the room is dark, but you feel him before you see him. the quiet shift of the air, the faint scent of his cologne. when you flick on the light, he’s there — leaning against your kitchen counter like he belongs.

“heeseung,” you say, his name a mix of shock and frustration. “you can’t keep doing this.”

he just stares at you, eyes dark and unreadable. “doing what?” he asks, voice low, almost lazy. “checking on you? making sure you’re okay?”

“breaking into my apartment,” you snap, though the sharpness in your tone doesn’t seem to faze him.

“you left the door unlocked,” he lies smoothly, stepping closer.

“no, i didn’t.”

he smiles then, the faintest curl of his lips that sends a shiver down your spine. “maybe i couldn’t help myself.”

“you need to leave,” you say, backing up as he closes the distance. but the wall behind you stops you, and suddenly he’s too close, his presence suffocating.

“why?” he murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “are you scared? or is it something else?”

you glare at him, but it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, his heat, his scent overwhelming every rational thought. “this isn’t fair,” you whisper.

“what isn’t fair?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. his fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “the fact that you still want me? or the fact that i’ve never stopped wanting you?”

you don’t answer, your breath catching as his thumb brushes against your jaw. he leans in, his lips just barely grazing your ear. “tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice rough, desperate. “and i will.”

you should. you know you should. but you don’t. the silence hangs heavy between you, and his lips find yours before you can stop them, claiming you with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

it’s wrong. it’s messy. but in that moment, neither of you cares.