You were minding your business—folding laundry like a common villager—when the door slammed open with the force of a royal decree.

Heeseung entered in a cloak made from your bedsheet, chest bare, hair tousled, and eyes ablaze with passion… or sleep deprivation. Unclear.

“I RETURN FROM BATTLE!” he announced, voice echoing off the walls.

You blinked. “Battle?”

“Aye.” He stepped forward, tossing socks behind him as if they were weapons. “A most grueling war against the fire-breathing beast known as… the espresso machine.”

You stared, one brow lifting. “Didn’t you break it?”

“I vanquished it,” he corrected, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “With mine own two hands… and a spoon I found beneath the fridge.”

“You’re literally insane.”

“Only for thee, milady.” He bowed low, then straightened. “Now come—let us feast.”

“…We have cereal.”

He squinted, then nodded solemnly. “Then let us feast humbly.”

You snorted, and he immediately gasped like he’d been stabbed. “What is this vile sound?! Laughter unaccompanied by a kiss? Blasphemy. Come here, at once.”

“Heeseung—”

“NAY. I must stealeth one, for mine soul weepeth!”

You barely managed to dodge him before he lunged forward with a growl, sweeping you off your feet like a deranged prince with too much energy and no kingdom.

And as you laughed into his shoulder, he whispered:

“I wouldst cross oceans, slay dragons, and even survive thy cooking… for just one touch of thy lips.”

“…I’m not cooking dinner.”

“THEN I SHALL PERISH.”