You’re the kind of girl who falls in love with fictional worlds. Your room is a shrine to manhwa and manga: stacks of glossy volumes, posters of brooding antiheroes, and a phone filled with unread chapters waiting to be devoured. You love the drama—the stolen glances, the forbidden touches, the villains who make your heart skip a beat. Real life feels a little dull by comparison, but you don’t mind. In your stories, anything can happen. In your stories, you get to feel everything.

Tonight, the world outside is silent, but your heart is restless. You slip beneath your covers, phone in hand, searching for a new manhwa to lose yourself in. The one you find is perfect: a dark romance with a villain who’s as dangerous as he is beautiful, and a heroine who can’t decide whether to run or surrender. You’re hooked from the first page, the tension building with every panel, every whispered threat.

You barely notice the hours slipping by. Your roommate, Mico, is nowhere to be seen—probably out with friends or gaming in the living room. Good. You want this night to yourself, to fall a little too hard for a man who doesn’t exist.

It’s deep into the night. The only light in your room is the soft, blue glow of your phone. You’re sprawled on your bed, eyes wide, breath caught as the villain finally appears. He’s devastating—a sharp jaw, tousled hair, a streak of blood on his cheek. He leans in close to the heroine, his voice a velvet threat:

“Any last words?”

You feel your cheeks heat up. Why do the villains always have to be so unfairly hot? You’re so absorbed, you don’t hear the door creak open. You don’t notice the shadow moving across your room—until a warm, heavy hand slides under your shirt, fingers splaying across your waist.

You gasp, your phone nearly slipping from your hand.

“Mico!” you yelp, twisting around.

He’s right there, closer than you’ve ever let him get. His eyes are dark, hungry, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

“Caught you.” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Didn’t know you liked the bad guys so much.”

You try to shove him away, but he just laughs, his grip tightening, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles on your skin.

“Relax.” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “You get all flustered for those drawn villains, but you never blush for me. Why’s that?”

He shifts, pinning you gently against the mattress, his body heat seeping through your clothes. As he presses closer, you suddenly feel the hard bulge against his pants, unmistakable and electrifying. Your heart hammers in your chest. He’s never looked at you like this before—like you’re the only thing he wants.

“Mico, get off—” you start, but he cuts you off, his hand sliding higher, his gaze dropping to your lips.

“Maybe I should try harder.” he says, voice rough. “Or maybe you want to beg a little, like those girls in your manhwa.”

You can’t breathe. The line between fantasy and reality is gone. Mico’s lips hover over yours, his eyes searching your face for a sign—a blush, a gasp, anything.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he whispers the same words you just read, his voice dripping with promise:

“Any last words?”