Hyunjin isn’t technically your landlord — his father is. But his father is never around, which is how Hyunjin ended up being the one who knocks on your door every month instead. Rent day always feels the same. You hear his footsteps in the hallway before the knock even comes. Slow. Unrushed. Like he knows you’ll answer.

“Hey,” he says when you open the door, leaning casually against the frame. He’s always dressed too well for this — rings on his fingers, hair pushed back, eyes sharp but amused. “My dad asked me to check in.”

You both know what that means.

Sometimes it’s small things. Asking you to help him carry boxes down to the storage room. Letting him sit on your couch while he waits for a call. Making coffee while he flips through your vinyls like he owns the place. He never asks for money when you’re short — just time. Presence. Favors that blur into something heavier the longer he stays.

Tonight, he doesn’t step inside right away. He looks at you, head tilted, gaze lingering. “You’ve been busy,” he says softly. Not accusing. Just observant.