokes, asked follow-up questions, and didn't once check his phone.

When the cafe started to close, you both realized you'd been there for nearly five hours.

"Shit," he said, looking at his watch. "I should probably get back. Jay's probably having a panic attack."

"Right," you said, feeling a pang of disappointment. "Duty calls."

He walked you to the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I had a really good time," he said, sounding almost surprised. "I haven't... talked like that in a long time."

"Me neither," you admitted. "It was nice. Not being the caretaker for a change."

He laughed, that low, warm sound that you were quickly becoming addicted to. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

You were standing on the sidewalk now, the cool night air a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the cafe.

"So..." he started, rocking back on his heels. "Can I... see you again?"

Your heart did a little flip. "I'd like that."

"Okay," he said, a genuine, hopeful smile spreading across his face. "Okay. I'll... I'll text you. From a different number. A secret one."

"A secret number," you repeated, grinning. "Very spy-like."

He laughed, pulling his mask back up. "It's the only way I know how to live." He hesitated for a second, then reached out and gently squeezed your arm. "Thank you. For today."

And then he was gone, melting back into the shadows of the city, leaving you standing on the sidewalk with a secret phone number and the feeling that your quiet, simple life had just been irrevocably, and thrillingly, complicated.

True to his word, a new number popped up on your phone two days later with a simple text: It's the spy.

Your life transformed into a series of stolen moments and secret conversations. Your days were still the same grind of spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails, but your nights now belonged to him. He'd call you after he was done with practice, his voice thick with exhaustion, and you'd talk about nothing and everything until one of you fell asleep. You learned the names of his bandmates, his favorite brand of instant noodles, and his secret dream to compose music for a film. He learned about your annoying coworker, your childhood pet, and your irrational fear of butterflies.

It was a bubble, a secret world that existed only in the blue light of your phone screens. But bubbles, you were learning, were fragile.

It was three weeks into your secret friendship when your worlds collided. It happened in the most mundane, corporate-slavery way possible. Your company was hosting a small tech conference, and Enhypen, you learned with a jolt, was the surprise musical guest. The day of the event, you were assigned to help coordinate the AV setup for the main stage, which meant you were practically living backstage.

You were hunched over a laptop, trying to fix a connection issue with the projector, when a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"I thought you said you worked in an office, not as a roadie."

You straightened up so fast you almost knocked over the laptop. There he was, in full idol mode. His hair was perfectly styled, his makeup was flawless, and he was wearing an outfit that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. But behind the polished facade, you could see the same tired eyes you'd grown so fond of.

"Heeseung," you breathed, your eyes wide.

He just smirked, a little flip of his head to draw attention away from the two of you. "Fancy seeing you here. Having fun with all these... wires?"

"It's my cross to bear," you deadpan, trying to act cool while your heart was doing gymnastics. "You look... different."

"It's the makeup," he said, his voice low. "It hides the soul-crushing despair."

Just then, your colleague, Minho, appeared at your side, holding a clipboard. "Y/N, is the main feed connected to the aux? The sound guy is asking." He glanced at Heeseung, his eyes doing a quick, appreciative once-over before turning back to you, completely oblivious. "Who's this?"

"Uh, this is Heeseung. He's with the... talent," you stammered, feeling a weird pang of something you couldn't name.

"Oh, nice. Hey man, great set list," Minho said, clapping Heeseung on the shoulder in a friendly, bro-ish way. "Y/N's our tech guru. If anything blows up, she's your girl."

Heeseung's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Good to know. I'll keep that in mind."

Minho, bless his oblivious heart, just kept talking. "Seriously, Y/N, you're a lifesaver. I don't know what we'd do without you. Can you also check the monitors on stage two when you're done here? I'll buy you lunch for the next week."

You laughed, waving him off. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Go away, I'm working."

As Minho walked away, you risked a glance at Heeseung. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed on the spot where Minho had been standing. There was a dark look in them that you hadn't seen before.

"What's up with you?" you asked, nudging him with your elbow.

"Nothing," he said, a little too quickly. "He just... seems very eager to buy you lunch."

"He's my colleague," you said, drawing out the word. "And he owes me. I saved his presentation from a digital black hole last month."

"Right," Heeseung mumbled, his gaze finally meeting yours. He looked away just as fast, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "Colleague."

The rest of the day was a strange dance. You were busy, running around, making sure everything ran smoothly. But every time you looked up, you could feel his eyes on you. From the stage during soundcheck, from the corner of the green room as he sipped on a water bottle, from across the hall as he was being escorted by his manager. He was watching you.

And you were watching him back. You saw the way he interacted with his members, the easy camaraderie mixed with an undercurrent of exhaustion. You saw the way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he was talking to a sponsor. You saw the way he'd seek out a quiet corner, closing his eyes for just a second, like he was trying to recharge.

You were talking to Minho by the side of the stage, pointing something out on the set list, when you felt it again. That intense, unwavering gaze. You looked over and caught him staring. He didn't look away this time. He just held your gaze, his expression unreadable, before giving you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

A jolt went through you, hot and sharp. It felt like a secret, a silent conversation happening in the middle of all this noise and chaos.

Later, as you were packing up your gear, you felt a presence behind you. You didn't need to turn around.

"Rough day, spy?" you asked, not looking at him.

"You have no idea," he sighed, his voice close to your ear. "I think I smiled at three different people I hate."

"Welcome to my life," you said, finally turning to face him. He looked drained, the energy from the stage completely gone. "You were good up there, though. For what it's worth."

A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "Thanks."

There was a beat of silence, the sounds of the crew breaking down the stage filling the space between you.

"So," he started, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a second before meeting your gaze again. "That Minho guy..."

"Heeseung, don't," you warned, though you were secretly thrilled.

"I'm just saying," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "He seems to really value your technical expertise."

"And you seem to be surprisingly possessive for someone I had to physically prop up four weeks ago," you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Right. Touché."

His manager called his name then, a sharp, urgent sound from across the room. The spell was broken.

"I have to go," he said, his expression falling.

"I know."

He hesitated, then leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. "Can I see you tonight? After? I just... I need to not be Heeseung from Enhypen for a little while."

The vulnerability in his voice was your undoing. "Yeah," you said softly. "My place. The usual secret spy protocol."

He smiled, a real one this time, that reached his eyes. "I'll be there."

And as he walked away, you couldn't help but feel like you were in way over your head. But for the first time in a long time, you didn't mind the feeling of drowning. Not if it was with him.

The knock on your door came at nearly 2 AM. It wasn't a hesitant knock, or a secret spy knock. It was a tired, heavy thud, like the person on the other side had used their forehead to announce their arrival.

You opened it to find Heeseung slumped against your doorframe, still in his expensive idol clothes, but looking utterly deflated. The perfect hair was a mess, the liner around his eyes was smudged, and he was holding his shoes in one hand like they'd personally offended him.

He looked up, and when his eyes met yours, a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that didn't perform, didn't pose. It was just... real. And it was so genuine it made your chest ache.

"Spy headquarters," he mumbled, his voice raspy. "I've arrived. Mission decompression is a go."

You just shook your head, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. "You're an idiot."

"A tired idiot," he corrected, kicking his shoes off with a groan and immediately flopping face-down onto your couch like a starfish. "God, I love your couch. It's so... normal. It doesn't expect me to be charming."

You laughed, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with two glasses of water and a box of the strawberry Pocky you kept hidden in the back of your pantry. You set them on the coffee table and nudged his shoulder.

"Up. You'll get a crick in your neck."

He groaned but obligingly rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked at the Pocky, then at you, his eyes wide with a childish sort of glee. "Is that what I think it is?"

"It's fuel for the decompression mission," you said, sitting down cross-legged on the floor opposite him. "Now, debrief. What was the worst part?"

He sat up, grabbing a stick and munching on it thoughtfully. "The sponsor's son. He tried to give me 'production notes' on my own stage presence. He suggested I 'work on my facial expressions.'"

You gasped in mock horror. "The audacity! Everyone knows your facial expressions are peak art."

"Right?!" he exclaimed, pointing the Pocky stick at you like it was a sword. "I almost told him my 'facial expression' was about to become 'bored to tears by a trust fund baby.' But my manager was giving me the look. You know, the one that says 'smile or we're all fired'."

You both dissolved into giggles, the kind of tired, slightly hysterical laughter that comes from being completely over everything. It was easy. It was so, so easy.

As the laughter died down, the atmosphere shifted. The crack energy subsided, replaced by a thick, charged silence. He was watching you, his head tilted, a soft smile still playing on his lips. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. His touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt straight through you.

"Thanks," he said, his voice low and soft. "For this. For... you."

Your breath caught. His eyes were so dark, so sincere, and you felt like you could drown in them. You wanted to say something witty, something to break the tension, but the words wouldn't come. All you could do was stare back at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He leaned in a little closer, his hand lingering on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. The air between you was thick with unspoken feelings, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had been building between you for weeks.

"You know," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips. "I was really jealous today. Of your colleague."

"Minho?" you breathed, your voice barely audible. "He's just—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "But he got to stand next to you. He got to talk to you. And all I could do was watch from a stage."

Your heart was doing a full-on tap dance routine against your ribs. "Heeseung..."

"Shh," he murmured, leaning in even closer, until his lips were just a breath away from yours. "Let me have this."

And then he kissed you.

It wasn't a frantic, desperate kiss. It was slow and soft, impossibly gentle. It tasted of strawberry Pocky and exhaustion and relief. It was a kiss that said, 'I see you' and 'I need you' and 'Thank you for being my safe place.'

His other hand came up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close like he was afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning too fast.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

"Wow," he whispered, a slow, happy grin spreading across his face. "That was... way better than Pocky."

You let out a watery laugh, swatting his arm playfully. "You're such a dork."

"Your dork," he corrected, opening his eyes and looking at you with so much warmth and affection it made your heart feel like it was going to explode. He leaned in and pecked your nose, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each touch was a little spark, a little promise.

You spent the rest of the night like that, tangled up on your couch, talking in whispers and sharing soft, sweet kisses. You told him about your ridiculous dream of opening a bookstore with a cat named Chairman Meow, and he told you about the song he was writing, a melody he'd been humming to himself for weeks but couldn't get right.

You fell asleep curled up against him, his heartbeat a steady, reassuring rhythm beneath your ear. And in the quiet darkness of your little apartment, with the world shut firmly outside, you both found something you hadn't even realized you were looking for.

A safe harbor. A home. A ridiculously, tooth-rottingly sweet beginning. Or that is what you thought.

He did not clarify what you guys were. It was vague. The morning after, he was gone before you woke up, leaving behind a half-empty box of Pocky and a note written on the back of a receipt that just said, Dear Miss Caretaker, I owe you. H. It was sweet, it was thrilling, but it wasn't a definition. And you, being the overthinker you were, were left to fill in the blanks yourself.

For a week, it felt like a dream. The stolen texts, the late-night calls that ended with him whispering "goodnight" until his voice was thick with sleep. It was your own private romance, a bubble of soft words and lingering touches that existed only for the two of you.

And then he had to leave.

It's been a month since he had to travel overseas for some music videos and album shootings. The bubble burst. At first, the texts were frequent, filled with exhaustion and excitement. "The scenery here is insane." "I think I've smiled for 12 hours straight. My face is frozen." "I miss your couch."

But as the days turned into weeks, the messages became shorter, more sporadic. A quick "good morning" sent while you were asleep, a single emoji in response to your long rant about your boss. You understood, you really did. You saw it all, whether you wanted to or not.

Your social media feeds, once a harmless escape, were now a constant, painful reminder of his world. You actually got to see how his life was, and it was dazzling. There were professionally shot photos of him in designer clothes, looking like a god against foreign landscapes. Fan-cams from airports showed him surrounded by a sea of screaming people, his smile perfectly in place even as he was being jostled and mobbed. There were clips of him on variety shows, laughing with his members, charming the hosts, being the Heeseung the world adored.

And you were getting all sorts of thoughts. You were just a girl in a small apartment with a dead-end job. He was living in a different universe, a universe of private jets and screaming stadiums. How could you ever fit into that? You'd be a liability, a loose end. A secret he'd have to manage.

You weren't sure if you were ready to step into his world yet. The thought of it was terrifying. You'd seen the saesangs, the obsessive fans. You'd heard the exhaustion in his voice when he talked about his company. To be with him would mean stepping into the line of fire, and you weren't sure you were brave enough for that.

What if he is just using you for taking a space outside of his hectic life? The thought crept in, insidious and cold. What if you were just his safe place, his normal-person pit stop? A place to decompress before he went back to his real life, his real world, where you had no place. What if when the novelty of your 'normalcy' wore off, he'd just... drift away?

The fall out happened on a Tuesday. You were having a particularly bad day at work, your boss had rejected your proposal for the third time, and all you wanted was to hear his voice. You sent him a text, a longer one than usual, pouring out your frustration. I just had the worst day. I really miss talking to you. Hope you're doing okay.

You stared at your phone for hours, waiting. And then, six hours later, a reply came. It was just a single, sad-faced emoji. 😔.

That was it.

Something inside you broke. It was the final confirmation of all your worst fears. You were an afterthought. A quick emoji sent between photoshoots and schedules.

Fall out.

That night, you turned off your phone. You didn't text him goodnight. You let the silence you had been dreading finally take over. For two days, you ignored his calls and texts, letting them pile up, unseen. You were giving yourself a trial run. What would it feel like when he was gone for good? It felt hollow. It felt quiet. It felt like you were already mourning a loss that hadn't even happened yet.

On the third day, he called again. And again. And then, a text came through that made your stomach drop. I'm worried. Please just tell me you're okay.

You couldn't do it. You couldn't leave him worrying. You picked up the phone on his next call, your heart heavy.

"Hello?"

"Y/N?" His voice was strained, frantic with relief. "God, are you okay? I've been going out of my mind here. I thought something happened."

"I'm fine," you said, your voice flat. "I was just busy."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. He knew you were lying.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Did I do something?"

You took a deep breath, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "Heeseung... what are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"This," you said, gesturing uselessly even though he couldn't see you. "This... whatever this is. The secret texts, the late-night calls... what is it? Because I don't think I can do it anymore."

"What? Why? I thought... I thought we were good," he said, his voice laced with confusion and hurt.

"We were," you admitted, your voice cracking. "But I can't be your little escape, Heeseung. I can't be the person you come to when you're tired of being famous, and then just forget about me when you're back in your world. I see it, you know. On my phone. I see your life. And I... I don't fit in it. And I'm scared that I'm just... a convenience for you."

The silence on his end was deafening. You could hear the faint sound of traffic, of his world happening without you.

"Is that really what you think of me?" he finally said, his voice quiet, broken. "That I'm just using you?"

"I don't know what to think," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "You never told me what I am to you."

Another long silence. You could hear him take a shaky breath.

"You're not a convenience," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're the only thing that feels real. When I'm with you, I'm not Heeseung from Enhypen. I'm just... me. I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise. I'm just... I'm so tired all the time, and I'm not good at this. At any of this."

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But the doubt was a poison that had already spread through your veins.

"I need some time," you said, the words feeling final. "I need to think."

"Please don't—"

"I'm sorry," you cut him off, your voice trembling. "I have to go."

And before he could say anything else, you hung up the phone, leaving him alone in his dazzling world, and you alone in your quiet, empty one. The silence that followed was the loudest thing you had ever heard.

Your days passed in heavy silence and realizations as you realized what you did to him due to your insecurity and fear. You felt responsible for snatching the only thing that was an escape for him. But you didn't know how to approach him. You really missed him.

You heard he was coming back to Korea soon. The news, filtered through fan sites and social media, felt like a countdown timer to a disaster you had created. You still have not been able to confront him properly because you are a coward. Every time you picked up your phone to type an apology, your fingers would freeze, the words feeling inadequate, pathetic. "Sorry I ruined the one good thing you had going because I'm a neurotic mess"? Yeah, right.

What you had not expected was for him to storm straight from the airport to your house.

The frantic, insistent knocking was what jolted you from your miserable spiral on the couch. It wasn't the polite knock of a neighbor or the hesitant rap of a delivery person. It was desperate. Loud. Pounding.

When you opened the door, he was looking like he had ran a marathon to here. Panting and huffing.

He was disheveled, like he had run a marathon to get here. His beanie was almost coming off his head, his now cherry red hair peeking out from beneath it. His mask was shrinking and puffing with his heavy breaths as he panted, his hands resting on his knees, half-crouched. But his eyes... his bambi eyes were up at you, sparkling with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs.

What was he doing here? Wasn't he in another country just until yesterday? Did my manifestation actually come true?

You snapped out of your trance when he cleared his throat and stood up properly. The reality of the situation crashed down on you—he was out there, in the open, where anyone could recognize him. You grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut behind him with a decisive click.

The moment he was past the threshold, You launched yourself at him. His duffle bag dropped beside his leg as you engulfed him in a bear hug, burying your face in his neck. God, I missed him so much. It had been weeks.

You heard his soft chuckle as one hand came up to support you, sliding under your bottom to hold you effortlessly. You nuzzled deeper into his neck, inhaling his familiar scent—clean laundry, something faintly citrusy, and underneath it all, just him. Your arms tightened around him. You knew you would be embarrassed as hell after this was over, but that could wait. You felt him remove his mask, and then came his soft voice, warm against your ear.

"Hi," he breathed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "Missed you, too."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still wrapped tightly around his neck. His face was flushed from the run, his lips parted as he caught his breath, but his eyes... they were locked on yours, soft and unwavering.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "You're insane. Someone could have seen you."

"I don't care," he said, his voice firm. He shifted, adjusting his hold on you so you were cradled properly in his arms. "I had to see you. After that call... I couldn't... I couldn't just land and go back to the dorms and pretend like everything was okay."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "Heeseung, I'm so sorry. I was an idiot. I was scared and I took it out on you and—"

"Hey," he interrupted gently, using one hand to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "It's okay. I get it. I do. It's a lot. I'm a lot. And I'm sorry for being a shitty communicator. I should have told you... everything."

He carefully set you down, his hands lingering on your waist as if he was afraid you might disappear. He took your hand and led you to the couch, sitting you down before plopping down beside you, letting out a long, weary sigh.

"You're not an escape," he said, turning to face you, his expression earnest, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. "You're not a convenience. You're the person I think about when I'm smiling for a camera I don't want to see. You're the voice I wish I could hear when my ears are ringing from the screaming. You're the quiet place I go to in my head when it all gets too loud."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, his words a balm to all the insecure wounds you had inflicted on yourself.

"I'm an idiot," he continued, running a hand through his messy red hair. "I thought you knew. I thought you could just... feel it. But I should have said it. So I'm saying it now. I need you. Not as a break from my life. You are my life. The only part that feels like mine anymore."

You couldn't speak. You just stared at him, tears now streaming freely down your face.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "So, please," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Don't push me away again. I don't think I can take it."

And then he was kissing you. It wasn't soft or gentle like the first time. It was desperate, hungry, a month of silence and longing poured into a single, breathless moment. It was a kiss that said, 'I'm here' and 'I'm not leaving' and 'Please, please, please want me back.'

You kissed him back with everything you had, your hands tangling in his hair, your body pressed against his, trying to close every inch of distance between you. You poured all your apologies, all your regret, all your desperate love into that kiss.

When you finally broke apart, you were both gasping for air, your foreheads still pressed together. He was looking at you with such raw, unguarded affection, it made your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose. "Now, about that 'coward' comment..."

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. "I take it back! I take it back!"

He laughed, a real, genuine, rumbling laugh that you could feel vibrating through his entire body. He held you tight, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Good," he said, his voice soft and content. "Because I have a feeling I'm going to need my brave girl around for a while."

You smiled against his shirt, feeling the last of your fears and insecurities melt away, replaced by the overwhelming, tooth-rottingly sweet certainty that you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You looked up at him with such heart eyes, caressing his jaw tenderly before leaning towards him to place a gentle kiss on his neck, making him flustered and red before giggling and confessing. "I love you Lee Heeseung. Will you do me the honour of being your girlfriend?"

The air in the room seemed to shimmer, hanging suspended in the quiet afterglow of your confession. He stared at you, his eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested on his jaw. He looked like he was going to cry, but then he smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

"I love you," he repeated softly, his voice barely a whisper. "And yes. A thousand times yes. I love you, my love."

You felt him pull you closer on his lap before placing sweet pecks on your, forehead, cheeks, eyes, nose, jaw and then lastly your lips. It was a worshipful kind of affection, a reassurance of his devotion. When he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes were dark with something that made your breath hitch.

"Of course," he whispered, his voice husky and deep. "Though it should have been me asking you to do me the honour of being my boyfriend "

You giggled against him and hugged him, burying your face in his neck. "I love you, my patient turned boyfriend."

Heeseung mused, hugging you tighter. "Yeah. You really are my girlfriend now. My own personal, secret caretaker girlfriend."

The conversation shifted, moving to lighter topics, but the underlying current of love and relief was palpable. He told you about the flight back, how the scenery had been incredible, and you told him about your failed attempt at a romantic dinner that had been ruined by a power outage. He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest, and you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

And then, as if on cue, the atmosphere changed. The playful banter faded into a heavy, charged silence. Heeseung looked at you, his eyes dark and intense, and you knew what was coming. He didn't need words. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly close.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, a culmination of weeks of longing and a month of distance. It quickly escalated. His hands roamed over your body, his touch electric and demanding. You moaned into the kiss, and he deepened it, his tongue sweeping against yours in a dance that left you dizzy. He broke the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. You arched your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to your bedroom. The world blurred as he set you down on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He hovered over you, his hands exploring your curves, his touch hungry and possessive. He leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you up to meet him.

He was breathing a little harder now, the sight of you sprawled out against the pillows, looking so soft and inviting, driving him out of his mind. To him, you are like a dream. The prettiest girl he have ever seen.

He captured your lips, but this kiss was different—softer, slower, exploring the familiar yet thrilling new territory of being your boyfriend. His hands wandered, sliding up your sides with a reverent touch, his fingers tracing the line of your spine until he found the hem of your shirt. He didn't rush. He just lifted it, his eyes never leaving yours, drinking in the sight of you, the way your chest rose and fell with a shaky breath.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky and thick with want. He kissed the valley between your breasts, his tongue tracing a path upward, making you gasp and arch your back. You tugged at his hoodie, desperate for skin, desperate to feel his touch everywhere. He pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor, and his bare chest pressed against yours, skin to skin, the heat between you searing.

He pushed you back against the pillows, his body covering yours, his eyes hungry. "I need you," he breathed, his lips brushing against your ear. "I need to be inside you."

He slid your shorts and panties down, his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. He kissed his way down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair. He moved between your open legs, his hand sliding over you, finding you wet and ready for him. He positioned himself at your entrance after freeing his hard cock, his eyes locked on yours.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was a slow, agonizing pleasure that made you gasp and cling to his shoulders. He began to move, his strokes deep and purposeful, hitting every sweet spot that made you cry out his name.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead resting on yours. "So perfect."

You ran your fingers down his back, scratching lightly, urging him on. He picked up the pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The pleasure built, coiling deep in your belly, until you were both gasping for air, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Heeseung reached down, his hand between your legs, his fingers rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You cried out, your body arching, your orgasm crashing over you. He followed moments later, burying his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spilled inside you.

You lay there, panting, his body covering yours, your heart hammering against his. The room smelled of sex and sweat, the air thick with the lingering tension of the act. He pulled out, cleaning you up gently with a warm cloth and tucking you in. You cuddled up close, his body heat radiating into yours. He pulled you close, holding you tight.

Afterwards, the silence in the room was heavy, the air thick with the scent of love and sweat. He pulled you close, holding you tight, your head resting on his chest. You traced the lines on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat against your palm.

"You know," he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair. "This is going to be so much harder. You know that, right? I'm not going to be able to hide you forever."

"I know," you whispered back, your heart fluttering. "We'll figure it out. We'll be a team."

He tightened his hug, his eyes closing. "Yeah. We'll figure it out."

You looked up at him, and he looked down at you. He smiled, a soft, smile that reached his eyes.

"The world outside can wait," he said, his voice soft and earnest. "We'll navigate through life problems together, side by side."

And then he leaned down and kissed you, a sweet, gentle kiss that was full of promise. "But I won't feel blue, Like I always do. 'Cause somewhere in the crowd, there's you."