It was 3:07 a.m. when your phone lit up on the nightstand with one single text consisting of two words. "Come over." That was it.

No punctuation, no please, just the casual arrogance of a man who knew you would. And that was the problem. You always did.

Your relationship with Donghyuck wasn’t normal—not even close. You had an enemy with benefits. A man who got under your skin so easily you wanted to scratch him out with your nails… and yet, the second he looked at you the way he did, you found yourself doing things you swore you wouldn’t.

So here you were, already on your way.

His apartment building was quiet at this hour, city lights bleeding in through the windows in the hallway. You didn’t bother knocking—just punched in the code he’d given you months ago and let yourself in.

The first thing you saw was him. Donghyuck manspreding on his couch, a controller in hand, eyes flicking toward you for only half a second before refocusing on the game. His hair was damp, messy from a shower, clinging in strands to his forehead. He was wearing nothing but grey sweats and a silver chain around his neck, his tanned skin catching the glow of the TV screen. The muscles in his arms flexed each time his fingers pressed the buttons, the tendons in his forearms shifting like he knew you were watching.

“About time.” He muttered, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips, not looking at you. “I was starting to think you’d actually grown a backbone.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your bag onto the floor. “You said you were lonely.”

He finally looked at you then, leaning back into the couch with that infuriatingly lazy expression, like he knew exactly how much power he had over you. “I am.” He said simply, voice low, rich, and just a little hoarse. “And you’re good at fixing that.”

You should’ve walked out. Instead, you crossed the room, sinking into the couch next to him, your thigh brushing his. His body radiated heat, the faint smell of his soap curling into your senses.

Donghyuck didn’t pause his game, didn’t even glance at you again, but his free hand rested on your bare knee like it had every right to be there, thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.