long for you @astraystayrec - Tumblr Blog

Jan 6

EVERYTHING IS ROMANTIC.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: You spend your days writing romance, wondering when it will find you. Unaware that it’s right next-door. (20,8k words)

Author's note: Happy new year and as Hyunjin said, let's continue to live life romantically ❣️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, the thought lingers, quietly and uncomfortably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin.

You answer without thinking. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll make it eleven.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s enough.

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

A mental snooze, you think, smiling to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dinner is easy in the way only familiar things are.

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

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

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

That’s how you met him, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All clean now,” you announce.

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

“I’ve got it,” he assures you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at him. “Dead wrong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whines dramatically. “Daddy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It really is just across the hall.

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

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

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

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

Figures.

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

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

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

The knock comes again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This—this is impossible.

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

The dream man.

For a second, you just stare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. Hammer.

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

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

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

He smiles easily. “Lead the way.”

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

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

You clear your throat. “Uh—Hyunjin?”

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

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

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

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

Han waves. “Hey, man.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine,” Archie says seriously.

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

“Thanks,” Han says. “Appreciate it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Right.”

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

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

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

“Okay!”

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

“I won’t. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

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

Next door, somewhere beyond the wall, Han exists.

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

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

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

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

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

After that, you notice it more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just for a second. Just long enough to wonder.

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” Han says first, voice easy.

You turn, heart jumping anyway. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “Yeah, me neither.”

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff?”

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

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

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

“You too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod emphatically. “I know.”

“How?” he asks, genuinely curious now.

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

He snorts. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“I’m trying,” you shoot back.

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

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

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

“…I’m telling you, he’s so handsome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Archie’s in school. Safe and happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You check your phone and find a reply from Hyunjin.

Your treats are ready, ma’am.

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin tilts his head, still can’t decide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. This. The reason you’re here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God. That was a rush.

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

And a tad bit romantic.

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

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

Chaos.

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

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

“What god-awful sound is that?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Archie has a school play this weekend.”

“Oh,” you say, immediately brightening.

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

“Yes,” you answer without even thinking.

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

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

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

“What’s this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t usually dress like this.

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

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

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

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

“Hold it!” you call, hurrying forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doors slide shut, leaving them behind.

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

Beautiful. Like a princess.

You breathe out slowly and straighten your shoulders.

Tonight, at least, you believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh—no, I wasn’t planning to—”

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

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

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

“I really don’t need—” you start.

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

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

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

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

“Clearly,” you manage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins like he’s won something.

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

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

You laugh. “You really love that word.”

He shrugs. “How about you?”

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

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

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

“Another?” he asks.

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

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

“Wait,” he says.

You pause with your hand wrapped around the glass.

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

He raises his glass toward you. “Cheers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should close my tab,” you add.

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

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

“Get home safe,” he tells you.

You smile. “I will. Thank you.”

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

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

And somehow, you’re okay with that.

The kindergarten hallway is chaos in its purest form.

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

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

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

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

“Figured you’d need it.”

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

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

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

You blink. “Oh—um, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

You elbow him without thinking.

He yelps—loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” Archie answers without a beat.

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

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

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

Archie frowns.

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

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

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

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

“…Fine,” he sighs. “Ice cream.”

“Yay!” you and Archie cheer in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs.

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

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

You smack his arm lightly.

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

“Worth it,” you whisper.

He grins. “So what happens next?”

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles, satisfied. “Good luck then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “Sure.”

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

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

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

Hyunjin grins. “I’ll try.”

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

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

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

“Oh—thank you,” you say, looking up.

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

“Can I see?”

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

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

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

“It looks good,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Friday night,” he adds.

“Friday night,” you repeat, nodding.

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

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

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

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

“He asked me out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday night arrives faster than you expect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Enough.

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

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

Tonight, romance is going to happen.

The bar is louder than you expected.

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

You smile. You really try to.

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

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

“Did you like it?” he asks, hopeful.

You nod. “Yeah. You were great.”

And he was. That’s the frustrating part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The days after Friday blur together quietly.

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

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

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

Thankfully, it’s Hyunjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

“Then who?”

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer right away.

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

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

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

You scoff lightly. “You’re biased.”

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

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

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

You snort. “You’re lying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That wasn’t a suggestion, was it?”

“Nope.”

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

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

“It seems like it, yeah,” you answer.

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin swallows, then murmurs, “Goodnight.”

Only then does he let go.

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

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

Only that it stole your breath anyway.

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

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

Before either of you can answer, Archie jumps.

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

“Again!” Archie demands immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey—” he protests.

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

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

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

“Dad,” he whispers, reverent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin grins. “They’re harmless.”

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

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

“See? Totally fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow because your chest suddenly feels tight.

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

His eyes meet yours.

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

The air between you thickens, crackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This feels romantic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asks.

You give him a shaky thumbs-up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He immediately stills. “Yeah. Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hyunjin…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he murmurs.

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

“Should I continue?”

“Definitely, yes,” you eagerly answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin. Last night. Everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles quietly. “Still weird?”

You nod.

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

Another nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nooo,” Archie whines.

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

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

“Yay!” You and Archie cheer in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he says. “I brought coffee.”

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

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

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

You laugh. “That explains a lot.”

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

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

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

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

You look at him and nod.

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh despite yourself. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before you can reply, he steals a kiss, almost sneaky. His plush lips brushing over yours and you kiss him back just as instinctively. When you pull away, you’re both smiling.

He straightens, gentle fingers squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, already halfway gone, slipping back into the back of the counter.

You take a sip of coffee, warmth spreading through you, and turn back to your laptop. That’s when you hear the soft whispers from the table nearby. Girls giggling, voices hushed but not enough.

“I’m so jealous of them,” one says. “They’re so cute,” another sighs.

You pretend not to hear it and smile to yourself. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a second longer than necessary as something settles in your chest.

This. Writing romance in the afternoon light. Sitting in a café that smells like coffee and home. A man who refills your cup before you ask. A child who holds your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Stolen kisses. Laughter, routine, warmth.

Then you look out of the window and at the city bathed in sunlight, the blue sky with cotton candy-like clouds, a bicycler who pets the dog that sits inside the front basket as he waits for the traffic light to turn green, a young girl sitting on the bench with headphones on, completely immersed in the book she’s reading, an elderly couple who hold hands as they argue over the restaurant menu.

You smile to yourself as you look back at your laptop and start typing again.

Hyunjin was right.

Everything is romantic.

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

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#tbr

astraystayrec

Jan 4

cb97percent

「𝚙𝚢𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌」

❝𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎.❞

➥ Hyunjin x Reader (f) — 4k (~17 min. read)

➥ Stepbrother, Red Flags in Love, Deranged Sexy

⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Stepcest, manipulation, public seduction, uninformed (past) recording of sexual acts, forced creampie, yandere themes, strong language, explicit sexual content.

➥ What he has for you is more than a soft spot, and bending him to your will is your greatest pleasure.

The Sigma house was so crowded that part of its shitfaced population had spilled out onto the street, laughing, drinking, making out, and being way too loud for a certain someone’s taste.

Hyunjin was all sprawled on the couch, his eyes out of focus, not hearing anything this barely clothed girl was whispering into his ear. He was seemingly spacing out into the distance, but that distance had a name, and she was currently busy getting on his last damn nerve, perched on some lame jock’s lap. You were being a little too affectionate with this dickwad, your arm around his shoulder, playing with his hair, laughing at his even lamer jokes…

Just what the fuck were you playing at, huh?

He’d been surveilling his bespoke demon the entire night, watching your every move like he was your government-assigned FBI agent. The way you kept leading the guy on. The way you kept pulling back every time he attempted to kiss you. And throughout the whole thing, you were staring right at Hyunjin as if to taunt him, holding his gaze as you caressed the guy’s thighs. Your provocation reached its peak when you spread your legs wide, nothing under your dress, flashing your dripping wet pussy with a diabolical smile on your lips. Good god, those lips…

He wasn’t drunk enough for this.

Jaw clenched hard enough to break his teeth, Hyunjin suddenly leapt to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and blankly stared inside for a few moments, allowing the chill to lower his blood pressure. He mindlessly grabbed a bottle and wondered just what the fuck it was going to take to peel you off that couch. If he demanded to go home right now, you were for sure going to drag this waste of oxygen with you, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood to google how to get rid of dead bodies tonight.

“Dude, is your sister seeing anyone?” the president of the Sigmas graced the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear as he stole a sip from Hyunjin’s beer.

“Kim? Not that I kn—”

“No, the other one.”

In the blink of an eye, Hyunjin grabbed the bottle by the neck and smashed it on the counter, pointing his DIY shiv at the guy’s jugular.

“I will fucking slit your throat if you repeat this to me again,” he growled through his teeth. “She’s NOT… my sister.”

He stormed out of there, hysterically looking for a corner where he could pacify his frenzy in the only way he knew how. If anybody asked, he was going to play the “I detest her with my whole entire being” card because he could never confess to the truth.

Because he was a pathetic man.

How was he going to explain why the glasses in his hands kept breaking if you stood too close to him? How was he going to justify that every time you accidentally brushed against him, he immediately had to leave the premises to go frantically jerk off somewhere? What a waste. He needed to cum on your face. He needed to cum all over your body, slather you in it, then watch you lick yourself clean. He would probably cum again to the sheer sight alone. Because he was pathetic.

But who wasn’t when they were ridiculously lusting after the one person they shouldn’t?

God, he was not sane enough for this.

He locked himself in the bathroom, dropped his pants, and put on his earphones to cut contact with the world. So what? Didn't everyone watch some porn when they masturbated? He was just being considerate not to create noise pollution.

And… And uh…

The kind of porn, the only kind of porn he was able to get off to wasn’t available on hamsters and tubes. These were one of a kind. As the secret director of them, Hyunjin had sole possession of these ‘tapes’, featuring you in various categories. Upskirt, solo play, squirting, and when he felt particularly masochistic, you with other men…

Knock, knock, knock.

“Occupied!” he yelled towards the door.

Well, there was a silver lining to everything. This was just proof of what a versatile creator you would be if you ever considered making adult content with him. You looked fantastic in all of them. Maybe he should just throw it out there for the fuck of it one time. Maybe you would say yes. He would create a fucking professional-grade set in your bedroom to make that sex tape, the only one that mattered with him as your partner, instead of this semi-blurry hidden cam crap. At least the mics picked up great quality from all corners of your bed.

Oh, but it wouldn’t stop there.

He would make you watch your tape and touch yourself to it. Then he would make you watch it again and eat your pussy throughout the whole thing. Then he would run it back one more time and fuck you to it, and then… and then…

But… But no.

If anyone so much as heard the audio, let alone catching a glimpse of the frames, he would have to kill them. Not a figure of speech, he would actually have to kill them. No one deserved to hear you like this. No one deserved to see you like this. No one fucking deserved to perceive you through any of their senses like this but him. Just him. Only him.

And it was killing him that he still didn’t know what your pussy tasted like when eaten directly from the source.

Knock, knock, knock.

“I said occupied!” he yelled again.

He had watched these so many times that he had memorized what was going to happen by timestamp. This particular one was his favorite. Late night. You sprawled on your bed. Licking your fingers and playing with your clit. Not getting enough fucking yourself a bit, not even trying to turn the volume of your moans down.

And while watching these videos, Hyunjin had developed a habit of “directing” you so he could feel like you were responding to him.

“Do it, baby,” he whispered to himself, cock leaking all over his fist as he vehemently stroked it. “Say ‘Eat my pussy, Hyunjin.’”

“Eat my pussy, Hyunjin.”

God, he was melting…

“Harder. Fuck me harder…”

The best and worst thing about living with you was the guys you kept bringing home all the time. It was the worst because of obvious reasons. And it was the best because there was something that made this torture almost worth it.

“Suck on my clit just like that.”

Your taste in men was impossible to figure out, not to mention horrible. Three different guys within the same week. One blond, one sun-kissed brunette, and one redhead. They looked nothing alike.

“I’m gonna cum. Fuck, Hyunjin!!!”

But how come all of them were fucking named Hyunjin? Where did you even find these guys?

Knock, knock, knock.

Earbuds still on and cock still rock hard, he pulled his pants up and stormed out of the bathroom.

“I fucking hope you get prostate cancer,” he snarled at the guy waiting in the line.

He began searching for a corner where no one would interrupt him. Literally anywhere would do at this point. Just five minutes by himself. He just needed to cum really hard once, and he could function normally again for a few hours.

Assuming you wouldn’t flash him your pussy again, of course.

On the other side of the house, you were looking for Hyunjin, getting a little worried that he had been gone for a while now. Your self-initiated search and rescue operation was interjected by the last person you wanted to see.

“Hey! Have you seen your brother around? We were just hanging out and—”

Was this girl ever going to get off Hyunjin’s dick, and if so, fucking when? Because if not, you were going to call roadside assistance so they would send a fucking magnetic crane to remove this piercing-clad cunt.

“My brother?” you interrupted her, your eyes unwittingly darting to the bandage around her head. “I’m an only child.”

“Oh, sorry, I meant your stepbrother.”

Hysterical. Just because Hyunjin’s dad was fucking your mom, girlie pop really thought you were banned from the game by default. Was she even aware you had her Prince Charming’s cum at your disposal anytime you wanted?

Well, okay, maybe not anytime, but definitely when you went through his hamper while he was taking a post-nut shower, which was concerningly frequent anyway.

Potayto, potahto.

“If I see you make a move on him, I will fucking set your car on fire,” you spoke to her with a bone-chillingly sweet smile, which vanished completely within three seconds. “He’s NOT… my brother. ”

She left without a single word, spooked out of her mind. About goddamn time, to be honest. How fucking dense was she that she couldn’t put two and two together? There was a reason she kept getting into little accidents that resulted in her bleeding a little, hello?

Calm down, just a few broken glasses here and there. No ER-worthy bloodbath.

Yet.

But unfortunately for you, she found what she was looking for by the cloakroom.

“Hyunjin! I’ve been looking f—”

“Get in,” he instantly dragged her inside and closed the door.

“Are we…? Are we really doing this?”

She burst into hysterical giggles and attempted to kiss him, just to get hit with a magnificent curve.

“No,” Hyunjin turned her around, making her face the wall, and pressed on the small of her back. “Bend over.”

Your moans in his ear, a pussy at his disposal, he could totally picture you now. He could finally immerse himself in his makeshift VR experience. All he needed to do was focus. Really focus and—

“Ah, Hyunjin!”

“Shut up,” he ordered. “Don’t make a sound.”

But she did. She made so many of them. It sounded like nails on a blackboard, and Hyunjin was about to punch a hole in that wall as a warning shot.

“I said don’t! Fucking christ…” he spat, adjusting his earbuds.

“Are you seriously listening to something right now?!” she shrieked at him, extremely offended.

“If you got a problem, get the fuck out so I can jerk off in peace.”

She didn’t get the fuck out. Because they never did.

But as if the universe had it out for his dick, this time Hyunjin heard yet another knock on the door, so loud that it managed to penetrate his lousy noise-cancelling.

“FUCKING OCCUPIED!”

“Hyunjin, it’s me. Open up.”

Poof!

Gone.

The second he heard your voice, his swelling rage instantly deflated. He immediately pulled out, practically throwing her to the side as he fixed himself up, and slid the door open.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, bro,” you looked at him with a smirk, eyes psychotically widened. “Can we talk for a bit?”

The weirdest form of Ouija board honestly, but it worked. It was as if he had summoned you there. While he was looking for a simple yes or no at the back of his throat, your eyes darted to the bitch in the corner pulling up her panties.

“Is my brother a good fuck?” you asked her, your face so straight that she couldn’t decide if she should be terrorized or scandalized.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Hyunjin furrowed his brows, speaking under his breath.

“It’s kinda urgent,” you held his hand and gently pulled him towards you. “Come.”

Good lord, he was pathetic. FUCK HIM if he ever said no to you.

You took him somewhere with determined steps like you knew exactly where you were headed, and finally stopped in front of a door upstairs. He wasn’t going to ask you why you had a key because he had a feeling it might be for the better if he didn’t know. You opened the door for him to enter first, then followed suit, your eyes intently watching him sit on the bed as you locked the door behind you.

“So?” he pressed his palms on the mattress, inviting you to get to the point. “What do you want?”

So you did.

“Yeah, imma need you to break up with her.”

He wasn’t sure if he heard it right, just staring at you, mouth agape.

Break up?

“Huh?”

“You heard me,” you took slow steps towards him. “You’re going to break up with her.”

“What are you tal—?”

“Break up with her, Hyunjin,” you put your hands on his porcelain face. “I won’t be as nice if I have to repeat myself one more time.”

He immediately lost the ability to speak. His eyes closed on their own like he was conditioned, leaning into your touch and melting, melting, MELTING.

“If you think this is a one-way street, you got another thing coming,” he broke the silence at long last.

“Meaning?”

“We share a wall,” he heavily exhaled through his nose, rage slowly coming back. “Keep bringing your boytoys to our apartment, and I’m gonna rain blood on your whore parade really hard one of these days.”

An excessively satisfied smile bloomed on your lips. It didn’t look sinister; you seemed genuinely happy, which was why his heart palpitations were laced with ample amounts of confusion.

“Keep getting handsy with your skanks at these parties, and I’ll get super weird right in front of them. Starting today,” you pressed your palms on his hand and leaned in. “Try and explain to her why you get rock hard when your sister so much as breathes in your general direction. I fucking dare you.”

It was true. That was what happened when you breathed, so imagine the disaster between his legs when you were one inch away from his face, ghosting your lips on his.

“Get weird right now,” he blurted out of nowhere.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and pressed it on his cock, making you palm him. He was so hard that you involuntarily let out a gasp, your clit buzzing like he was down there making out with it.

“Feel it. Fucking feel what you do to me,” he closed his eyes. “Just stop torturing me. I can’t fucking take this anymore!”

You were on the brink of crying the happiest tears.

You held his other hand and guided it between your legs. He might have avoided a heart attack, but still knocked on death’s door by way of mortification, barely stopping himself from cumming when he felt your wetness. Your foreheads were pressed together, and you were just breathing each other in. Neither of you was moving, just taking that first touch in, but it was enough to incinerate both of you.

“Can’t take this anymore?” you whispered into his mouth. “Then fucking learn to take what’s yours.”

You pushed him onto the mattress and stripped naked, then crawled on the bed only with your heels on. Hyunjin was about to pass out just watching you make yourself comfortable, spreading your legs wide and clasping your hands under your head, waiting for him to sit down at the dinner table. He wiped the drool pooling in the corners of his mouth, in utter disbelief that his worst fantasy had actually manifested before his eyes. When your impatience chewed you whole and spat you out, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close.

“If you leave a single drop behind, I’ll scream,” you threatened, but immediately softened, looking like you were about to cry while touching his lips longingly. “Make me cum on these, and I’ll let you do anything you want.”

“Just fucking kiss me, and I’ll do anything you want.”

An impromptu arson had been committed in that bed.

You didn’t even know it was possible to be kissed that deep. That wet. That passionately, almost with murderous intent to suck your soul out of you. You actually ripped a piece of his shirt trying to get it off of him, his naked torso more than enough to moan embarrassingly loudly. He still looked insanely beautiful even though he was panting, drooling, hair a mess, and begging to get much much messier.

Just pull it however hard you want.

He was ferociously kissing everything in his way like violent pit stops while descending to his destination. Your breasts. Your ribcage. Your tummy. Your crotch. Your mound. Your… Your…

“AH, YES!!!”

He got what he wanted. Your pussy in his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair, yanking it hard to make him go deeper. Oh, this man… This man was the demon. This man held the power to send people to psych wards between his lips. This man was the angel. An infernal one bleeding lust on the corpse of your soul, but still an angel.

“Say ‘Eat my pussy, Hyunjin,’” he slurped on your clit.

“Eat my pussy, Hyunjin.”

GOD, he was mel–ting!

Your legs locked around his neck, you were losing your mind with each lick, his tongue teasing every crevice of your cunt. He sounded just like the way he did when he jerked off in his room listening to you fuck.

“Like that. Yes, like that! Suck on my clit just like that.”

It was real. It was really like you’d always imagined. His lips were perfect. His tongue was perfect. Hyunjin was perfect, spelling his name on your pussy over and over again like he was carving cute little hearts on tree barks with both your initials on it.

Whereas you were clawing on the bedsheets so hard that you were tearing holes in them.

“Faster. God, faster, you’re driving me fucking CRAZIER!”

It was real. You sounded just like the way you did when he watched you fuck yourself in the shower. It was so different from what you sounded like when you had someone else in your bed. Those were just falsettos, but this? You were belting it. It was coming from so far back in your throat that just the thought of cumming all over it made him vibrate.

“I’m gonna cum. I’m go— I’m cumming. Cumming. Fuck, Hyunjin!!!”

He knew it was real because right after he made you cum all over his face, you started laughing like a lunatic, writhing with how much it tickled when he kept licking you. He knew it was real because he could feel you pulsate on his tongue. The high of your climax was still running strong in your veins, but a lot more like cocaine than opium, turning you savage instead of calming you down. You pulled him into a ravenous kiss, eating your own pussy on his mouth while getting rid of his pants at lightspeed.

“You made her bend over against the wall, right?” you bit into his lips. “Bend me over like that, but fuck me so much harder.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

He slammed you back on the mattress, pinning your hands over your head. You looked so deliciously vulnerable like this, perfectly molded into indulging his every whim.

“You’re gonna take my cock. You’re gonna take all of it,” he tugged your bottom lip down for you to stick your tongue out, the spit connecting his tongue to yours forging the most demented of bonds. “And you’re gonna fucking look into my eyes when you do.”

His cock was about to burst already, but he was still rubbing it all over your soft thighs, your pussy lips, your clit, smearing his precum everywhere. He sharply hissed when he prodded your dripping entrance, mental readiness to finally feel you wrapped around him lightyears below zero. But it was just the first dip that was the hardest, right? Once he threw himself into the freezing cold waters, he was going to get used t—

“Oh, GOD!!!”

If the waters weren’t made of molten lava, that is.

The pure satisfaction of being inside you was maddening, but you still throbbing around him like that? Moaning under him like you were about to fall into an ecstasy coma and drag him with you? Clinging to him to remind him that this was the sole moment he had been alive for?

“Look at me. Fucking look!” Hyunjin snarled at you, holding your face in place. “Fuck your body doubles. Moan my name to my face now.”

“Hyunjin.”

“Oh, god yes,” he threw his head back. “Louder.”

“Hyunjin.”

“I said louder!”

“HYUNJIN!!!”

It was too late when he noticed it.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t leave the safety of your swollen walls until the very last moment. He was going to relish every drop of the delirious pleasure you were injecting in his veins. God knows he’d paid his dues; he had fucking deserved it, but when it was time to leave, it was as if he had turned into stone.

Your legs were locked around him like a deadlock made of poison ivy.

“No, I’m… I can’t…”

“Don’t leave me,” you held his face and started begging him in earnest. “Stay here.”

“I–I shouldn’t.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’ll never! I just—”

“Cum inside me, Hyunjin.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ve been waiting so long.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Don’t leave me empty,” you squeezed yourself even tighter to make sure he wouldn’t move an inch. “Fill me up with you.”

A few hard clenches around him, and you milked him to his demise. The flimsy threads that his sanity was hanging on finally broke, and he buried himself in your lips, begging you to spare his life as his body violently convulsed over yours. You pardoned him with kisses all over his face. You let him soar as high as he wanted, then waited for him to come back down to your arms to help him land safely. He seemed tired, drenched in sweat, about to fall asleep on your chest as you played with his hair, giggling.

“Let’s go back home,” he kissed your neck. “I wanna know what it’s like to sleep in your bed when you’re there.”

“Restroom first. I’ll be right out,” you kissed his head in response.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin walked outside into the chilly night as a changed man. He lit up a cigarette with a stupid smile on his face, still in disbelief that all this actually happened. He thought about all the could have beens. He thought about how crazy he was about you. He thought about the possibility that maybe you were just as crazy about him, and all of a sudden, he was picking out tuxes in his head.

His heart almost gave out when a loud explosion was heard in the garage. While everyone was scurrying away in panic, Hyunjin immediately dashed back towards the house to find you, but he froze in his place merely three steps later. You were practically catwalking towards him, extremely unfazed, way too calmly as if you had just gone deaf.

“What?” you shrugged. “I told her I’d set her car on fire if she made a move on you.”

As the distant sirens drew near, Hyunjin couldn’t help but break into a smile. A bit endeared, definitely dumbfounded, but also moved to tears. He finally ran out of all fucks to give about who he was, where he was, the fact that there were people around, and yanked you close to kiss your soul out of you.

“This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” he punctuated his sentence with one last peck and held your hand to disappear into the night.

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