i can give you the life you deserve (say the word)

Minjeong should have known something was wrong the moment he asked her two weeks in advance. Most people sent birthday invitations; he hovered.

The first mention came on a Tuesday evening while he was standing in her kitchen, stealing strawberries from a container he’d been explicitly told not to touch.

"My birthday's next month," he said.

Minjeong looked up from her laptop. "That's nice."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's all I get?"

"Would you like a certificate?"

"No."

"Happy early birthday."

He looked unconvinced, and Minjeong’s suspicion flared instantly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What."

His smile widened. "There's a party."

There it was. Minjeong closed her eyes briefly. Of course there was a party.

"Jimin's organising it."

Even worse. "Mm."

"I want you there."

The words landed with alarming force - not because of what they meant, but because of how easily he said them. Like it was obvious. Like the possibility she wouldn't be there was unimaginable.

"You're looking at me like that again," he said.

Minjeong narrowed her eyes. "Like what?"

"Like I've just handed you a legally binding contract."

"You have."

"It's a birthday invitation."

"That’s even scarier."

Silence settled between them briefly before Minjeong eventually spoke again, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He blinked. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me there?”

For the first time since bringing up the party, he looked slightly caught off guard - like he'd expected resistance. Complaints. Negotiation. Not that question.

Minjeong closed her laptop slowly. “It’s your birthday,” she said. “You’ll have friends there. Family. People you actually like.”

“I actually like you.” The answer came so quickly she almost missed it.

His expression remained completely open. No teasing. No grin. Just simple honesty - which somehow made it significantly worse.

Minjeong looked away first. “You barely know me.”

His smile softened slightly. “I know.”

The room settled into a quiet she suddenly found difficult to navigate. He stole another strawberry. Minjeong watched him do it.

“That's still theft, by the way.”

“Worth it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You like me anyway.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Why do you want me there?” she repeated.

This time he thought about it. Not long. Just enough. Then he shrugged one shoulder.

“Because it’ll make me happy.”

The simplicity of it caught her completely off guard. The absence of performance, the lack of teasing, the sincerity in his voice - it made it infinitely harder to refuse.

"Please."

God, that was unfair. That was deeply unfair. 

Minjeong stared at him, then sighed.

The victorious grin appeared instantly.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Stop looking so pleased with yourself."

"So that's a yes?"

"It's a conditional yes."

"What are the conditions?"

"I'm making them up as we go."

The problem with agreeing to something two weeks in advance was that it gave Minjeong fourteen full days to regret it.

Not regret it exactly - overthink it. There was a difference. A very important difference.

Minjeong reminded herself of this repeatedly while standing in front of her wardrobe on the morning of his birthday. Because apparently, attending a birthday party for someone you were definitely not dating required an unreasonable amount of consideration.

Too formal looked ridiculous. Too casual looked suspicious. Too much effort looked desperate, and too little effort looked rude.

The dress currently draped across her bed had somehow managed to be all four simultaneously. Minjeong hated it.

Her phone buzzed.

are u alive? 👀

Unfortunately.good

u never answered my question btw

Minjeong stared at the message. Unfortunately, she knew exactly which question he meant.

Two days earlier, while she’d been trapped in a conference room listening to three executives argue over something that could have been resolved in a single email, her phone had buzzed.

what are u wearing to my party? 

actually wait. I don't wanna know

no I definitely wanna know 

ignore me 

unless it's something cool

Minjeong had wisely chosen not to respond at the time. Now, staring at her wardrobe like it had personally offended her, she deeply regretted that decision.

Her thumbs hovered briefly over the keyboard.

Why?

The reply arrived instantly.

because i need to mentally prepare

Minjeong rolled her eyes.

For what?

yk

No, I don't.

liar

Minjeong hated the fact that she smiled. Across the room, the dress continued sitting on her bed, looking deeply judgmental.

Another message buzzed through.

are u still deciding what to wear?

No.

...

minjeong

What?

u take longer choosing an outfit than negotiating mergers

That is objectively untrue.

is it?

is it reaaally?

Minjeong looked from the dress, to the shoes she’d already rejected three separate times, to the second dress hanging from her wardrobe door.

Then, a third message arrived.

jimin says u are absolutely overthinking this btw

Why is Jimin involved?

because i told her u were probably overthinking this

Traitor.

she says she cant wait to meet u properly tho

Minjeong stared at the screen. Something strange settled low in her stomach. Not anxiety exactly, but something softer, something scarier.

Because the reality of tonight had finally begun to feel real. This wasn't a gala, a work event, or a charity fundraiser full of strangers and professional obligations.

This was his birthday. His people. His life.

And somehow, despite only knowing him a handful of months, she'd been invited into it. The thought lingered longer than she wanted it to.

A final message arrived.

for what its worth

i dont really care what u wear

im just happy ur coming 

but if u wear black again im most deffo going to embarrass myself in front of my entire family

The dress ends up being a terrible decision.

Minjeong realises this approximately three seconds after pulling it over her head.

It isn't black. That should have been her first warning sign.

The fabric falls in deep scarlet silk, flowing over her body like poured wine beneath the bedroom lights. Every shift of movement sends soft ripples through the material, the colour rich enough to make her skin appear luminous against it.

The neckline sits lower than what she normally allows herself, exposing the elegant line of her collarbones and shoulders. The back dips almost scandalously low, leaving smooth skin bare all the way to the curve of her waist.

Sophisticated enough for a formal event. Sexy enough that she immediately questioned her judgement.

The venue sits tucked between two converted warehouses near the river, strings of warm lights draped overhead and music spilling out through open doors. It feels nothing like the charity galas Minjeong is used to. No marble floors, no politicians, no people discussing market forecasts over champagne. Just laughter. Actual laughter. The kind that arrives loud and unfiltered.

Real.

Minjeong pauses briefly outside before stepping through the entrance. Immediately, she regrets the dress. Not because it's inappropriate, but because suddenly she's hyperaware of it. The scarlet silk catches every warm light hanging overhead, every movement sending the fabric shifting softly against her skin. God. This was a terrible idea.

The space inside is already crowded. Friends cluster around long tables, half-empty drinks balance on railings, and someone shouts passionately about music near the bar.

Before she can process the rest of her surroundings, a familiar voice cuts through the noise. "There she is."

Oh no. Minjeong turns.

Jimin stands halfway across the room holding a drink and smiling - not a normal smile, but one that has mischief written all over it. At the sound of Jimin's voice, his head turns automatically. Then he sees Minjeong, and for a moment, he simply stares.

Around him, the conversation continues uninterrupted. Someone laughs; someone calls his name. He doesn't seem to hear any of it.

Minjeong feels her stomach drop.

Oh.

That is significantly worse. Because she recognizes that look. She's seen it before - at the gala, at her apartment door. Every single time, he looks at her like she's filled a space he hadn't realized was empty until she stepped into it.

Only this time, there are witnesses.

"Wow," Jimin says softly, stepping up beside her.

Minjeong tears her eyes away from him. "What?"

Jimin's smile somehow grows. “Nothing,” she says lightly.

Minjeong narrows her eyes immediately. “Why does it not feel true when you say it?”

“No, seriously.” Jimin lifts her drink toward the far side of the room. “I just think you should turn around.”

Minjeong immediately regrets doing exactly that.

Because he is still staring - and not subtly, either. It isn't the casual way people glance toward a doorway when a new guest arrives. No, he is standing beside a long table surrounded by people, a forgotten drink in one hand, looking at her as if she has personally rearranged his entire evening simply by walking through the door.

One of the men beside him follows his line of sight, looks at Minjeong, and then turns back to him, his grin growing wider. For approximately three seconds, the friend attempts to maintain some shred of dignity. Then he looks back at Minjeong, then at him again, and lets out a low whistle.

"God damn, brother."

The conversation around the table immediately begins to die. Several heads turn. Minjeong watches the color drain from his face.

"No," he says immediately.

"Oh, absolutely yes," his friend replies.

Another friend glances toward the entrance, sees Minjeong, and freezes. "Wait. That's her?"

Oh no. Oh, this is a disaster.

His eyes close briefly. "Please stop talking."

Nobody stops talking. In fact, things somehow get worse.

"Brother," the first friend says again, shaking his head in genuine disbelief. "How the fuck have you managed that?"

Laughter erupts around the table. He looks personally offended. "What does that mean?"

"It means look at her."

"Yeah."

"Then look at you."

"Okay."

"Then look at her again." His friend gestures dramatically toward the entrance. "She's stunning."

More laughter. Someone else leans forward.

"No, seriously. We thought you were exaggerating." The first friend places a hand over his chest. "I'm actually offended."

"Why?"

"Because I've known you for fifteen years." A pause. "You never once mentioned you were capable of pulling like this."

The entire table dissolves into chaos.

“Man,” someone wheezes, clutching their drink. “I’m serious. We thought you were catfishing us.”

“I wasn’t catfishing anyone.”

“You showed us one photo.”

“That’s because it was my photo.”

“That is not helping your case.”

More groans and laughter follow. Minjeong watches from across the room as he rubs a hand across his face, looking like he's reconsidering every friendship he's maintained since childhood.

“Please,” he says. “For once in your lives, act normal.”

“Normal?” one of them repeats. “You've been constantly cancelling plans for months to go play lover boy.”

“That is not true.”

A chorus of disbelief immediately follows.

“Bullshit.”

“Absolute horseshit, man.”

“You made us listen to a ten-minute story about a lawyer who isn’t even nice to you.”

The entire table explodes. His face immediately drains of color. “That was one time.”

“One time?” His friend looks personally offended. “Bro, you told us about the coffee order.”

“You remembered her coffee order,” someone else adds.

“You knew her coffee order before you knew her last name,” another friend says.

Minjeong presses her lips together. Jimin, standing beside her, looks moments away from tears. “Oh, this is incredible,” she whispers.

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you're not.”

Across the room, the public execution continues.

“Wait.” One of the friends points accusingly. “Was this the woman you spent twenty minutes describing because she called you insufferable?”

His eyes close briefly. “No.”

“Yes.”

“It was.”

“It was definitely her.”

Across the room, Minjeong can physically see him regretting every life choice that has led to this moment. Beside her, Jimin is barely breathing.

"Oh my God," Jimin chokes out between laughs.

"I'm leaving," Minjeong replies.

"No, you're not."

"Watch me."

Before Jimin can stop her, Minjeong straightens her shoulders and starts walking. Because somebody has to save him - and unfortunately, that somebody appears to be her.

The friends notice her approach first, which somehow makes everything worse. The laughter dies immediately. Not completely, just enough that every single person sitting around the table suddenly becomes very interested in their drinks. Or the wall. Or literally anything that isn't the woman currently approaching them.

He looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Minjeong finds that strangely endearing.

"Hi," she says pleasantly.

One of the friends clears his throat. "Hi."

Another looks directly into his beer. A third is very obviously trying not to smile. Minjeong turns her attention toward the birthday boy. He looks horrified.

"Hello," she says.

"Hi."

"Having fun?"

"No." The answer comes immediately.

That finally breaks something in her. A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth before she can stop it. "Do you need rescuing?" she asks quietly.

His eyes immediately meet hers, and the expression on his face softens almost instantly. There it was again. That look. The one that somehow makes her feel chosen.

"Please." The sincerity of it makes her laugh.

Slowly, Minjeong reaches for his hand. His eyes close briefly as she threads her fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle tug.

"Got a minute?"

For a second, he simply stares at her. Then his mouth curves into the kind of smile that always makes something in her chest tingle. "Yeah."

Slowly, he lets her lead him away from the table. The second they are out of immediate earshot, the laughter starts again behind them - loud and relentless. One of his friends shouts something that sounds suspiciously like "Godspeed, my man!" before another voice immediately tells him to shut up. He doesn't look back, which was probably for the best.

Minjeong guides him through a side door that opens onto a narrow balcony overlooking the river. The noise from the party softens immediately, replaced by distant music and the low rush of water moving beneath the lights of the city. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then, he lets out a long groan and drops his forehead onto her shoulder. Minjeong laughs - actually laughs, a real one.

His arms slip around her waist immediately. "Please don't."

"Oh, no." She shakes her head. "Absolutely not. You don't get to tell me not to laugh after that."

"It wasn't that bad."

Minjeong stares at him. He stares back.

"You're right," she says. "It was significantly worse."

A wounded sound leaves him. "Minjeong."

"They thought you were catfishing."

"That's somehow not helping." He buries his face against her shoulder again. "I am never speaking to any of them ever again."

"You've known some of them for fifteen years."

"A tragic waste of fifteen years."

Another laugh escapes her. God, the sight of him being completely mortified is unexpectedly adorable.

He eventually lifts his head enough to look at her. "On behalf of my friends, I'd like to formally apologise."

Minjeong raises an eyebrow. "A formal apology?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh."

"They're idiots."

Minjeong laughs again, and the sound seems to visibly relax him. His shoulders loosen; the embarrassment fades. And then, inevitably, his gaze drifts over her. Once. Twice. Lingering.

Minjeong immediately notices. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Staring."

His mouth twitches. "I can't help it."

"Mm."

"I'm serious." Something in his expression softens, and the teasing disappears. "I genuinely think that dress short-circuited my brain."

Minjeong lets out a quiet laugh. "Your brain wasn't particularly reliable before the dress."

His hand settles more firmly against her waist. "That's fair."

Silence stretches between them - not awkward, just full. His eyes drift over her face again, softer now.

"You came."

The words are simple. Far too simple. Minjeong feels something tighten unexpectedly in her chest.

"I said I would."

"I know," he says, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. "But you still came."

Minjeong shakes her head slightly. "It's your birthday."

His smile softens. "Yeah." For a second, he just looks at her. "Best one I've had in a while."

Minjeong immediately rolls her eyes. "Ugh, there you go being hyperbolic again."

"I'm actually being serious."

"That’s even worse."

His laugh escapes quietly.

Minjeong reaches up and straightens the collar of his shirt unnecessarily, her fingers slipping behind his neck, pulling him closer. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of his skin. Close enough that his smile fades into something gentler - something only for her.

Minjeong's thumb brushes lightly along his jaw. "Happy birthday, baby."

The words land between them. His eyes widen slightly, not from surprise, but from the way she'd said it - soft, affectionate, and unguarded for once. Something in his expression melts completely.

"Yeah?" he murmurs.

"Mm." A smile tugged at her mouth as she rises onto her toes to kiss him. Slow. Warm. Unhurried.

He makes a soft sound against her lips before immediately kissing her back, one hand sliding up her spine while the other settled firmly at her waist. For a few seconds, the rest of the party disappears entirely. Just him. Just her.

When they finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against hers, looking entirely too happy.

Minjeong narrows her eyes immediately. "Don't."

"What?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

His grin returns instantly, far too pleased with himself. "I was just thinking this is officially the best birthday I've ever had."

Minjeong groans, and his laughter follows her all the way back inside.

The second they step back inside, the room notices. Not dramatically - nobody stops talking or announces their return - but conversations shift, heads turn briefly, and a few knowing smiles appear.

And somehow, that feels worse.

Minjeong immediately becomes aware of the fact she is still holding his hand. Unfortunately, so is everyone else. A few comments are thrown their way from across the room, enough to make him roll his eyes and answer with a raised middle finger that earns several laughs.

“Classy,” Minjeong murmurs.

“I try.” His thumb brushes once against the back of her hand. It's a stupidly small gesture, but one that settles the nervousness in Minjeong’s chest.

Before Minjeong can dwell on it further, a woman approaches them from one of the nearby tables. She looks to be in her late fifties, elegant without trying to be, with dark hair threaded with silver and warm eyes. She is the sort of person who immediately gives the impression she would do anything for those she loved, even if it killed her.

The second she sees him, her face softens. And his smile changes instantly - not disappearing, but changing into something softer, younger.

“Auntie.”

The single word makes something click, and suddenly, Minjeong remembers. She remembers a late night in her apartment months ago. Both of them had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, sharing takeout because neither could be tasked to move to the dining table. Their conversation had drifted lazily between subjects - family, childhood, loss.

He had only mentioned it once. Parents gone, years ago. The subject had appeared briefly before disappearing again, not because he was hiding it, but simply because it hurt. Minjeong had never pushed.

Now, watching him look at this woman, she finally understands.

The older woman's face softens instantly. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Something in Minjeong's chest tightens unexpectedly. Because nobody ever looks too old to need that. Not really.

He smiles immediately, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her shoulders. The older woman laughs softly, reaching up to smooth a hand briefly through his hair.

"You're twenty-five, not three."

"I know."

"You still make the same face."

"What face?"

"The one that says you're hoping someone else planned everything so you don't have to."

A laugh escapes him. "I planned some of it."

"You bought the drinks."

"That counts."

"It does not."

The fondness between them settles warmly into the space around them - easy, familiar, the kind of affection built over years. Then, her attention shifts toward Minjeong. For a moment, she simply smiles. Not curious, not assessing. Just happy.

"So you're Minjeong."

Beside her, he immediately looks wary. "Auntie."

"What?"

"Behave."

The older woman looks offended. "I am behaving."

"You say that every time right before you don't."

Minjeong feels a smile tugging at her mouth as his aunt ignores him completely. "It's lovely to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too."

The older woman glances between them briefly before something soft crosses her expression. "You know," she says quietly, "I don't think I've ever seen him this happy."

The words land with startling gentleness. Immediately, he groans. "Auntie."

"What?"

"No."

"I'm serious." The teasing disappears from her voice entirely. She looks at him for a moment, then back toward Minjeong. "After everything..." she says softly, "it's nice."

For a second, nobody speaks. Minjeong feels something shift inside her chest, because she realizes the older woman isn't talking about tonight, or the party, or the dress. She is talking about him. She is talking about the years before Minjeong knew him - the grief she'd only heard about once, the family dinners, the birthdays, and everything in between.

His aunt reaches out and squeezes his arm gently. "I've missed seeing this smile."

The room suddenly feels a little quieter. He looks away first, embarrassed, which somehow makes it worse.

"Auntie."

"What?" she asks softly.

"You can't just say things like that."

"Of course I can."

He rolls his eyes, and she smiles. Then, before he can argue further, she reaches up and cupps his cheek briefly. The gesture is so instinctive, so maternal, that Minjeong suddenly understands exactly why he called her Auntie with that particular softness in his voice.

The older woman smiles one last time before patting his shoulder. "Anyway." The seriousness vanishes instantly. "Enough of that before you start crying on your birthday."

"I am absolutely not crying."

"Mhm."

"I'm not."

"Sure, sweetheart."

"I hate this family."

"No, you don't."

And unfortunately for him, everyone within hearing distance immediately agrees.

The conversation doesn't stay serious for long. It never seems to around his family. Within minutes, his aunt is distracted by three separate people asking questions, someone yells from across the room that the cake has finally arrived, and Jimin materializes beside them carrying two drinks that definitely weren’t hers.

"Perfect," Jimin says brightly.

His eyes narrow immediately. "No."

"What?"

"Whatever you're about to do."

Jimin looks offended. "I haven't done anything."

"Yet."

His aunt laughs softly into her wine. Minjeong immediately recognizes the look that passes between them - the shared amusement, the silent agreement. Concerning. Deeply concerning.

"You've got the same face," he says, pointing between them.

"What face?" Jimin asks innocently.

"The face that means I'm about to become the topic of conversation."

His aunt smiles. "You've always been very perceptive."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Relax," Jimin says. "We're not embarrassing you." A pause. "Much."

"Jimin."

"What? I'm being nice."

Nobody looks convinced. Unfortunately, that includes Minjeong.

Jimin turns toward her immediately. "Did he tell you about the stray cat?"

His eyes close. "Please don’t."

"The stray cat?" Minjeong repeats.

"He found it outside school when he was eleven," Jimin explains.

"Oh my God."

"It was missing half an ear and looked like a criminal."

"I can explain," he cuts in.

"No, you can't," Jimin replies, "because there is no explanation for what happened next."

His aunt is already laughing. Minjeong feels herself smiling. "What happened next?"

"He brought it home."

Minjeong blinks. "A stray alley cat."

"An alley cat."

"Into the house."

"Right."

His aunt takes over. "He was convinced he could build a sanctuary for it in my garage. Out of cardboard boxes and old blankets."

"I did build it a sanctuary."

"You spent three hours coaxing it in with premium tuna."

"It worked."

"For three weeks."

The table nearby erupts into laughter. Minjeong turns slowly toward him. "You had a makeshift cat hotel."

"It wasn't a hotel."

"You used premium tuna."

"It was rehabilitation."

"That's somehow worse."

His face disappears briefly into one hand. "If you could both just stop talking, that’d be awesome."

The conversation moves on from there, but somehow the stories keep coming. Not embarrassing stories - worse. Endearing ones. The time he spent an entire summer helping an elderly neighbour fix up her garden because she couldn't manage it herself. The stray dog he convinced half the neighbourhood to help find after it went missing. Every story is delivered with the casual affection of people who don't realize what they're revealing. Because to them, these things aren't remarkable. They're just him.

Minjeong listens quietly. She watches him groan every time another story appears, watches him try and fail to stop them, watches the way everyone gravitates toward him naturally.

And slowly, something settles inside her. Because none of this surprises her. Not really. The cheesecake. The remembered coffee order. The way he always asks if she is okay. The way he looked genuinely devastated when she disappeared after their first night together. The way he wanted her here tonight simply because it would make him happy.

He isn't different with her. This is just who he is.

The realization lands softly. And somehow, that makes everything significantly more real.

An hour later, Minjeong finds herself standing near the edge of the room with a glass of wine in hand. The party has settled into that comfortable stage where conversations overlap and everyone is slightly louder than they were at the start of the evening. Across the room, he's laughing at something one of his friends is saying, his head thrown back, his smile effortless. Completely unaware he's being watched.

For a moment, Minjeong simply studies him. Not just the version she met in a bar, or the version that showed up with cheesecake, or the version curled around her in bed. All of them. The whole picture. His family. His friends. His life.

And then, unexpectedly, a thought slips through her defences.

She doesn't feel like a guest anymore.

The realization hits hard enough that she immediately finishes her glass of wine. Because that is far more frightening than attraction ever was.

The interior of the taxi was suffocatingly quiet after the chaotic energy of the warehouse. Minjeong kept her face turned toward the window, watching the blur of city lights reflect against the dark surface of the river.

Beside her, he was silent, but she could feel his heat radiating across the console. He hadn’t let go of her hand since they left the venue. His thumb traced slow, rhythmic circles against her knuckles - a small, grounding gesture that only made the panic in her chest bloom harder.

I don’t feel like a guest anymore. The thought repeated like a warning track in her mind.

When the car finally pulled up to his building in Queens, the transition felt jarringly different than it had months ago. There was no hesitation this time, no second-guessing the black mould or the graffiti in the elevator. It felt entirely too familiar.

The elevator still smelled faintly of weed. The graffiti was still there too, layered over itself in thick black marker and peeling stickers. Someone had added a cartoon cat near the buttons since the last time she'd been here. None of it felt strange anymore. 

That was the problem.

The apartment door closes behind them with a familiar click.

And that's the problem. Familiar. Not exciting, not nerve-wracking, not reckless. Just... familiar.

A few months ago, standing inside this apartment had felt absurd. Temporary. The sort of thing she would eventually laugh about over drinks with Yizhuo. He was just the younger man from Queens. The impulsive decision. The fling.

But now, she automatically hangs her coat on the hook beside the door - because that's where it goes. Now, she knows exactly which floorboard creaks near the kitchen. Now, she knows the coffee lives on the second shelf, and the cereal sits on top of the fridge because "there's more room up there." Now, she knows his side of the bed.

The realization makes her chest feel tight.

God. This isn't normal. Or maybe it is. Maybe this is exactly what normal feels like - and somehow, that’s worse.

The apartment door closes behind them, as he disappears down the hallway toward the bathroom, still smiling to himself. "Best birthday ever, by the way."

Minjeong rolls her eyes automatically. "You're a grown man."

"I'm twenty-five."

"Ancient."

His laugh follows him down the hallway, and a minute later, the apartment falls quiet. Minjeong remains standing near the kitchen. The coat hook. The creaky floorboard. The stupid cereal on top of the fridge. She hates how familiar all of it feels.

The bathroom door opens again. He's halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when he notices she hasn't moved. Immediately, his expression shifts - not alarmed, just attentive.

"Hey," he says.

Minjeong looks up.

"You okay?"

Such an unfair question, because she doesn't actually know. "I think so."

His brow furrows slightly. "That sounds suspiciously like a no."

A quiet laugh escapes her, and he steps closer. "What's going on?"

Minjeong looks away first. "I don't know how to do this."

Silence. When she finally looks back, he isn't confused. If anything, he looks sad.

"Do what?"

She gestures vaguely between them. "This. Whatever this is." The word feels embarrassingly inadequate.

For a moment he says nothing, and Minjeong hates herself enough to continue. "I've always been good at knowing when to leave." The admission settles heavily between them, but his expression softens immediately. Too quickly. "As soon as things become complicated," she says quietly, "or serious, or real... I know how to leave." She laughs once, humourless. "But this feels..." She exhales sharply. "Different."

"Different bad?"

"I don't know." The honesty feels awful. "I don't know what the rules are anymore."

A long silence follows.

"Minjeong." His voice is gentle, and she hates that too.

"What?"

"You know I've never once asked you for anything."

She blinks. "What?"

He leans back against the kitchen counter. "Think about it." Minjeong frowns, but he continues. "You came back to the bar." She opens her mouth, then closes it. "You invited me to the gala." Another pause. "You gave me your number." His smile is small now. "You introduced me to your friends. I didn't force any of that."

"No."

"I didn't convince you."

"No."

"You chose all of it."

The apartment falls quiet because he's right. Painfully right. He didn't chase her. He didn't pressure her. Every single step forward had been hers: the first kiss, the second night, the gala, tonight. All of it.

"I think," he says softly, "you're acting like something is happening to you. And it isn't." His eyes meet hers. "You're just making choices."

The words land harder than she expects, because suddenly she realizes he's right. This isn't some accident. This isn't something she stumbled into. She keeps choosing him. Again. And again. And again.

A small smile appears at the corner of his mouth. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're terrified because you actually like me."

Minjeong immediately glares at him.

His grin grows. "There she is." Her eyes narrow. "The woman who came all the way to Queens because she didn't want me to spend my birthday missing her."

"Don't start."

"You literally rescued me from my own birthday party."

"I was saving you from humiliation."

"You held my hand the entire taxi ride home."

Minjeong points a warning finger at him. He looks delighted.

"See?" he asks.

"What?"

"You know exactly how to do this." For the first time since entering the apartment, Minjeong doesn't immediately have a response. His smile softens. "You've been doing it the whole time."

A comfortable silence settles between them. He watches her for a moment, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Then his brow furrows. "Wait."

Minjeong immediately looks suspicious.

"What?"

His eyes narrow. "You never gave me my birthday present."

The accusation is so sudden that Minjeong actually laughs. "Oh my God."

"No, seriously." He points at her. "I got ambushed by my friends, then you distracted me."

"You seem remarkably willing to blame me for that."

"You kissed me on a balcony."

"On your birthday."

"Exactly."

His expression remains completely serious.

Minjeong stares at him. "You are a twenty-five year old man."

"A giftless one."

A wounded look settles across his face. "A tragedy, honestly."

She rolls her eyes so hard it almost hurts. "You are actually unbelievable."

"I know."

The smile he's fighting gives him away immediately.

Minjeong sighs dramatically before walking toward the bag she'd abandoned near the door earlier.

His eyes follow her instantly. "Wait."

The teasing vanishes.

"You actually got me something?"

Minjeong pauses. "Contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally possess basic social skills."

He looks genuinely surprised. "Wow."

"Don't make me take it back."

Carefully, she pulled a rectangular package from the bag and handed it over.

He looked nervous immediately. 

"Why are you looking at it like it's going to explode?"

"Because if I open this and it's a tie, I'm going to have a crisis."

"It's not a tie."

"Oh, thank God." He tore through the paper, then stopped completely.

Minjeong watched the exact moment recognition hit. It was a first edition of a record he'd mentioned once. Just once, two months ago, at three in the morning while half asleep on her couch.

The silence stretched between them as his fingers brushed over the cover. "You remembered this?"

Minjeong suddenly found the kitchen tiles fascinating. "You talked about it for twenty minutes."

His eyes lifted. "I talked about it for twenty minutes because nobody ever lets me talk about it."

"You seemed very determined."

Another pause stretched, and then: "Minjeong."

The way he said her name made her instantly suspicious. "What?"

His smile had disappeared completely - not because he disliked it, but the exact opposite. He was looking at the record like she’d handed him something incredibly fragile.

"You remembered," he said, the words coming out even quieter than before.

And suddenly, Minjeong realized the problem. Because she did remember. Not because she'd written it down, and not because she'd planned to. She remembered because she'd listened. Somewhere along the way, all the little details about him had become important enough to stay.
The kitchen was completely still around them, the silence thick and heavy, charged with a sudden shift in weight.

Minjeong suddenly found the kitchen tiles fascinating. She stared down at them, her fingers uncurling from where they had been resting on the edge of the counter, trying to find her voice before her mind could overanalyse the vulnerability currently pooling in her chest.

He was still staring at the first-edition record in his hands like it was made of glass, his finger tracing the edge of the cover with an intensity that Minjeong couldn’t help but want to watch. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice carrying that familiar, dry edge she always used whenever she needed to erect a wall between them. “Don’t get too used to it. The next time you mention a childhood dream at three in the morning, you’re getting a tie. A very corporate, very ugly navy tie.” 

A dark, breathless laugh escaped his lips at that, the sound vibrating through the small expanse of the kitchen. He lifted his head slowly, his big brown eyes completely dark beneath the dim, warm light. The teasing smirk she was so used to seeing wasn't there; instead, his mouth was curved into something much softer, completely focused on her. 

“A tie,” he repeated quietly, setting the record carefully onto the kitchen island. He stepped closer, his long strides cutting the distance between them until Minjeong could feel the heat radiating off his chest. “Is that a threat, Miss Kim? 

“A tie,” she repeated softly, fighting the warmth threatening to climb up her neck. “Consider yourself warned.”

His smile only deepened. “I'll take my chances.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes automatically, but the gesture lacked any real irritation behind it. The apartment felt strangely quiet all of a sudden. Too quiet.

He was still standing close, still looking at her. Not teasing. Not flirting. Just looking. Like the fact she'd remembered mattered more than the gift itself.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“I really don't.”

Liar.

His smile softened slightly. “Minjeong.”

God, there was something about the way he said her name lately that made it sound important.

“You remembered,” he said quietly.

The words weren't dramatic, and somehow that made them worse. Minjeong looked away first.

“It's not a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

Silence.

She hated silence with him, because every time it arrived, it felt like he could somehow see straight through every carefully constructed wall she'd spent years building.

When she finally looked back at him, his expression hadn't changed. He looked happier about being understood than he did about the gift itself.

Before she could overthink it, she found herself pulling him down by the front of his shirt into a kiss. 

For one brief second, he froze, then he melted completely. His hands found her waist immediately, pulling her closer as she kissed him again. Slow. Intentional. Like they had all the time in the world.

But the illusion of endless time began to fracture the moment his fingers dug into the fabric of her dress, his grip tightening as if to anchor himself. The gentleness of the kiss shifted, deepening into something heavier, hungrier, as he leaned into her. Minjeong’s back pressed against the edge of the kitchen counter, the hard granite a cold contrast to the sudden, overwhelming heat of his body flush against hers. 

His hands settled at her waist, steady and familiar, as though they belonged there. For a moment, neither of them seemed interested in coming up for air, until Minjeong felt herself smiling against his mouth.

Immediately, he pulled back just enough to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely something.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You’re impossible.”

His grin appeared instantly. “There she is.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, though the gesture lacked conviction. God, even now, standing in the middle of his kitchen with his hands still wrapped around her, she found herself absurdly fond of him.

His thumb brushed slowly along her side. “What are you thinking about?”

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

Minjeong looked up at him. “I think we should go to the bedroom.”

For one brief second, he simply stared. Then, all visible signs of higher brain function disappeared. The expression was so immediate, so completely unfiltered, that Minjeong laughed outright.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You look surprised.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because usually I’m the one getting accused of being forward.” His hands tightened slightly at her waist. 

“And now?”

“And now,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself, “I’m trying very hard not to celebrate.”

“Well, don’t celebrate just yet,” Minjeong murmured, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way her hands slid up his chest, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt to pull him back down. “We still have to make it down the hall.” 

His response was entirely physical. He didn't answer, didn't give her the chance to tease him further. Instead, he caught her beneath the thighs and lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the kitchen counter, cutting off her startled gasp with a kiss that was no longer patient. It was heavy, urgent, and needy, his hands gripping her hips to pull her flush against his chest.

Minjeong wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her hands tangling in his hair as the cold granite beneath her became an afterthought against the blistering heat of his body. The teasing banter evaporated, replaced by the ragged sound of their breathing breaking between deep, demanding kisses.

He moved against her, a low groan escaping his throat as his hands slid down to the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric upward. His fingers were warm, slightly trembling against the bare skin of her thighs, a stark contrast to his usual effortless confidence. When his hand slid higher, finding the edge of her underwear, Minjeong arched into his touch with a quiet whimpering sigh that broke against his lips.

"The bedroom," he rasped, pulling back just an inch, his eyes dark and completely blown out with desire. "Are you sure? Because I don't think I'm making it down the hall."

"Don't care," she whispered, her fingers tightening in his shirt, pulling him back to her. "Right here."

He didn't hesitate. Shifting her slightly on the counter, his hands guided her legs wider. With a frantic, impatient motion, he unbuckled his belt and freed himself. Minjeong held onto his shoulders, her heart hammering against her ribs as he pressed his weight forward. He paused for a fraction of a second, looking into her eyes, waiting for the final, unspoken permission.

Minjeong tilted her chin up, hooking her ankles firmly behind his back to pull him in.

He drove forward, sinking into her in one deep, slow stroke that filled her completely. A sharp, breathless gasp tore from Minjeong's throat, her head tipping back as her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, letting out a ragged, trembling breath as he held himself deep inside her, letting them both adjust to the sudden, overwhelming tightness of the fit.

He remained entirely still for what felt like an eternity, his forehead resting heavily against her shoulder as his chest rose and fell in harsh, shuddering drafts. Minjeong could feel the tremors running through his entire frame, the sheer force of his restraint vibrating against her skin.

"Minjeong," he murmured, his voice completely stripped of all its usual polished charm. "It’s not gonna take much."

The despair in his voice, raw and breathless against her neck, shattered the last of her hesitation. She tightened her ankles behind his back, shifting her hips slightly to urge him on. "Look at me."

When he lifted his head, his eyes were almost entirely black, the pupils so dilated with hunger that the brown of his irises vanished under the dim kitchen light. The intensity of his gaze was staggering, but she didn’t look away.

With a low groan, he began to move.

The initial caution evaporated instantly. He pulled back and drove into her again, establishing a slow, deep rhythm that made the breath catch violently in her throat. Every stroke sent a jolt of liquid heat straight through her, melting away the lingering chill of the granite counter beneath her. Minjeong caught his lips with hers, a desperate, messy attempt to ground herself in the moment. 

Everything else around them seemed to vanish. There was only the sharp friction of their skin, the desperate sound of their breathing, and the unyielding, overwhelming weight of his body driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Minjeong’s hands clutched frantically at his shoulders, her nails digging through the fabric of his shirt as her breath came in short, desperate gasps.

“Please,” she whimpered against his jaw, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming, suffocating need breaking over her.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, his pace fractured, turning fast and unrelenting. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breathing completely ragged as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her into him with terrifying force. The sudden acceleration was too much. The coiled tension snapped violently, and Minjeong’s body locked up as a brilliant, blinding wave of heat rippled through her. A cry tore from her throat, chest heaving as the intense, rhythmic spasms of her release tightly clamped down around him.

The sudden, crushing constriction completely broke his restraint. He let out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering violently as he drove into her one last, deep time. He held himself flush against her, his fingers burying deep into her waist as he spilled inside her, his chest heaving heavily against hers as they both crashed back down to reality.

Later, the apartment settles into silence. 

Minjeong lies curled against his side, one arm draped lazily across his stomach. The sheets are tangled around their legs, warm from sleep and lingering body heat. For the first time all evening, neither of them feels any particular urgency to fill the silence.

His fingers drift absentmindedly through her hair.

"You know," he murmurs eventually, voice rough with exhaustion, "I still think my friends were way too hard on me."

Minjeong lets out a sleepy hum. "You spent months talking about me."

"I did not."

"You remembered my coffee order."

A pause. "That feels unrelated."

His laugh vibrates softly beneath her cheek as Minjeong smiles.

The room falls quiet again. His hand continues its slow path through her hair. Back and forth. Gentle. Familiar.

"You should sleep," he murmurs.

"Mhm." 

His fingers brush lightly behind her ear. "Night, Minjeong."

Still half asleep, eyes already closed, she shifts closer instinctively and presses a lazy kiss against his chest. "Love you too."

Silence. Complete silence.

Minjeong's eyes snap open. Oh. Oh no.

For one horrible second she considers pretending she is asleep. Dead. Comatose. Perhaps suffering a sudden medical emergency.

Above her, he hasn't moved. Neither of them breathes.

Slowly - very, very slowly, Minjeong lifts her head.

He's staring at the ceiling.

"Did you just-"

"No."

"Minjeong."

"No."

"That sounded suspiciously like-"

"No it didn't."

He turns his head toward her.

Minjeong immediately yanks the duvet over her face.

His laugh breaks the silence first. Soft. Disbelieving. Endlessly fond.

"Jesus Christ."

Minjeong groans beneath the duvet.

"I'm serious. You accidentally said it."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

"I'm leaving."

"You're under three blankets."

A pause.

"I love you too, Kim Minjeong."