The soft hum of Seoul’s morning traffic filtered through the open balcony doors, mingling with the scent of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen. The sun peeked through the skyline, casting a warm glow across the cozy apartment you shared with Jeon Wonwoo. It was a rare morning when his schedule wasn’t packed with rehearsals, fan meetings, or international flights. Today, he was yours—entirely, blissfully yours.

You stirred awake to the sound of Wonwoo humming a soft, unfamiliar melody, perhaps one of SEVENTEEN’s unreleased tracks, as he shuffled around the kitchen. The bed felt emptier without his warmth, but the thought of him up and about, likely organizing the countertops with his usual precision, brought a smile to your face. You stretched, the oversized sweater you’d stolen from his wardrobe slipping off one shoulder, and padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

There he was, all quiet charm and sharp focus, standing over the stove with a spatula in hand. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he wore a loose black hoodie that made him look effortlessly cool yet adorably domestic. The sight of him, an idol who captivated thousands of fans with his deep voice and intense gaze, carefully flipping pancakes, made your heart swell.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Wonwoo called without turning around, his voice low and warm, with a hint of teasing. “I knew you’d be up once you smelled the coffee.”

You laughed, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “I wasn’t lured by the coffee. I was… appreciating the view.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile that made your stomach flutter. “Oh? The pancakes or the chef?”

“Both,” you replied, stepping closer to peek at the golden-brown pancakes sizzling in the pan. “But mostly the chef.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, flipping a pancake with a steady hand, his movements calm and precise. “Good answer. You’re lucky I’m in my boyfriend era, or I’d make you do the dishes for this breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Boyfriend era, huh? So what, you’re not always this perfect?”

“Perfect?” He turned to face you, leaning against the counter with a playful glint in his eyes behind his glasses. “Love, I’m always perfect. But right now, I’m extra perfect. For you.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you nudged him lightly. “Careful, Jeon Wonwoo. Don’t let CARATs hear you, or they’ll riot.”

He laughed, the sound quiet but genuine, before pulling you into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady, and smelled faintly of coffee and his familiar cologne. “Let them riot. My number one fan’s right here.”

You melted into him, resting your head against his chest as his heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your ear. Moments like these were your favorite—when the chaos of his idol life faded into the background, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet comfort of your shared world.

Wonwoo’s life was anything but ordinary. As a member of SEVENTEEN, his days were a whirlwind of practice sessions, photoshoots, and global tours. Fans adored him, his face on billboards and his voice echoing through arenas. Yet, somehow, he made time for you. He always did. Whether it was sneaking away for a late-night bookstore run or sending you random voice messages from a studio halfway across the world, he wove you into his life with a care that made you feel like the only person in his universe.

“Sit,” he said, gently guiding you to the small dining table. “Breakfast is almost ready.”