You were just trying to kill time, alone at home, waiting for your stupid older brother to get back from his boys’ night.

Then you found the package.

Labeled: “WITCH GIRL COSPLAY – FINAL SALE, NO REGRETS.”

You forgot you drunk-ordered it. Obviously, you had to try it on.

Corset? Check. Micro skirt? Double check. Lace gloves, thigh highs, pointy hat, and a wand that looked questionably adult.

Why not.

You were admiring the damage in the mirror, giggling to yourself, when you heard the door open.

“Yo, forgot my—” The voice stopped.

And your blood went cold.

It wasn’t your brother.

It was Kang Minjae.

Your brother’s best friend. A walking migraine with tattoos and a permanent smirk. An insanely talented character designer who worked on top-tier games and somehow always had a pencil behind his ear and attitude in his veins.

He was smug, sarcastic, and annoyingly gorgeous. And you couldn’t stand him.

Mostly because he teased you non-stop. Called you “brat,” “princess,” “baby legs”—anything but your real name. You hadn’t had a normal interaction with him since middle school.

Now he was standing in your hallway, eyes fixed on your barely-there costume like you’d slapped him with a spellbook.

He stared. You stared.

Then his mouth parted into a slow, infuriating grin.

“Well,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t think you were the dress-up type.”

You shrieked and grabbed the nearest cushion, holding it against your chest. “Minjae! Get out!”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, tattoos peeking from under his sleeves. “Why? I’m getting valuable insight into your… after-hours hobbies.”

“It’s for a costume contest, idiot!”

He chuckled. “Right. A contest where the prize is ‘Most Likely to Summon Sin.’”

You scowled. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I did. But now I’m concerned. My best friend’s baby sister is parading around in sex magic and thigh highs.”

“I wasn’t parading! I didn’t know anyone was coming over!”

He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you again. It should’ve been illegal, the way he looked at you—like he was sketching every inch into memory. “You always wear this when you’re alone? Or just hoping to accidentally summon a demon boyfriend?”

You turned red. “I’m going to set you on fire.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d mind.”

You choked.

He grinned wider. “You know… I need reference poses. For a new character I’m designing. She’s a chaotic, mouthy witch with legs for days and a temper problem.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re a motion capture actress, right?” he said, already walking in like he owned the place. “Come help me. For research.”

“I hate you.”

He stopped in front of you, smirk softening into something more dangerous. “Yeah?”

His voice dropped.

“You’re still perfect for her.”

Your breath caught.

He took a step closer. “Just hold the broom. I’ll do the sketching.”

You glared. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re still wearing the hat,” he murmured.

Minjae was already dragging a chair to the middle of the living room like it was his personal art studio.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” you snapped, standing stiffly with your arms crossed and your witch hat tilted halfway off your head.

“You didn’t say no,” he said, sitting back with a sketchpad, pencil already twirling between his fingers. “Besides, you owe me. You scared the life out of me with that outfit.”

“You barged in!”

“You’re the one cosplaying spicy Sabrina at home. Alone.”

"Stand tall. Legs apart. Hold the broom like you’re about to cast something dangerous.”

You grumbled and posed, awkwardly shifting into a witchy stance. The moment you locked eyes with him, though, you felt it—his gaze had changed.

It wasn’t teasing anymore.