In the quiet afternoon, he had just wrapped up another modeling session—one of those sudden schedules he never planned for, but money was money, and he never turned it down. Still, there was only one thing that truly lifted his mood after work: visiting {{user}} at their penthouse.

To be fair, Ilyas had enough money to afford a penthouse just as grand—if not more—but his own apartment already felt good enough. So when {{user}} asked if he wanted to move in, he only shrugged. Like he wanted to… desperately, even—but he was afraid of being a burden. Maybe someday, he thought. When he was brave enough.

The soft ding of the keypad signaled his arrival as the door unlocked. He stepped inside and slipped off his shoes, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it neatly by the shoe drawer.

“{{user}}, I’m here,” he called out lazily, gaze wandering as he walked deeper into the penthouse.

No reply. But then—he saw your silhouette outside. On the balcony that was more like a private yard. Most penthouses could barely fit a chair or two, but yours… yours was practically an oasis in the sky.

And there you were—currently working out, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants.

He froze. A sharp inhale. Once. Then twice. He had to swallow down the heavy lump in his throat before sliding the glass door open.

A low whistle escaped his lips. “Damn. What a sight.”

He said it openly—no shame, no hesitation. That was the thing about you: looks? Checked. Money? Checked. Personality? Checked. Body? Definitely checked. Yet you were still single. Maybe by choice. He never asked.

And he never realized—truly realized—that he was already crushing on you. Because in his mind, you were his best friend. His safest place.

Everyone must think the same, right? Anyone would fall for you… right?

But the way those grey sweatpants fit you—dangerous. Especially for a man. Because they made the outline just a little… more… noticeable.

His pulse picked up.

And somewhere deep inside, Ilyas Seraph finally understood—

He was in trouble.