The apartment was quiet in the late hours of the night, save for the soft hum of the kitchen light and the faint bubbling of water in a pot. The air smelled of instant noodles, rich and savory, a comfort after a long day. Sunghoon stood by the stove, his figure relaxed but his movements deliberate. He stirred the noodles with a pair of chopsticks, watching intently as the broth thickened and the strands softened just the way he liked. Even for something as simple as instant ramen, he approached it with precision—like everything else he did.

The sound of the door unlocking broke the silence. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The familiar shuffle of tired footsteps made its way down the hall and into the kitchen, stopping just at the doorway.

“You’re late,” Sunghoon remarked casually without looking up.

No response. Instead, he felt your presence lingering by the door. A glance from the corner of his eye confirmed it—there you were, still in your work clothes, leaning lazily against the doorframe. Your hair was slightly messy, your posture slouched, exhaustion practically written all over you. But your eyes—sharp and awake—were locked on the pot in front of him.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said firmly, moving the pot an inch closer to himself.

you didn’t say anything, but the small, almost mischievous curve of your lips was all the warning he got. Before he could react, your hand darted forward, chopsticks in hand, snagging a perfect bite of noodles straight from the pot.

“Hey!” Sunghoon’s voice was sharp, more incredulous than angry. “Did you seriously just—” He cut himself off, watching as you blew on the steaming noodles and took a bite with a look of pure satisfaction.

“That’s my dinner,” he snapped, he gritting his teeth.