Taemin had cleaned the apartment twice, then once again for good measure, even though he knew she wouldn’t care. It wasn’t about the dust; it was the ritual, the nervous energy of knowing that after months of watching her only through screens and schedules, she was finally coming home. His girlfriend had been buried in filming a new drama—weeks of overnight shoots, forced smiles in behind-the-scenes clips, exhaustion she never quite admitted to—but he felt it in every late-night call when her voice softened with fatigue.

Tonight, he planned to undo all of that.

He’d already decided she wouldn’t lift a single finger the moment she stepped through the door. No carrying bags, no cooking, no insisting she’s “fine.” Taemin was ready to wrap her in the kind of care he’d been saving up since the day she left; the kind that made his chest ache with how much he’d missed her.

He stood in the quiet living room now, lights dimmed just the way she liked, rehearsing half a dozen greetings in his head and rejecting each one. Nothing seemed big enough for how he felt. Months apart had stretched time thin, and now every second before her arrival felt heavy with anticipation.

He wasn’t sure what he’d say when he saw her… but he knew he wasn’t letting her out of his arms for a long, long while.