The cold air bites at your skin, a harsh slap against the warmth still humming beneath your skin from the alcohol. The streets are quieter now, blanketed in the hush of night. Streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, everything around you slightly off-kilter, slightly unreal—until it hits you.

You’re not walking.

You’re being carried.

Your arms hang limply around Hyunjin’s shoulders, your face just inches from the back of his neck. You breathe in the faint scent of clean soap, of something familiar, something unmistakably him, and it jolts you into reality.

This isn’t a dream.

Embarrassment floods you in a slow, rising tide—hot, prickling, far worse than anything the drinks could conjure. Your limbs feel like lead, your thoughts are slow and foggy, but one thing is horribly, beautifully clear: Hyunjin is carrying you home.

On his back.

Like in one of those absurd dramas you always pretend to scoff at.

A groan escapes you, muffled against his shoulder.

“Hyunjin…” Your voice is hoarse, thick with the weight of too much alcohol and too many unsaid things. “You… didn’t have to…”

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flinch. “You couldn’t even stand properly back there,” he says, voice smooth and calm like always—but there’s something different beneath it. “Would you rather I let you crawl?”

A shaky laugh tumbles out before you can stop it. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of his coat. That voice—it’s familiar, steady, but right now, it feels like it’s pressing into you, deeper than usual. Like it’s trying to say more.

You try to lift your head, and the world lurches sideways. “Ugh… I can walk now. You can put me down…”

“No.”

A single word. Firm. Non-negotiable.

You blink, slow and heavy, letting yourself rest just a little more against him. Hyunjin has always been distant, a few paces away from your reach. But here, with his back solid beneath you and the soft rise and fall of his breath brushing against your ribs, he feels close.

Too close.

You exhale shakily. Your fingers curl ever so slightly in the fabric near his shoulder, like your body’s reaching out without your permission. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s months—years—of restraint finally slipping. But you don’t pull away.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the words almost lost in the wind. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

For a heartbeat, maybe two, there’s nothing. Just his footsteps, the crunch of gravel beneath, the sound of the city breathing in sleep.

"You couldn't walk by yourself. I... decided to help."

His voice was calm, but there was a slight hitch in his words. It was as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end he restrained himself.

You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little tighter, as if he was afraid you'd disappear.