The night air was soft, humming with spring. You had spent the evening walking the aisles of a quiet shopping center with Beom Tae-ha — his tall frame lazily pushing the cart, making the most absurd comments about snack flavors and the “philosophy of ramen noodles.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a smile more than once.

Back at home, you offered him the guest room. It wasn’t planned. You didn’t even fully understand why the words left your mouth, but when he looked at you — startled but soft — you knew you didn’t want to take them back.

You stood in the doorway as he set down the bag of groceries. The room glowed dimly from the kitchen light behind you.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you said, arms crossed to hide your nerves.

Beom Tae-ha tilted his head, giving you that crooked smile that always left your heart slightly offbeat.

“You inviting me to stay the night, noona?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He stepped closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Too late. I already feel like I’m in a drama.”

You turned away to hide the flush crawling up your neck. But then, his voice dropped — a little more serious, a little more real.

“You know… this—being here with you—it feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time.”

There it was — corny, definitely. But it hit differently coming from him.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Are you seriously saying that right now?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was cheesy as hell. But I meant it.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there — two wounded people trying to navigate something fragile and new. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It felt like something warm trying to grow.

Then he added, smug and completely unserious again:

“Also, if I get murdered in my sleep, I just want it on record I came willingly.”

You threw a cushion at him.

He caught it midair, laughing, and for a moment, the weight of the past didn’t feel so heavy.