The rain outside was steady, almost hypnotic. It filled the apartment like a low hum, a rhythm neither of you needed to match, only sink into.

You were already in bed, stretched out on your side in one of Hyun-joon’s worn flannel pajama shirts and a pair of black cotton panties. The fabric was soft against your skin, but not nearly as soft as the way he was looking at you.

He leaned in the doorway, silent, his eyes tracing the curve of your thigh, the exposed line of your collarbone where the shirt had slipped open. He was just in his black tee and boxers, but the way his body moved, slow, loose, deliberate, made your pulse tick faster.

He didn’t say anything when he crossed the room. Just climbed into bed behind you, pressing his chest to your back, hand sliding over your stomach beneath the shirt. Warm. Steady.

“I missed you all day,” he murmured against your shoulder, lips brushing skin between words.

You tilted your head as his hand slipped lower, fingers skimming the waistband of your panties. He kissed your neck again, slower this time, as he pushed his hand between your thighs.

His fingers slid into your underwear without hesitation, finding you already warm, already soaked for him. His breath stuttered.

“Fuck…” he whispered, voice tight with need. “You’re already dripping for me…”

His hand trembled slightly against your inner thigh as he pushed two fingers in, slow but deep, watching your face the entire time. His cock was already hard against your lower back, twitching through his boxers. He pressed his face into your shoulder, breath hot.

“Been thinking about you like this all fucking day,” he murmured, dragging his fingers in and out, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. “Couldn’t stop.”

You shifted against him, hips rocking back, and he let out a low groan like he was holding back from grinding against you, like just touching you was driving him too close too fast.

“Can’t wait anymore,” he said, almost like it hurt.

He rolled you gently onto your back, dragging your panties down your legs. His gaze was heavy, and he didn’t look away as he lowered himself between your thighs and licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds. His tongue moved with reverence, as if tasting you grounded him.

He moaned into you, deep and low, like he was starving.

His hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding you open as he dragged his tongue over your clit, then dipped back into you with slow, wet strokes. He licked you like it was the only way to breathe, like this was the only place he found peace.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against you, voice raw. “Always do.”

Your moans got breathier as your body arched up to meet him, fingers in his hair, thighs trembling around his head. He didn’t stop, didn’t even pause as your orgasm hit, just held you steady and rode it out with you, tongue still slow, savoring every second.

When he finally pulled away, lips and chin glistening, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and climbed up your body, mouth finding yours in a messy, hungry kiss.

He stripped his shirt off and shoved his boxers down just enough. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

When he slid into you, it was all at once — slow, thick, deep — and his breath caught like he wasn’t ready for how good it felt. His forehead pressed to yours.

“God, you feel perfect,” he murmured, already trembling slightly, thrusts shallow at first.

His pace stayed slow, hips rolling into you like he wanted to memorize the feel of every inch. His hands gripped your waist, one sliding under your shirt to press against your stomach as if to feel himself moving inside you.

“You make me lose my mind,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Every time.”

He held eye contact as he moved — deep, unhurried thrusts that hit perfectly. Your moans, soft and breathless, only pushed him closer to the edge.

“Touch yourself,” he said quietly, not as a command, but a plea.

Your hand slid between you, circling your clit as his rhythm stayed deep and deliberate. He watched your face like he couldn’t look anywhere else.

When your orgasm hit, you gasped his name, whole body arching into him. The clench of your body pulled a desperate moan from his throat. His thrusts faltered, and he came inside you with a strained groan, pressing his body flush against yours, like he needed to feel everything at once.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, still buried deep, breathing uneven.

Then he kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips. Again. And again.

He pulled out slowly, carefully, as if it hurt to leave your body.

Wordless, he curled into you, one hand brushing your hair back, the other sliding under the hem of his shirt still on your body, splaying wide across your belly.

Still catching his breath, he whispered, “Don’t wanna be anywhere but here.”

7:48 p.m.

seoul, korea

The sound of bustling city life fades as you step out of the cold December air and into the warmth of the studio building. Your hands clutch a takeout bag, the delicious aroma of tteokbokki, kimbap, and fried chicken wafting through the crisp evening. You know Hyunjoon has been holed up in the studio all day, working tirelessly on his music, and it’s been hours since his last text—short, sweet, and full of his usual charm: “Miss you. Don't forget to eat, baby.”

Smiling to yourself, you quietly make your way down the hall to his studio. Through the small window in the door, you can see him hunched over his desk, headphones on, completely immersed in his work. The soft glow of the monitors casts a golden hue on his sharp features, and you take a moment to admire him. His oversized sweater looks so cozy, and his hair falls slightly into his eyes as he bobs his head to the beat.

You knock gently on the door, careful not to startle him. His head snaps up, eyes darting to the door, and when he spots you, his face lights up instantly. He pulls off his headphones and practically bounds to the door, his excitement evident.

“Y/N!” he says, swinging the door open and pulling you into a quick hug before he notices the bag in your hand. “Wait… is that—?”

“Your favorite food,” you confirm, holding it up with a grin. “Thought you might be hungry since someone forgot to text me back.”

He laughs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Got a little carried away. But seriously, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, I wanted to,” you say, stepping into the studio and setting the bag on the small table in the corner. “You’ve been working hard all day. You need fuel, and I need company. It’s a win-win.”

He pulls you into another hug, this one longer and tighter, his chin resting on top of your head. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do,” you tease, pulling away to unpack the food. “Now, come eat before it gets cold.”

The two of you settle on the couch, the takeout spread out between you. Hyun Jun looks like a kid in a candy store, his eyes sparkling as he grabs a piece of kimbap.

“This is perfect,” he says between bites, his voice full of genuine appreciation. “I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.”

You watch him eat with a fond smile, your heart swelling at the sight of him so content. “So, how’s the music coming along?” you ask, picking up a piece of chicken.

“It’s getting there,” he says, leaning back against the couch. “I’ve been tweaking the same track for hours, but now that you’re here, I feel like I can finally breathe.”

“Well, I’m glad to be of service,” you say, leaning closer to brush a stray hair from his face. “Don’t forget to take breaks, okay? I worry about you.”

His hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. “I know, and I love you for it. You keep me grounded, Y/N. Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your heart flutter. “I love you too, Hyunjoon,” you say softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

For the rest of the evening, you stay by his side, sharing food and laughter. Every now and then, he walks over to his keyboard to play you bits of his new song, his voice filling the small studio with a raw, soulful melody. You can tell he’s pouring his heart into his work, and you’re so proud of him.

As the night goes on, you end up curled up on the couch together, your head resting on his shoulder as he hums softly. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this cozy little bubble of warmth and love.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Anytime,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “Always.”

And in that moment, with his arm around you and the soft hum of music in the background, everything feels perfect.

You’re just slipping your shoes off by the door when you see them—flowers, arranged carefully in a simple glass vase on the kitchen counter. Bright sunflowers and vivid orange pincushions burst with color, their bold petals standing tall and proud. It’s a striking, cheerful arrangement that instantly warms the room. You walk over, leaning in to take a deep breath.

“They smell amazing,” you say, smiling over your shoulder. “They’re so... happy. Like a little summer in here.”

Tabber appears in the kitchen doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, looking a little shy but clearly pleased. “I saw them at this little flower shop on my way back from the studio,” he says, eyes glancing toward the bouquet. “They reminded me of you.”

You’re seated on the couch a few moments later, wrapped in a cozy blanket, your legs tucked underneath you as you watch Tabber move around the kitchen. His apartment is simple but filled with warmth—soft pillows, a few framed pictures on the wall, and the quiet hum of his record player playing an old album. Everything about tonight feels effortlessly perfect.

Tabber carries two plates of food to the table, his movements easy and graceful. You catch a whiff of the delicious meal as he sets them down in front of you—a rich, creamy pasta with mushrooms, garlic, and a touch of truffle oil. It’s topped with freshly grated Parmesan and a sprinkle of parsley. There’s a side of crispy roasted vegetables, their caramelized edges giving off a savory, earthy aroma. The scent alone makes your stomach growl.

“You didn’t have to cook all of this,” you say, still touched, though your mouth is already watering from the smell. “It smells amazing.”

Tabber chuckles softly, sitting down beside you. “I wanted to make it special. I know you like this dish,” he says, his smile a little bashful. “Plus, I had a little extra time today.”

You take a bite, savoring the creamy, rich flavors, and you can’t help but let out a satisfied hum. The pasta is perfectly cooked, and the mushrooms add an earthy depth to the dish, while the vegetables have that crispy sweetness that only roasting can bring. “This is incredible,” you say, looking at him with admiration.

He smiles, clearly pleased, but there’s something else in his expression now—a mix of excitement and nerves. You notice the way his fingers fidget with his fork, a subtle hint that he has something on his mind.

After a few moments of silence, he turns to you, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice suddenly soft and steady. “I’ve been meaning to share something with you.”

You look up at him, a little curious now, sensing the change in his demeanor. “What is it?”

Tabber hesitates for a moment before standing up, walking over to his music setup in the corner of the room. He pulls up his laptop and clicks a few buttons, and the soft glow of the screen illuminates his face. “I’ve been working on something for a while now,” he continues, his voice quieter than usual. “And I think it’s time to share it with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

Tabber turns around, a nervous yet earnest look in his eyes. “It’s a song. I’ve been writing it, producing it, and working on it whenever I could. I wanted it to be... perfect for you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “For me?”

He nods, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah. It’s about us. About how I feel when I’m with you.”

The air in the room feels charged now, and you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth and affection toward him. He presses play on the track, and the soft, melodic sounds of the music begin to fill the space around you. It’s slow and dreamy, with gentle piano chords and a hauntingly beautiful melody that seems to reflect every emotion he’s been feeling.

The lyrics come in, subtle but meaningful, each word an expression of his love and admiration for you. It’s intimate—personal—and you can feel his heart in every note, the vulnerability in his voice through the music.

As the song plays, you sit there, your eyes locked on him, overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings. When the song ends, the silence between you feels sacred, and you’re at a loss for words, your heart swelling with emotion.

Tabber watches you nervously, his fingers tapping on the edge of the table. “So, what do you think?” he asks quietly, his voice soft but unsure.

You take a moment to gather yourself, then reach out for his hand, gently squeezing it. “It’s... beautiful, Tabber. I didn’t expect anything like this,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m so touched. It’s everything.”

He exhales, a breath he’s clearly been holding, and before you can say anything more, he leans forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. His gaze softens, and he closes the distance between you, kissing you with a tenderness that makes your heart race. The kiss is slow, careful, as though he’s savoring every moment, every feeling he’s been trying to convey through the song. It’s warm, comforting, and filled with a love that’s as deep as the music itself.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together, and you smile, a little breathless. “I’m so lucky to have you, Tabber,” you murmur.

He smiles back, his hands still resting gently on your face. “No, I’m the lucky one,” he replies softly. “You make everything feel... like it’s meant to be.”

The warmth of the room, the sunflowers and pincushions, the food, the music—it all feels like a perfect reflection of how you and Tabber fit together. You can’t imagine a more perfect night.