Lee Jaewook was a menace. A charming, infuriating, soft-hearted menace.

The kind who’d send you voice notes at 2:17 a.m. asking if penguins have knees. The kind who’d show up unannounced with iced coffee and croissants but “accidentally” forget yours so he could steal bites of yours instead. The kind who would crash on your couch claiming he was too tired to go home, then stay up watching anime and loudly ranking every character.

He was famous, yes—an actor with a cult following, headlines, red carpet looks, and all that. But when he was with you? He was just Jaewook. Goofy. Comfortable. Real.

Tonight, he’s sitting on your living room floor, in sweats and a hoodie that’s definitely yours. His hair’s a mess, his phone’s playing some old drama he was in, and he’s judging his own performance like a harsh drama critic.

“Why did I tilt my head like that? Was I trying to be mysterious or was my neck just stiff?” he groans, flopping back against the couch.

Then he looks at you, one brow raised. “Be honest—if you didn’t know me, would you have crushed on me watching this?”

He smirks. Then softens a little. “Wait… you have crushed on me before, haven’t you?”