jungwon grew up surrounded by wealth—designer clothes, the best tutors, a house big enough to get lost in. whatever he wanted, he got. everything except the one thing he craved most: his parents’ attention.

he never said it out loud. not once. but there was always a quiet part of him that ached—for a gaze held a second too long, for a hand on his shoulder, for someone to notice how hard he was trying. so he buried himself in schoolwork, chasing perfect grades like they might earn him a glance that never came.

he was used to nannies. they came and went like passing seasons, none of them ever really sticking out. you weren’t much different—except for the fact that you were only three years older, and somehow that made things feel… off balance. you’d gotten the job through some connection or another, and before you knew it, you were living under the same roof, tasked with keeping him company while his parents disappeared on another business trip.

one day as you were cooking dinner, the door of jungwon’s door opened—and he found himself wandering in, leaning against the doorway.

“i’m capable of cooking meals myself.”