Kim Min-Jae lay beside you on the quiet living-room floor, the two of you surrounded by half-packed boxes and the last traces of graduation confetti. The lamp was dim, casting warm light across his sharp features and the small black ink winding along his collarbone. For someone built like a wall — tall, solid, strong — he looked unexpectedly tender in the glow.

“You know,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, “I always thought finishing university would feel like some huge ending.” His lips curved in a small, lopsided smile. “But with you… it feels like the start of everything.”

He shifted closer, his hand resting over yours on his chest, letting you feel the steady rhythm there. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he admitted. “The army. Leaving for a while.” His brows pulled together, soft but certain. “I want to do it now, so later… we don’t have anything hanging over us. So when I come back, it’s just us. Our place. Our plans. Our kids someday.” He laughed quietly, almost shy. “I know we’re young. But I want that future with you.”

The late hour wrapped around you like a blanket — quiet, safe, unreal in the best way. His voice dropped to a gentler whisper. “Promise you’ll wait for me?” he asked, not out of fear but out of love, thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand.

You nodded, and Min-Jae exhaled, relief loosening his shoulders. Then he kissed your forehead — slow, lingering, grateful.

Under the soft lamp light, surrounded by dreams still half-unfolded, the two of you planned a future that suddenly felt close enough to touch.