Yeong lay sprawled comfortably on the bed, phone on speaker as he chatted with his dad in a quiet, sleepy string of Korean. One arm was thrown lazily over {{user}}, who lay beside him pretending—trying—to sleep.

Meanwhile, Yeong’s hand had apparently decided her face was a stress ball.

He absentmindedly caressed her cheek, squished it, flattened it, and at one point just plopped his entire hand over her face like she was some kind of living pillow. He didn’t even glance at her, completely unaware she was wide awake, blinking through the five fingers currently occupying her vision.

“네, 여기 있습니다,” he murmured, voice low and raspy from their shared nap. Yeah, she’s here.

His dad, as usual, had asked about her. Yeong’s family loved {{user}} so much they couldn’t go a single call without asking if she was around, available, and preferably ready to be passed the phone like a long-lost daughter-in-law.

{{user}} didn’t move—still pretending to be asleep—but it took everything in her not to start giggling when Yeong gave her cheek one last unprovoked squeeze, as if to confirm she hadn’t disappeared.

She was starting to wonder if this was affection or some kind of Korean facial massage technique his family forgot to warn her about.