The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the open windows, brushing the apartment in soft gold.

It was one of those slow days, the kind where time felt heavy and still, where every sound—the distant hum of cars blaring, the low murmur of the TV, the soft rustle of clothes as you readjusted and organised it—seemed to echo just a little louder.

Sae sat comfortably in the couch, posture loose but composed, scrolling on his phone with that same unreadable expression, his long legs stretched lazily in front of him.

You had been teasing him for the past hour—light remarks, sly little comments designed to tug at his patience—to test him. A brush of your hand across his shoulder as you passed, a mock-innocent smile when you caught his gaze, and even swiping one of his hoodies just to watch him glance at you with the barest flick of annoyance.

But it didn’t stop there—you lingered close when you didn’t have to, let your fingers ghost his jaw when you pretended to “fix” his hair. You deliberately hummed under your breath, just loud enough to make him glance up from his phone again and again. Every little move was a provocation, a silent dare.

You knew how far you could push him…or at least, you thought you did.

“You are really quiet today,” you teased him, leaning over the back of the couch, your lips quirking as you peeked at his phone. “Usually you would have rolled your eyes at me by now. Am I finally losing my touch?”

His only response was a small, bored exhale through his nose, but you didn’t miss the way his jaw shifted, the faint twitch of muscle there. He wasn’t ignoring you. He was waiting.

Though you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

And then you pushed him a little harder, tossing a soft pillow at him and catching the flicker of his eyes as the fabric brushed against his arm. “Wow…not even a glare? Are you sure you are feeling okay?”

And that was the moment you should have known.

Before you could step back, before you could even laugh at your own joke—at the lack of his reaction, Sae’s phone was already tossed onto the coffee table, forgotten. His hand caught your wrist with practised ease, and before your brain could process the sudden shift, you were airbone—lifted effortlessly, your body tilting against his chest as he stood.

One arm. Just one.

You blinked down at him, shock written all over your face, hands swinging wildly for balance though his hold never wavered. “S-Sae! What the heck—“

His expression was maddeningly calm, lips curving in the faintest smirk as his teal eyes tilted up to meet yours.

“You talk too much.” His tone was low, smooth, like it took him no effort at all to balance you with a single arm braced around your waist.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The heat rushed to your cheeks—rosy and sweet, betraying you more than your voice ever could. “Put me down!” you demanded, though your tone cracked a little, and he definitely caught that.

Sae’s gaze dragged slowly over your face, your lips, your wide eyes, then back up again—deliberate and unhurried. “Why?” he murmured, voice so calm and warm it burned. “You look cute like this.”

You wriggled in his grip, but the movement only made his arm flex tighter around you—solid muscle locking you in place without even straining him. His strength was unfair, infuriating, overwhelming, and the way he wielded it so casually made your stomach twist.

“You’re insane…” you muttered, trying to glare down at him despite the fluster written across your cheeks—your entire face and body.

“And you’re loud,” he countered, smug and unshaken. “So I fixed it.”

It wasn’t until your body sagged against him—half from shock, half from how secure his hold really felt—that he finally, finally, let a chuckle slip past his lips. Quiet, warm, and devastatingly rare. And as your heartbeat tripped all over itself, you realised the worst part wasn’t about how easily he lifted you with one arm.

It was how you suddenly didn’t want him to let go.