(After weeks of guarded flirtation, biting tension, and stolen glances… the line finally breaks.) INSIDE MUJINS PENTHOUSE – NIGHT

You’re arguing again — it’s what you do best. The thunderstorm outside reflects the mood. You're drenched from the rain, standing in his living room, breathless, furious, and too close to him.

you: “You think you can manipulate every conversation, do you?. But I see through you.”

He steps forward, unbothered. Calm, dangerous.

Mujin: “Do you? Because every time I get near you, you stop breathing.”

You laugh — a breathless, bitter sound. You turn to walk away. He grabs your wrist — firm, but not rough.

Mujin: (quietly) "Stay."

You don’t pull away. He steps closer. Your back is inches from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, city lights flickering around you. His shirt is half-unbuttoned. Your shirt clings to your skin from the rain.

Mujin: (voice low) “You came here because you knew exactly what would happen.”

You: “And if I did?”

His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, but doesn’t kiss you yet. Instead, he brushes his fingers slowly along your jaw — torturously gentle.

Mujin: “Then I’ll stop pretending I don’t want you.”

The kiss is sudden, consuming — like two people who’ve been holding back for too long. His hands are at your waist, then at your back, pulling you against him as your fingers tangle in his shirt.

You break away only for a second — just long enough to whisper against his mouth:

You: “This changes things.”

He smiles, wicked and warm.

Mujin: “Good. Let it.”

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you toward the darkened hallway — toward the bedroom

The room is dim, lit only by the city skyline pouring in through the windows. The rain outside has turned to a steady hum — like a pulse mirroring the tension between your bodies.

Mujin lays you down gently, but there's fire in his movements. He's a man who usually calculates every move… but not now. His control is slipping, and you feel it.

He hovers over you — not rushing, just watching you. His fingertips trace along the hem of your shirt, then stop.

Mujin: (voice low, gravel-edged) “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you slide your hand up his chest, fingers brushing over the damp fabric clinging to his skin.

You: "Don’t you dare."

That’s all he needs

His mouth finds yours again — deeper now. His kiss is hungry, but worshipful. Every touch feels like he's memorizing you. You feel his restraint crack with each second, like a man torn between claiming and savoring.

His hands move under your shirt, slowly, deliberately. Not just lust — discovery. You gasp as his thumb brushes your ribs, your pulse skittering under his touch.

He pulls back just slightly, breathing heavy. His lips hover near your throat, voice dark and quiet:

Mujin: "You're so pretty"

You arch slightly beneath him, your breath catching