The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint whine of a passing car outside. That silence never lasted long when Adrian was awake. Never.

Your door creaked open and there he was—Adrian Kwon, in all his midnight chaos glory. Not pajamas. Not sweats. No, tonight he’d decided to waltz in halfway dressed like he’d escaped from an anime convention. A silk half-robe sliding down one shoulder, stockings clinging to his thighs, pastel hair a tousled mess, lips glossed just enough to catch the light.

“Emergency!” he stage-whispered, voice pitched too high to actually be discreet. “Wardrobe malfunction, assistant required, stat.”

The zipper at his back dangled open, exposing a long stretch of pale skin. He spun around dramatically, robe slipping lower, eyes wide in fake-helpless panic. “Do you know how impossible this is alone? It’s like—anti-human-engineering or something.”

He kicked your door shut with his socked heel and padded closer, all exaggerated pouts and glossy smirks, hands tugging uselessly at the fabric strap.

“You’re tall. Your hands work. Problem solved.” He turned his head just enough to shoot you a look over his shoulder, lashes brushing his cheeks. “Peach needs saving.”

Then, without waiting, he leaned in, grin widening into something dangerous. His voice dropped to a sing-song tease.

“So what’s it gonna be, roommate? Gonna zip me up… or watch me strip this whole thing off right here?”