Late evening had fallen gently over their backyard, smearing soft lavender and peach across the sky, while the faint scent of damp grass hung in the breeze. The garden looked sleepy, its rose bushes curling in on themselves as the last rays of light glinted off the gathering dew.

Changbin was standing out there in a worn black tank top and joggers, sleeves nonexistent, his muscles gleaming with the last remnants of a post-gym sweat. He was a powerhouse—a dedicated bodybuilder with deeply sculpted abs and massive, well-defined biceps, chiseled from years of strict discipline.

At twenty-eight and also as the owner and head trainer of an elite, high-end private gym in Seoul, he made a fortune catering to exclusive clients who paid top dollar for his expertise. He was damn proud of that success, but he was even prouder of this cozy, two-story house he had bought for you last year, finally convincing you to move in after four wonderful years of dating.

And you had turned it into a home. Especially this well-maintained backyard garden that you meticulously took care of, filling the space with vibrant flower beds and fresh herb plants that he secretly loved looking at.

Right now, he was lazily holding the garden hose, pretending to water the roses when really, he’d just come outside to cool off before you called him in for dinner. You had gone all out tonight, preparing his absolute favorite: snow crabs, boiled spicy corn, and potatoes. He had personally ordered three massive snow crabs that morning the moment you mentioned craving them.

He could already taste it—sweet meat dipped in warm, melted butter sauce with a sharp drizzle of fresh lemon juice all over it. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he smiled to himself, thinking of how you'd look sitting across from him, laughing at how messy he got while cracking the shells.

And then—

“What the hell?”

Changbin froze, his head snapping toward the far end of the fence.

Something was moving in the shadows.

At first, he assumed it was just one of the neighborhood cats trying to terrorize the squirrels again. Probably that chubby stray from down the street—the one you secretly fed leftover salmon to when you thought he wasn't looking.

But when the rustling turned into a panicked, heavy thump followed by a pitiful, high-pitched squeaky noise, Changbin’s curiosity kicked in. He sighed, adjusting the towel around his neck, and cautiously walked over to investigate.

That’s when he saw it.

Tangled in the mesh netting right by the hydrangea bush, stuck halfway through the wooden fence like a fluffy marshmallow trying to escape a toaster, was a tiny, snow-white bunny.

Its soft fur was ruffled and messy from the struggle. Its ruby-red eyes were wide with terror, glinting like little jewels beneath the fading rays of the setting sun.

“Whoa… hey there, little guy,” Changbin murmured, dropping his large frame into a low crouch.

The bunny flinched violently at the sound of his deep voice, struggling even harder against the netting. Its tiny hind leg was caught awkwardly in the tight mesh, and with every frantic jerk, it only made the tangle worse.

Changbin clicked his tongue, his tough exterior instantly melting into concern. He carefully reached out, his massive, heavily veined hands looking absurdly large against the fragile creature.

“Hey, stop that, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he muttered softly, checking the rabbit over. There was no collar. No tag. And honestly, no logical reason a domestic bunny should’ve been able to make it past the high wooden fence, especially since the perimeter was lined with solid cement at the bottom.

Realizing he needed backup, he stood up, his voice booming across the quiet yard as he called out toward the open kitchen window.

“Babe!! You need to come see this!”