It was one of those lazy Sunday afternoons where Haechan and I lounged around the apartment. He was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone, while I sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a magazine. The sunlight streamed through the blinds, giving everything a warm glow, but all I could focus on was the slight sheen on his hands as he tapped his screen.

“Haechan,” I started, my voice taking on a playful edge.

“Hmm?” he replied, not looking up.

“Do you think… I mean, maybe it’s time for us to reevaluate things.”

His head shot up, his eyes wide. “What? Reevaluate what? Us?”

I nodded solemnly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “It’s just… I don’t know if I can handle it anymore.”

He swung his legs off the couch, sitting up straight. “Babe, what are you talking about? Handle what?”

“Your sweaty hands,” I said dramatically, flopping backward onto the floor as if the very thought was too much to bear. “Every time you hold my hand, it’s like dipping it in a sauna.”

For a moment, he stared at me, dumbfounded. Then his mouth quirked up into a mischievous grin. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding earnestly. “I need… drier hands in my life.”

Before I could react, he launched himself off the couch and pinned me to the floor, his hands firmly planted on either side of my head. “You mean these hands? The ones you said were ‘so soft and warm’ last week?”