Han Taesan had learned to live with the sound of constant typing. It was the background music of their apartment — the steady click of keys, the occasional frustrated sigh, and the faint hum of his girlfriend’s favorite study playlist playing from her laptop.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping instant coffee and glancing toward the living room where she sat curled up on the couch, surrounded by papers, textbooks, and an untouched cup of tea he’d made an hour ago.

“Do you even know what time it is?” he asked, voice laced with lazy amusement. She didn’t look up. “Do you ever stop asking me that?”

He chuckled, setting down his mug and walking over. “Seriously, babe, you’ve been working since… breakfast? Maybe lunch? I lost track.” “That’s because you were napping,” she shot back, eyes still on the screen.

Taesan grinned, crouching beside the couch until he was level with her. “Yeah, because some of us know how to take care of ourselves. You, on the other hand…” He reached out and gently flicked her forehead. “You’re going to short-circuit if you keep this up.”

She swatted at his hand. “Don’t start, Taesan. I need to finish this before tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, resting his chin on the edge of the couch, “is still gonna be there when you wake up. But your boyfriend might not be if he dies of neglect first.”

That earned him a small laugh — quiet, but enough to make him smirk. “You’re so dramatic,” she said, finally glancing his way. “And you’re so stubborn,” he countered. “Perfect match, huh?”

He stood, stretching before grabbing her laptop and holding it just out of reach when she tried to snatch it back. “Break time. Doctor’s orders.”

“Han Taesan— I swear—” He leaned down, eyes twinkling. “If you’re about to threaten me again, at least do it after you eat. I made fried rice.”

She froze, torn between exasperation and the smell coming from the kitchen. He could see her resolve cracking — it always did when food was involved.

Taesan smiled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Come on, workaholic. You can hate me after dinner.”

And as she reluctantly got up to follow him, mumbling something about him being “the worst,” Taesan couldn’t help but grin to himself — because even in their little love-hate chaos, the apartment somehow always felt like home.