Lee Heeseung. Your roommate had warned you, vaguely, that his cousin was coming to stay for a bit. “He’s got… money issues,” your roommate had said. That was an understatement. Heeseung was an underground boxer, lean and dangerous, with hands that could end fights in a second and a gaze that somehow unsettled and drew you in all at once. You weren’t sure what you’d expected when he showed up, but definitely not the kind of tension that seemed to hum in the air the moment he stepped inside your apartment.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” he said casually, tossing his duffel bag on the couch like he owned the place. The hoodie stretched over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the knuckles that carried hours of training—and fights you didn’t even want to imagine.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the sudden tightness in your chest. “But don’t get too comfortable. This is still my living room.”

Heeseung’s smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You sound like you’re issuing a challenge.”

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, leaning against the kitchen counter. His eyes flicked to you, sharp and calculating, before lingering just long enough that your stomach did a backflip.

“Good,” he said finally, voice lower now, almost teasing. He stepped closer, and you could smell the faint scent of sweat and something else—warm, lingering, addictive.

You felt your pulse quicken. “You’re not exactly in a position to judge,” You muttered, trying to sound casual as he moved to grab a water bottle from the counter, brushing past you on purpose.

Heeseung paused, turning slightly so his shoulder brushed yours. “Is that a warning? Or an invitation?” His lips curved, teasing but intimate. “Because I’m really good at testing limits.”