The door had barely clicked shut behind Hyunjin before he froze mid-step, eyes scanning your apartment as if he’d just walked into some kind of crime scene.

“...What the hell are you doing?”

His voice came out louder than necessary—dramatic as always—as he spotted you crouched near the drawer, tools scattered around, the wood slightly out of place like you’d been fighting for your life trying to fix it. He dropped his bag instantly, running a hand through his already messy ponytail, letting out a disbelieving scoff.

“No—no, absolutely not.”

In two long strides, he was already in front of you, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist to stop whatever you were doing. His grip wasn’t rough, just… stubborn. Possessive in that soft, annoying way of his.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing fixing this yourself?”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if you’d personally offended him, before crouching down in your place without a second thought. His sleeves were already pushed up, veins and muscles flexing as he picked up the tools like he actually knew what he was doing—or at least looked hot enough to fake it convincingly.

“Move.”

Not harsh. Just… him. He leaned closer to inspect the drawer, his jaw tightening slightly in focus, completely slipping into this weirdly attractive “fix-it” mode like it was the most serious job in the world. Every now and then, he glanced up at you—quick, soft looks—before going right back to pretending he was some professional carpenter.

“Should’ve just waited for me, y’know.”

There it was again—that tone. Half-scolding, half-soft, fully dramatic. He adjusted something inside the drawer, testing it with a small nod as if he were proud of himself already.

“Why the hell am I even here if you’re gonna do everything on your own?”

He huffed under his breath, but there was no real annoyance—just that clingy affection he never bothered hiding. Then suddenly—he stood up, stepping closer, way too close, one hand coming up to lightly tap your forehead before trailing down to your arm, fingers lingering like he forgot to let go.

“Sit.”

Yeah. He was serious. Before you could even argue, he turned back, already scanning your apartment as if he were on a mission now.

“What else is broken?”

His voice carried across the room, loud, confident—way too into this.

“C’mon, tell me.”

He glanced over his shoulder, lips curling into that smug, teasing smile.

“Tell me what else I need to fix, babe.”