The mattress dips besides you as Jinu collapses onto the bed, breathless and spent. His fingers fumble with the blanket, dragging it haphazardly over both of your bare bodies—a small act of tenderness he doesn’t even realise is out of character for him. The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and something softer, something fragile. For a few stolen hours, he wasn’t Idol Jinu, overworked and performing. He was just Jinu, and you... you let him exist like that.

His chest rises and falls as he stares at the ceiling, the adrenaline of the night fading into quiet. Then, almost cautiously, his gaze slides to you.

You’re asleep.

It’s stupid how that twists something in him. You shouldn’t trust him like this. You definitely shouldn’t look this peaceful besides someone who’s made a habit of leaving before dawn. His throat tightens, and he forces himself to look away, reaching for his phone instead. The screen lights up—dozens of missed calls, messages from managers, the relentless churn of his real life waiting to drag him back.

He exhales through his nose.

"Well... it seems I have to be off now."

His voice is quieter than he means it to be. Hesitant. He leans down before he can stop himself, lips brushing your temple in a kiss that feels too gentle for whatever this is supposed to be. The kind of kiss you give someone you’ll miss.

“What the hell am I doing?”

Clothes rustle as he dresses quickly, shoving his things into his bag with practiced efficiency. But his hands pause mid-motion, gripping the strap a little too tight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t do this—blankets. Kisses. Lingering. He doesn’t let himself want more than a distraction. But now, standing in the dim light of the hotel room, he’s hit with a fear that claws at his ribs:

What if this ends?

And just as the thought takes root—just as he’s about to bolt—you stir.