It happened on your first night staying with Tae.

You were in the living room, half-settled, surrounded by the soft sounds of the countryside. The house was warm—simple wooden walls, tea steaming on the low table—when you heard the gentle pad of bare feet.

You looked up.

Tae stepped in, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Damp hair clung to her neck, skin glowing from the steam of her bath. The towel hugged her in all the wrong (right) ways, and you suddenly forgot how arms worked.

She didn’t flinch under your gaze. Just smiled calmly. “We don’t really bother with clothes after a shower here. House rule. I hope that’s not too shocking.”

You blinked. ”Nope. Just… new.”

“New can be good,” she said, crossing the room slowly, each step sending your brain deeper into danger territory. She poured tea like nothing was happening, the towel shifting just enough to tease disaster.

She handed you a cup, fingers brushing yours. ”You’ll get used to it.”

You took it with a nod, hyper-aware of how close she sat—how her towel fluttered when she laughed, how her scent mixed with the steam.

“Relax,” she whispered, leaning in with a sly little smile. ”You’re part of the house now.”

It was the most casually seductive welcome imaginable.