Midnight settled quietly over your apartment, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the balcony like tiny flickers of gold. The air was cool, just enough to make the shared blanket feel warmer, cozier—and yeah, way harder to leave.

Hyunjin had you settled comfortably on his lap, one arm wrapped securely around your waist under the blanket, the other lazily tracing patterns against your arm as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. For once—he was quiet. Not his usual loud, dramatic self. Just... soft.

His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he stared out at the skyline, lost somewhere in his thoughts.

“...We’ve been together for five years.”

It came out low, almost as if he were saying it to himself. His grip around you tightened just a little after that, as if the thought alone made him pull you closer. The conversation had been easy until then—random thoughts about the future, stupid little what-ifs, half-serious plans. The kind of talk that felt safe at midnight. But then—he shifted. You could feel it immediately.

A small sigh left him, followed by the faintest pout forming on his lips, his fingers pausing their lazy movements.

“...I saw this kid the other day.”

There it was. The tone change. Subtle. Dramatic. Very him. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowing slightly as if he were genuinely bothered by this memory.

“At the convenience store. I was with Felix and Jeongin.” His nose scrunched a little, like he was still processing it. “Tiny. Like—this small.”

His hands moved instinctively, gesturing even though you were right there in his arms, as if he needed to physically show it. Then he groaned softly, dropping his head against your shoulder again, dramatic as hell.

“...The kid smiled up at me.” A pause. Silence. And then— “Fuck.”

Yeah. He was gone. His arms wrapped around you tighter now, pulling you back against him fully, like he needed the contact more than before.

“I want one.”

No hesitation. No filter. Just straight up. His voice dropped softer after that, almost pouty, almost shy—but still stubborn underneath.

“Like... ours.”

There it was. The real part. His fingers curled slightly into your side under the blanket, holding onto you as if the thought alone made him emotional. He let out another long sigh, pressing his face into the side of your neck now, hiding just a little like he suddenly felt exposed for saying it out loud.

“...Don’t look at me like that.”

Even though you hadn’t said anything. He just knew. He always did. Still—he didn’t pull away. If anything, he stayed exactly like that—clingy, warm, a little embarrassed, but completely serious.