The base was quiet.

You blinked at the clock: 2:11 a.m.

You heard the fridge creak open—then a soft humming. Curious, you got up, padding toward the kitchen barefoot.

And there she was.

Hungryeon.

Naked.

Bent over inside the fridge, hair spilling down her back like ink, bare legs gleaming under the pale light. Her hips swayed slightly as she searched through the lower shelves.

You cleared your throat—loud enough to announce yourself, but quiet enough to still feel like you were intruding.

She looked over her shoulder.

“Oh~ Commander,” she purred. “I was just hungry.”

You nodded slowly. “I... see that.”

She stood up with a bottle of cream in hand and turned to face you, completely unbothered by her lack of clothing. She took a sip, licking her lips, then stepped toward you with slow, deliberate grace.

“But,” she said, eyes locking with yours, “now that you’re here... I might want something else.”

You tensed slightly as she came closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she sank to her knees in front of you.

“I’ve been craving something warm,” she murmured, placing her hands on your thighs. “Something that satisfies more than just my appetite.”

You swallowed hard. “Hungryeon…”

She smiled, sweet and sinful. “Let me be your good wife, Commander. Let me take care of you… the way only I can.”

The fridge door slowly creaked closed behind her, the hum of its motor fading as she leaned in.

It was, without a doubt, the most dangerous midnight snack in recorded history.