Chapter Text
The morning light cut through the thin curtains, soft and hazy against the tangle of sheets. Despite the warmth clinging to their skin — the sweat, the stickiness of two bodies unwilling to part — neither made a move to separate. His arm was still draped across her waist, her face pressed into the curve of his shoulder, the slow rhythm of his breathing grounding her.
It was quiet. Just the hum of the air conditioner, the occasional shift of fabric when one of them adjusted, still half-asleep. When she finally stirred, Seungmin made a faint sound in protest, tightening his hold before letting her slip away.
She pressed a kiss to his temple before heading to the bathroom, the shower running softly as he dozed off again — that deep, unguarded kind of rest he only seemed to find around her.
When she emerged, towel-drying her hair, the faint scent of toast and coffee drifted in from the kitchen. Her roommate stood by the stove, plating eggs and rice, a sly grin creeping across her face the second she spotted Y/N.
“Morning,” Y/N said, voice still soft from sleep.
“Morning,” her roommate replied, glancing past her shoulder toward the closed bedroom door. “You two sleep well?”
Y/N hesitated for a beat too long. “We— yeah. We were just… tired,” she said quickly, placing the towel on the counter to help set out utensils.
Her roommate raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. You sure? Because you’ve got that look.”
Y/N shot her a look of mock offense. “What look?”
“The one that says something almost happened, but you’re pretending it didn’t.”
Her ears warmed instantly. “Nothing happened,” she insisted, lowering her voice. “We were both exhausted. Plus…” She trailed off, smiling a little despite herself. “We want to take things slow.”
Her roommate softened, the teasing slipping into something genuine. “That’s good,” she said. “He seems like the type who’d actually mean it, too.”
Y/N nodded, glancing toward her bedroom door again — the faint sound of movement inside, maybe him shifting awake. “Yeah,” she murmured, a quiet certainty in her tone. “He does.”
Her roommate was already finishing up her plate, tossing her keys into her tote. “I’ve got to run,” she said, sliding her breakfast onto the counter. “You two can eat later — I’ll just leave your servings on the stove, okay?”
“Got it,” Y/N said, trying not to sound too casual about the you two part.
“Mm-hm,” her roommate replied, grinning as she slipped on her shoes. “Have fun not doing anything you’re definitely not doing.”
“Go to work,” Y/N groaned, shooing her out with a wave.
When the door shut behind her, Y/N exhaled, cheeks warm. She padded back toward her room, the air cooler there but still carrying the faint trace of him — his cologne and something softer, like laundry and skin.
Seungmin was half-awake when she slipped back under the covers, his eyes still closed but his body moving instinctively toward hers. An arm found her waist, pulling her in until her back pressed against his chest.
“Mm,” he hummed against her shoulder, voice rough with sleep. “You smell good.”
Y/N laughed quietly, turning her head slightly toward him. “You don’t,” she teased.
He made a noise of mock offense, tightening his hold. “Rude.”
“I’m just saying,” she said, still smiling. “You might wanna shower too before you hug me again.”
“Don’t wanna move,” he murmured.
“You can shower here,” she countered, brushing his arm lightly. “You still have clothes in my drawer, remember?”
That made him open one eye, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You kept those?”
“Of course,” she said, pretending it was no big deal. “You leave things everywhere. Someone has to be responsible.”
He chuckled under his breath and nuzzled her shoulder, clearly not planning on moving anytime soon.
“Five more minutes,” he said.
“You said that an hour ago,” she whispered, even though her hand had already settled over his where it rested on her stomach.
He dragged himself out of bed with a groan — the dramatic, dying-anime-protagonist kind — and she laughed behind him as he shuffled toward the bathroom like gravity hated him specifically.
The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned both palms on the cool edge of her sink, letting out a long breath.
God.
He really missed her.
Y/N had pointed earlier, half-asleep, telling him, “Those are mine — you can use anything you want,” before disappearing back into the sheets. He hadn’t snooped — even if he wanted to, he was too tired to lift anything heavier than a bottle of shampoo — but he couldn’t help taking in all the little things.
A shelf half-full, half-messy with her.
Her cleanser, her hair mask, body wash that smelled like fruit and summer.
The lotion he recognized because sometimes she put it on when they FaceTimed — he could smell it even through the screen.
He picked up the shampoo she said was okay to use, reading the label even though his vision still felt slightly unfocused from sleep. For damaged hair.
He snorted. That tracked. She always worried about her hair.
He opened the bottle and inhaled without thinking — soft, sweet, something warm underneath.
His chest tightened in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
It smelled like her.
He shook his head, smiling to himself like an idiot as he stepped into the shower. Warm water hit his skin, and he let out a sigh so involuntary it embarrassed him a little. Muscles unclenching, the ache in his back easing, his mind slowly unclouding.
But even as exhaustion tugged at him, something else settled heavier:
He’d gone weeks without this — without her physically close, without the reminder that she was real and not a dream on his phone screen. Being back here, using her shampoo, standing in her bathroom… it grounded him more than he expected.
He washed up quickly before he could fall asleep upright, towel-dried his hair, and pulled on the clothes she kept folded for him in her drawer — something that hit him harder than he anticipated.
She kept his things.
She kept pieces of him here.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, the smell of her and her room washed over him again, mixing with his own now-so-familiar scent. He caught her curled on the bed, waiting for him, glancing up with a soft smile.
He thought his heart might actually give out.
“Hi,” she whispered.
And all he could think was:
Yeah.
He’d missed her more than he even knew.
y/n is scrolling on her phone
Seungmin didn’t answer with words. He crawled fully onto the bed, carefully — like he knew exactly how much of his weight to give — and melted down on top of her, his face tucking into the warm space beneath her jaw. His nose brushed her neck, a quiet nuzzle that made her inhale sharply despite herself.
She sighed, amused, and finally set her phone face-down on the nightstand. “You know, normal people say good morning before using their girlfriend as a pillow.”
He hummed against her skin, the vibration low and content. “I did say good morning,” he mumbled. “Just… nonverbally.”
She snorted, one hand automatically finding his hair, fingers threading through it. He went still at that, like a cat finally settling somewhere safe.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
His eyes were closed now, lashes resting against his cheeks, his breathing slow and even despite how awake he’d been just minutes earlier. He shifted slightly, pressing closer, like he was afraid of space existing between them.
“I missed this,” he said quietly. “Just… this. You. Being here. Not a screen.”
Her chest tightened.
She wrapped both arms around him, holding him there, her chin resting lightly on his head. “Me too,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize how much until you were actually back.”
He smiled into her neck — she could feel it — and exhaled, long and steady, like he was finally letting himself rest.
“I could stay like this all day,” he murmured. “I don’t want to move.”
“Mm,” she said softly. “Careful. You say things like that and I’ll start believing you.”
He lifted his head just enough to look at her then, eyes still heavy but warm. She smiled back, something tender and a little shy, and before he could say anything else, she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.
“There,” she said. “For surviving tour.”
She pulled back — just an inch — and the space between them changed.
Their eyes met.
Something quiet passed between them, unspoken but heavy in the best way. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up again, like he was asking without words.
She didn’t stop him.
She pulled back — just an inch — and the space between them changed.
Their eyes met.
He shifted his weight, bracing one arm beside her as he leaned down, slow and deliberate, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.
She didn’t.
His lips met hers gently — unhurried, grounding — the kind of kiss that said I’m here, I’m not leaving, even if neither of them dared to say it out loud yet.
He kissed her like he’d been holding back all night.
Not rushed, not rough — just deeper. Surer.
His mouth fit against hers with a familiarity that made her chest ache, like muscle memory finally waking up. She sighed into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor him there. He responded immediately, tilting his head, the kiss opening just enough to feel intentional, unguarded.
It wasn’t about urgency. It was about closeness.
His hand slid to her waist, thumb brushing a slow, absent-minded line as if he were tracing her presence, reminding himself she was real. She kissed him back just as deliberately, matching him beat for beat, letting the world narrow down to warmth and breath and the quiet sound of them exhaling into each other.
He pulled back just a fraction, foreheads touching, their noses brushing.
“God,” he murmured, voice low and a little wrecked. “I really missed you.”
Her answer was another kiss — softer this time, but full of everything she didn’t know how to say yet. She kissed him like she was still learning the shape of him, like she had time, like there was nowhere else she needed to be.
When they finally broke apart, they stayed close, breathing the same air, lips lingering inches apart.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just the quiet certainty of being exactly where they were meant to be.
He shifted slowly, deliberately, giving her time to feel every change.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he moved up, settling over her with his legs straddling hers, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. Not trapping — sheltering. Caging her in the way you do when you’re afraid the world might reach in and pull something precious away.
Her breath caught, not from fear, but from awareness.
He was warm. Solid. Familiar in a way that made her chest tighten. Being beneath him like this made everything feel closer — his heartbeat, the quiet concentration in his expression, the way his presence filled her senses until there was no room left for doubt or noise or yesterday’s worries. She could feel him hovering, holding himself back, careful, respectful, like he was constantly checking in without saying a word.
And that alone made her feel wanted in the purest way.
Her hands rested against his sides, not pushing, not pulling — just there. Feeling him breathe. Feeling how his body softened when he realized she wasn’t tense, wasn’t pulling away. How his shoulders dropped a fraction, relief washing through him.
From his perspective, it felt almost overwhelming.
Being this close after weeks of distance made his head go quiet. All the tour exhaustion, the noise, the constant movement — it all faded the moment he looked down at her. The way her eyes searched his face. The way she trusted him enough to let him hover there, heart open, unguarded.
He felt careful. Reverent.
Like if he moved too fast, he might break the moment.
His forehead dipped to hers, noses brushing, his breath warm against her lips as he whispered, barely audible, “You okay?”
She nodded, fingers curling higher into his shirt, grounding him just as much as he was grounding her.
And in that stillness — bodies close, hearts louder than words — they stayed suspended, wrapped in the simple, electric truth of being together again.
She huffed a quiet laugh, fingers brushing his chest.
“You’re just… staring,” she teased softly. “Are you going to do something, or—”
That was all it took.
His mouth found hers again, this time without hesitation, the kiss deeper, slower, charged with intent. Not rushed. Never rushed. He kissed her like he was listening, like he was waiting for her to tell him where to go next without words.
And he did exactly that.
Every time she leaned into him, he followed. Every time her lips parted just a little more, he matched her. He stayed attuned to her breathing, the subtle shifts in her body, letting her guide the rhythm. The realization hit her all at once — he was holding back on purpose. Letting her lead.
It sent a quiet thrill straight through her.
When she tugged at his shirt, he hummed softly against her lips, the sound vibrating through her chest before he finally pulled away, mouth trailing along her jaw instead. Slow, deliberate kisses traced the line of it, unhurried, reverent. Her skin felt hypersensitive everywhere he touched, every press of his lips leaving warmth behind.
He moved closer, mouth brushing just beneath her ear, breath teasing before his lips followed. When he sucked lightly at the sensitive spot behind it, her body reacted before her mind could catch up — a soft inhale, her back arching just a little, knees bending instinctively as her hands fisted in his shirt.
He felt it immediately.
The way she moved. The way she clung to him.
A quiet, almost surprised sound left him, half a laugh, half a breath, and he stayed right there — not pushing further, just grounding her with his presence, his forehead resting briefly against her temple as if to steady them both.
God, he had missed this.
Not just her — but this. The way they fit. The way she trusted him. The way every reaction felt earned, not taken.
He lingered there, lips brushing her skin once more, murmuring softly, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
But his hands stayed gentle, his weight careful, his gaze warm when he finally looked at her again — letting her decide where they went next.
He kissed her like he’d been holding back all night.
Not rushed, not rough — just deeper. Surer.
His mouth fit against hers with a familiarity that made her chest ache, like muscle memory finally waking up. She sighed into the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor him there. He responded immediately, tilting his head, the kiss opening just enough to feel intentional, unguarded.
It wasn’t about urgency. It was about closeness.
His hand slid to her waist, thumb brushing a slow, absent-minded line as if he were tracing her presence, reminding himself she was real. She kissed him back just as deliberately, matching him beat for beat, letting the world narrow down to warmth and breath and the quiet sound of them exhaling into each other.
He pulled back just a fraction, foreheads touching, their noses brushing.
“God,” he murmured, voice low and a little wrecked. “I really missed you.”
Her answer was another kiss — softer this time, but full of everything she didn’t know how to say yet. She kissed him like she was still learning the shape of him, like she had time, like there was nowhere else she needed to be.
When they finally broke apart, they stayed close, breathing the same air, lips lingering inches apart.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just the quiet certainty of being exactly where they were meant to be.
He dipped lower, lips tracing the line just beneath her collarbone where her shirt had shifted, the fabric no longer quite hiding her skin. It wasn’t rushed — it felt intentional, like a question posed without words. His mouth hovered there, breath warm, waiting.
Her answer came in motion.
Her legs shifted, slow and deliberate, opening just enough to invite him closer. He followed the permission immediately, settling between them with care, his weight braced on his arms so he never fully pressed down. The closeness changed everything — the air tighter now, their breathing no longer separate things.
A quiet sound slipped from him at the contact, more felt than heard.
His hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt, palms warm against her waist, thumbs tracing the curve there as if committing it to memory. He didn’t rush upward. He didn’t grab. He just… held her, grounding himself in the feel of her skin, the way she fit so easily under his hands.
She could feel the restraint in every movement.
He lifted his head just enough to look at her, eyes searching her face, checking in even as his hands stayed where they were. One thumb brushed a little higher, testing, asking. His mouth returned to her skin, softer now, kissing the space he’d just exposed as if to balance the intimacy with tenderness.
“You’re okay?” he murmured, low and close, lips barely leaving her.
The question wasn’t a pause — it was a promise. That no matter how heavy it got, how close they came, she was still the one guiding him. And judging by the way his hands tightened just slightly at her waist, he was more than willing to follow wherever she led.
She didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t have to.
Her hand pressed lightly to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling slightly just enough to make her meaning clear. When he looked down at her — questioning, soft — she tilted her head toward it, a small, daring smile playing on her lips.
“Fair’s fair,” her expression said.
He huffed a quiet laugh, fond and a little breathless, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn’t rush it. Drew it up and over his head in one smooth motion, like he was suddenly very aware of her eyes on him.
And they were.
Her gaze dropped instantly, tracing familiar lines she hadn’t realized she’d missed this much — the slope of his shoulders, the planes of his chest — before catching on the tattoo along his right ribcage. Her hand followed without hesitation, palm flattening over the ink, thumb brushing the edge of it like she was relearning it.
“Still my favorite,” she murmured.
The way his breath hitched told her everything.
Encouraged, steadied by the way he was watching her — not hungry, not demanding, just there — she reached for her own shirt. The motion slowed halfway through, nerves flaring despite herself. Old instincts tugged at her, whispering doubts she thought she’d grown out of.
But he noticed.
He always noticed.
“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer without crowding her, hands warm as they settled at her sides. “Look at me.”
She did.
There was no impatience in his eyes. No expectation. Just reassurance, steady and unwavering.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” he said quietly. “But… I really want to see you. Because you’re beautiful. All of you.”
The words weren’t rushed. They weren’t dramatic. They were certain.
Something in her chest loosened.
She nodded once, more to herself than to him, and pulled the shirt up and off. The air felt cooler against her skin immediately, her shoulders instinctively drawing in — but before the self-consciousness could take hold, his hands were there. Gentle. Anchoring. One brushing her arm, the other settling at her waist like it had always belonged there.
His eyes never left her face.
Not once.
“God,” he breathed, reverent rather than heated, like the sight of her had knocked the air out of him. “You have no idea how beautiful you are to me.”
His thumb brushed a soothing arc against her skin, slow and grounding. “And I need you to know,” he added softly, “I see you. And I like what I see.”
The nervous flutter in her stomach eased, replaced by warmth — the kind that spread outward, settling into her bones. And when she leaned into him again, this time without hesitation, it felt less like exposure…
…and more like being held exactly where she belonged.
He didn’t rush it. Not even a little.
His mouth traced slowly along her collarbone, lips lingering as if memorizing the shape of it, the warmth of her skin. Each kiss was unhurried, deliberate — admiration more than hunger — and she could feel how present he was in every second of it.
When he moved lower, it was gradual, almost reverent. His lips followed the gentle slope downward, stopping at the soft valley between her breasts. He didn’t touch anywhere else at first. Just breathed there, forehead resting lightly against her, as if the closeness alone mattered.
She felt his pause — not hesitation, but awe.
His hands stayed steady at her waist, thumbs brushing slow, grounding circles as if to keep her anchored while his gaze took her in. When he finally kissed her there, it was soft, lingering, nothing demanding about it. Just appreciation. Just seeing her.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured quietly, the words more felt than heard, lips still close to her skin. “I don’t think you realize how hard it is not to just… stare.”
The comment made her chest tighten — not with nerves this time, but with warmth. With the sense of being wanted without being rushed, admired without being consumed.
He kissed the same spot again, then another just beside it, taking his time like there was nowhere else he needed to be. And every second he lingered there, every careful pause, made the intimacy deepen — not because of what he did…
…but because of how intentionally he didn’t go any further without her.
The moment lingered — close, warm, charged — and then his stomach betrayed him.
A very clear, very audible grumble filled the space between them.
He froze.
For half a second he looked genuinely horrified, cheeks flushing as he let out a breathy laugh and leaned his forehead against her shoulder. “Wow,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry. That—”
She laughed before he could finish, the sound light and genuine, her hands coming up to his arms. “Hey,” she said, still smiling, “it’s okay.”
He lifted his head, embarrassed but smiling despite himself. “I guess my body is also hungry for actual food.”
“Apparently,” she teased gently, brushing her thumb along his bicep. Then her expression softened, practical warmth slipping in. “My roommate left breakfast before she went to work. She does that sometimes. You don’t have to power through just because it’s past noon.”
He blinked. “Breakfast? Now?”
She shrugged. “Food doesn’t know what time it is.”
That earned a proper laugh from him — the tension easing, the intimacy shifting into something just as close but calmer. “You’re right,” he admitted. “And I guess… a break wouldn’t kill us.”
“Exactly,” she said, nudging him lightly. “We’re not on a timer.”
He exhaled, shoulders relaxing as he straightened a bit, hands still warm at her waist. “Thank you,” he said quietly — not just for the food, but for the way she made room for him to be human. Hungry. A little awkward.
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, affectionate and grounding. “Food first,” he added with a grin. “Then we’ll… see.”
She smiled back, already reaching for his hand to pull him toward the kitchen, the moment unbroken — just paused, wrapped now in laughter, comfort, and the quiet understanding that there was no rush at all.
They ended up sitting side by side at the small table, plates balanced between them, knees brushing every time one of them shifted. There was barely any space left unclaimed — shoulders touching, thighs pressed close — the kind of closeness that didn’t demand attention because it already felt natural.
The room was quiet except for the clink of cutlery and the occasional hum of the city outside. Warm. Domestic. The kind of moment that settled into your chest without asking.
She stole a glance at him mid-bite, lips twitching like she was holding something back.
“You know,” she said casually, “you were very talkative last night.”
He paused, chewing slowly, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “That doesn’t sound good.”
She laughed. “You were half asleep. Barely conscious. Just… saying things.”
He groaned softly, dropping his head back for a second. “Oh no. What kind of things?”
“The honest kind,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You kept mumbling about how you missed me. And how annoying it was that you couldn’t just say whatever you wanted out loud.”
He blinked, then looked at her, ears already turning pink. “I did?”
“Mhm. And you kept repeating yourself,” she added fondly. “Like you were worried I wouldn’t hear you.”
He was quiet for a moment, then huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Well,” he said, softer now, “I meant every word.”
Something warm curled in her chest.
She hesitated just a beat before asking, “Did you also mean what you said about the K-World Dream Awards?”
He looked at her again, eyebrows lifting. “What did I say?”
“That I should go,” she replied. “That you wanted me there.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for his drink, taking a slow sip like he was thinking it through — not searching for an excuse, but settling into the truth of it.
“I don’t remember saying it,” he admitted. Then he met her eyes, completely sincere. “But yeah. I meant that too.”
Her smile softened, smaller now, more real.
“I want you there,” he continued, quieter, like this part mattered more. “If you want to come. No pressure. Just… if you’re there, I’d like that.”
She bumped her shoulder into his, playful but touched. “Good. Because I was already thinking about it.”
He smiled back, relaxed and warm, and reached over to steal a bite from her plate like it was the most natural thing in the world — the conversation drifting easily from there, the intimacy no longer heavy, just steady.
Comfortable.
Earned.