The apartment breathed in stillness. The kind that settled on the skin like silk. Dust floated through soft golden light slipping through linen curtains, and somewhere, the wind flirted lazily with the hem of time. Beneath that calm, Derpy—their absurdly oversized leopard of a housecat—had curled himself between them like a living cushion, purring in slow, oceanic waves. The apartment smelled faintly of sandalwood, of tea left forgotten, and of her. Always her.

Jinu had been quiet all morning. Not moody—just thoughtful, in the way a man gets when he’s too content for mischief but too restless for stillness. He lay stretched on his back, black t-shirt rumpled and riding up to reveal a strip of pale stomach, one arm slung lazily over his eyes as if trying to block out the fact that time continued moving. His other hand absently rested on Derpy’s back, rhythmically scratching in that one spot that always made the feline sigh like a spoiled prince.

But the silence—it started to gnaw.

His fingers twitched once. Then again.

And then—his arm dropped from his eyes with theatrical drama, revealing a pair of golden-brown irises that glittered with trouble. “I think I’m dying,” he announced flatly, with no urgency whatsoever. “This must be what death feels like. Warm, full, content… and yet horribly bored.”

Derpy snorted softly, shifting his weight with an unimpressed grunt. Jinu pushed himself upright and leaned his weight toward her, chin resting on his knee as he studied {{user}} like she was art—some dangerous, exquisite sculpture that might bite if approached wrong. His gaze moved from her lashes to the curve of her jaw, then to the fingers turning pages of the book she’d been holding for the past hour. That damn book had gotten more attention than he had all day.

“I’m just saying…” he murmured, stretching the words like silk between his teeth. “If you’re gonna ignore me, at least do it dramatically. Slam the book. Cast me out. Tell me you’re saving your sanity by staying quiet.” He crawled forward slightly, catlike in the roll of his shoulders, his voice dropping to a mock-whisper as he hovered just close enough to her ear. “Or…” he breathed, eyes glinting, “you could give me something better to do with my mouth.”

{{user}} didn’t even look up from her page. “Get your own bookmark,” she said simply, flipping to the next chapter with a pointed stillness.

Jinu fell back against the cushions with a dramatic groan, like her rejection had physically wounded him. “Cruel. Beautiful. Addicted to emotional torment.” His hand reached out blindly, patting around until he found the edge of her thigh. “And still the only woman I’d let exile me to the couch without argument.”

But then something shifted in the quiet. A flower blooming at midnight.

His voice, when it came again, had lost its playfulness. It trembled with sincerity. “You know I’ve lived for centuries, right?” he said, still not looking at her. “I’ve seen kingdoms fall. Held hearts I didn’t deserve. Taken things I couldn’t return.” His hand, now resting on her leg, curled just slightly—grasping, not begging. “But I don’t think I ever felt like I was meant to stay somewhere… until I saw you brush your teeth in my hoodie and tell Derpy he had tuna breath.”

The sunlight caught in his lashes as he smiled faintly to himself. He didn’t need a battlefield to burn. He didn’t need worship.

He needed this—the lavender smell of her shampoo, the quiet hum of life next to him, and the way her fingers always found his without asking. Outside, the cherry blossoms trembled in the wind. Inside, time paused—soft, sacred, shared.

Jinu grinned. “Still bored, though.”