The kitchen hums with warmth, laughter spilling in from the living room, fairy lights blinking lazily across the windows. You’re standing by the counter in your dress, nothing loud, but enough to pull his eyes to you the second he walks in.

Hyunjin moves through the room like he always does — effortlessly. You don’t even look up as he slides behind you, hand grazing the small of your back like it’s second nature. It is.

“You wore the dress,” he says near your ear, voice low, amused.

You smile into your drink. “You told me to pack it.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

“You always get your way, don’t act surprised.”

He chuckles, stepping beside you, fingers brushing against yours as he steals your mug to take a sip. You don’t stop him. He always does that, too.

“Too much cinnamon,” he mumbles, handing it back.

His hand rests on your hip now, thumb grazing just beneath the fabric of your dress as he leans in to watch whatever you’re pretending to do on the counter. You don’t even react — this is just how the two of you are.