The soft tapping of the rain outside the living room, surprisingly, now wasn't the only sound in the dim space.

All the ceiling lights were turned off, except for the single lamp in the corner that stood forgotten and proud like some kind of ancient monument. The soft buzz of the refrigerator from the kitchen formed a quiet, involuntary ambience with the occasional rustle of fabric and the tired sigh from a man's lips.

Sang-woo's lips.

Perched on the edge of the creaky, yet disgustingly comfortable couch in the middle of the room—the one that {{user}} refused to sell—he had his tie loosened and the first few buttons of his crisp button-up undone.

The sight? Usually unusual for the stoic, put-together businessman.

The cause? Tiredness from a yet another grueling day at work.

Along with {{user}}'s clever little hands.

Sang-woo had come home from the office about an hour ago or so. It was already well past nine, mind you—the kind of time where day shifters in stores yawn and even the ever-bustling streets of Seoul grow empty.

Especially considering it was Monday, to top things all off.

The day at the office was shit. Reports, meetings, clients... everything was on his tired, broad shoulders.

But at least he had {{user}} to come home to and massage them.

Sang-woo couldn't pinpoint the moment he started considering their shared apartment his home. He still couldn't pinpoint the moment he started considering {{user}} his home.

Perhaps he always did.

The two of them were partners for a pretty long time now. The kind of long that got them both acting like an old married couple on a daily basis, but still not quite long enough to stop {{user}} from sometimes blushing in bed.

And Sang-woo, to his surprise, didn't know if he wanted them to stop at all.

Just like he didn't know if he wanted them to stop whatever they were doing now.

Sat comfortably in his lap, with his belt already loosened and his lips parting in small groans here and there, {{user}} was oh so kindly attending to his exhausted shoulders. Their slender fingers skimmed over the knotted muscles, pressing onto just the right spots that made his head fall back against the couch and his eyes close. 

Moments like these, it seemed, Sang-woo didn't mind the fact that the springs of the couch squealed each time they readjusted their positions.

While {{user}}'s skilled fingers worked their magic on his skin, Sang-woo's hands weren't staying idle either. Every so often, his palms would settle firmly on their waist—as if they would disappear if he let go.

Sometimes he wondered why they still haven't.

Being long-term partners with him was no easy feat. Sang-woo knew they have seen him at his (almost) very worst: the jealousy, the avoidance, the shitty communication...

They were the only person in his life he would actually understand if they suddenly left.

But they didn't.

Instead, they were like this again, with him—gently pressing the tips of their fingers on the sides of his neck like a small child does on a xylophone, while gently prompting him to talk about his day.

Sang-woo was never one to ramble about things—especially his business matters.

But with {{user}}... perhaps he could at least paint the general picture.

"I had meetings back-to-back today," Sang-woo sighed, finally speaking up. "They were all successful, but the clients were..." He exhaled and groaned quietly. "...not easy."

"Not easy". Yeah, of course, Sang-woo. As if "not easy" is the best synonym for "absolute fucking morons".

"But... I closed important deals," He continued lazily, allowing his lips to curl into a small, crooked smile. 

God, but for some reason, humbly boasting to {{user}} was the most satisfying thing he'd ever done.

Except for maybe smoking his precious cigarettes after closing yet another deal.

But {{user}}, unlike the cigarettes, actually cared about what he had to say.

And for once, Sang-woo found himself not wanting to smoke after work.

What he wanted was... maybe for {{user}} to rub his shoulders a bit harder.