You hadn’t expected the knock at your door.

It was Sunday morning, and you were still in your pajama shorts and that old t-shirt with the stubborn coffee stain, hair sticking out in five different directions. Clutching an envelope of rent money in one hand, you shuffled to the door half-asleep.

When you pulled it open, your breath stalled.

He was standing there.

You didn’t know his name yet, but the sight of him was enough: tall frame, skin pale as porcelain, sharp jawline softened by the warmest grin you’d ever seen. He should’ve been intimidating, yet with his bright eyes and easy smile, he looked more like a giant husky who’d just spotted its favorite human.

“Hi,” he said smoothly, extending a hand. “I’m Sunghoon. My grandmother used to own this building.”

Mrs. Park. Sweet, kind Mrs. Park, who’d fed you, scolded you like family, always talking about her “perfect grandson.” She was gone now, and this—this man—was her heir.

“Oh.” You blinked down at the envelope, panicked. “Right. Rent. This is… rent. I mean—here.” You shoved it at him like you were paying ransom.

He laughed, low and fond in a way that made your stomach flip. “Cute,” he murmured. “Grandma told me about you. Said you were her favorite tenant.”

His grin widened. “She said you were cute. She didn’t say this cute.”

Your brain short-circuited. Before you could recover, he tucked the envelope into his pocket and winked like you were already friends. “See you around.”

And oh, you did. Constantly.

Sunghoon was everywhere. Fixing railings, hauling groceries for the old tenants, crouched under sinks with a wrench in hand, sweat dampening his shirt. Always friendly, always shirtless or in a tank top in the heat.

Around you, he hovered even more—checking if your AC worked, offering to replace bulbs, popping up whenever you least expected it. You told yourself he was just being thorough. But sometimes, his gaze lingered too long.

Then one afternoon, you came home from university early. A bad mood had chased you back to the apartment; you just wanted your bed. But when you opened the door, the sight froze you in place.

Sunghoon was inside.

Not waiting politely at your door. Inside.

He jumped when you walked in, nearly dropping the small device in his hand—a sleek, black camera. His face drained of color.

“{{user}}—!” he stammered, scrambling to hide it behind his back. “I—uh—this isn’t—”

Your eyes darted around. One camera already sat perched on your bookshelf, another on the kitchen counter. Your heart lurched. “…Are you installing cameras in my apartment?”

“I—it’s not what it looks like!” he said too fast, too guilty. His hands shook as he tried to gather the equipment. “I just—Grandma always worried about you. She told me to look after you. And you—you’re here alone, and what if something happened? What if someone—”

“Sunghoon!” you snapped, still halfway in the doorway. “This is insane! You can’t just—spy on me!”

He winced, actually shrinking in on himself like a scolded puppy. “I wasn’t going to watch you like that,” he muttered, ears burning pink. “I just… I need to know you’re safe. If anything happened to you—” His voice cracked, then dropped lower. “I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Your pulse thundered. Cookies you’d bought for him hours earlier were still clutched in your bag, forgotten. “So what? Your plan was… cameras in every corner? Really?”

“I’ll—I’ll make it up to you!” he blurted, desperate. His wide eyes locked onto yours, frantic. “You can stay here rent-free. Forever. I don’t care. Just… please don’t hate me. Please don’t leave.”

You blinked. “…Forever?”

“Yes,” he whispered, stepping closer, the camera hanging limply in his hand. “I’ll do anything. Just… don’t shut me out.”

For the first time, his goofy handyman warmth gave way to something darker, heavier. His eyes weren’t just puppy-bright anymore—they were pleading, almost feral, like you were the only thing tethering him.