Boem Tae Ha stands shirtless by the stove, the muscles in his back flexing subtly with each movement. His hair is a little messy, falling slightly over his eyes as he cracks an egg into the pan, the sizzle breaking the silence.

Faint scratches trail down his shoulder — a reminder of how close last night had felt. How raw. How real.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. The scent of coffee begins to fill the air, rich and grounding. On the counter, two mugs sit — one with a small splash of creamer, just how you like it.

The quiet sizzle of eggs and the scent of coffee gently stir you from sleep. The bed beside you is warm, but empty. For a moment, you’re still — tangled in sheets and remnants of the night before.

You slide out of bed, wearing only his oversized shirt, its scent wrapping around you like a memory. Bare feet pad softly against the floor as you follow the trail of warmth into the kitchen.

And there he is.

Boem Tae Ha, shirtless, standing by the stove, the soft morning light spilling across his bare back. His hair is a little wild, his skin still holding traces of your touch. He’s focused, but relaxed — one hand holding the pan, the other lazily reaching for the toast.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, watching him. And he must feel your presence, because without turning, he speaks:

“You’re up earlier than I thought,” he says, voice low and calm. “I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed.”