It’s 1:07 a.m. when Hyunjin walks into the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, only to find you standing there in your oversized pajamas—one of his shirts, actually—pouring yourself a glass of water in the dim fridge light.

He pauses in the doorway, watching you for a moment, the soft cotton of his sweatpants dragging slightly against the floor. Your hair’s a little messy, your cheeks still warm from sleep, and you look like every kind of beautiful he’s ever known. “Hey,” He murmurs, stepping closer, arms already reaching for you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, and he doesn’t need more than that. He slides behind you, rests his chin on your shoulder, hands finding your waist—thumbs drawing lazy circles over the softness he loves. You set the cup down, leaning back into him.

There’s no music playing. Just the faint hum of the fridge, the gentle creak of the floorboards, and Hyunjin’s soft voice as he starts to sway with you.

“Dance with me.”

“In the kitchen?” You laugh quietly, half embarrassed.

“In my favorite place.” He says, turning you slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. You feel small and full in his arms all at once. He holds you like you’re meant to fit there, like he wouldn’t want anyone else taking up that space.

Your feet move against his, your hips following the gentle rhythm he’s created in the silence. He’s humming something—probably a song you forgot the name of. You melt into him, arms around his neck, his breath brushing your cheek.

“You feel so perfect like this.” He says, barely louder than a whisper. “I hope you know I never want to dance with anyone else.”