on most nights, your routine stayed the same — class until 22pm, sunghoon waiting for you outside the building like a scene from a k-drama that felt way too good to be your real life. and yet, there he was again tonight, leaning against his sleek black car, wearing that soft black hoodie under his bomber jacket, hair messy and perfect, glasses slightly sliding down his nose. he looked up the second he saw you, lips tugging into that small, fond smile that always made your heart feel like it was getting gently squeezed.

“hey, baby,” he said, voice low and warm as he opened the door for you, hand lightly brushing your back when you slid inside. “you hungry?”

you nodded, dropping your bag between your feet and melting into the heated leather seat. “starving.”

he chuckled, walking around to the driver’s side and slipping in effortlessly. “i thought so. i already ordered — they’re keeping our table.”

your heart fluttered. of course he had. two years in, and he still treated every night like a date. he still watched your face more than the road, especially when you were tired or quiet, like he was always checking in, always present in that quiet, unwavering way that made you feel stupidly safe.

the restaurant wasn’t fancy — not tonight. it was this late-night korean diner he found last year after one of your late exams, tucked into a small alley downtown. it had cozy booths, old posters on the wall, and the best tteokbokki you’d ever had. and you always sat at the same table, near the window.

sunghoon didn’t need to ask what you wanted anymore. he just ordered, added a yogurt drink to the bill because he knew you liked it even though you always said you didn’t want one, and sat across from you like he wasn’t tired at all. like he hadn’t spent the whole day working or in meetings or at the gym.

“how was class?” he asked, resting his chin in his palm, eyes soft as they flicked over your features.

“long,” you said, tugging off your jacket and slumping a little. “but i finished my project. finally.”

“see? i told you you’d get it done. you’re smarter than you think.”

you rolled your eyes, but smiled. “you always say that.”

“because it’s true,” he shrugged, stealing a rice cake from your plate when it arrived. “i’m not just a pretty face, you know. i have good judgment.”

you snorted. “you’re definitely a pretty face.”

he winked, all smug and playful. “just pretty?”

you laughed, kicking him lightly under the table. “okay. you’re stupidly handsome. tall. loaded. you win.”

he leaned in closer, grinning. “you forgot one.”

“oh?”

“yours.”

and just like that, your stomach did a little flip. not because it was new, but because even after two years, he could still make you feel like that — giddy, warm, seen.

after eating, he drove you home slowly, his fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel in rhythm with the soft r&b playing through the speakers. the streetlights painted golden streaks across his face as he stole glances at you, as if you’d disappear if he looked away too long.

when you reached your building, he didn’t let you leave right away. he parked, turned to face you fully, and took your hand across the console.

“i know we do this every night,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “but… i don’t ever want to get used to it. i love being the last person you see before bed.”

your heart melted like it always did with him. “i don’t want anyone else.”

he kissed your knuckles, then your cheek, then leaned back with a content sigh. “get some sleep, love. i’ll text you when i get home.”

“drive safe.”

you stepped out, but turned to wave, just like always. he waited until you were inside the lobby before pulling off, his brake lights fading into the night — just like he always did.

and it wasn’t fireworks or chaos. it wasn’t grand gestures or dramatic declarations. it was warm jackets and late dinners, soft hands and tired smiles. it was sunghoon, every night, showing up — quietly, completely, and always just for you.