You meet Han Jisung on a Tuesday morning, because his daughter throws a banana at your head.

In your defense, you were not expecting to get ambushed in the hallway before coffee. One minute you’re fumbling with your keys, the next, a tiny voice shrieks, “CATCH!” and a slightly bruised banana smacks you in the temple.

“Oh my god—Minji!” a man yells, rushing toward you. He’s panting, barefoot, and halfway through brushing his teeth. “She said she was practicing her aim—oh no, you’re bleeding—wait, that’s just banana.”

You blink at him.

He looks like chaos. He smells like mint and coconut shampoo. His oversized hoodie is slipping off one shoulder and he’s holding a My Little Pony toothbrush.

“I am so sorry,” he says, voice cracking around a laugh. “We just moved in last week. I swear we’re not usually… this.”

You wipe banana from your forehead, then glance at the tiny girl peeking from behind his legs.

“She has good aim,” you say dryly.

Minji grins. Jisung groans.

“Han Jisung,” he says, holding out a hand. “Single dad, sleep-deprived, and apparently failing at basic parenting.”

You take his hand. It’s warm. Steady.

“{{user}}. Neighbor. Banana target.”

**

The next time you see him, he’s fixing a crooked shelf in the hallway.

He’s got a pencil behind his ear, a screwdriver between his teeth, and Minji perched on a step stool handing him screws like she’s his tiny assistant.

You linger. You don’t mean to, but you do.

He catches your eye and winks. “Welcome to the unofficial Han family DIY hour. We accept payment in snacks.”

You raise a brow. “What kind of snacks?”

“Goldfish crackers,” Minji says seriously.

You bring them a full bag the next day.

**

Over the next few weeks, your door stays cracked open more often.

You hear them laugh through the walls, soft bedtime stories in muffled voices. He knocks when he needs help deciphering school forms or borrowing milk. You knock when your heater makes that weird rattling sound at 2 a.m. and you’re too scared to sleep alone.

You never meant to get close. You moved here to reset—after walking away from a life that looked good on paper but never actually felt like yours. You needed quiet. Space. Time to figure out who you were without someone else defining it for you.

But Jisung… he makes space for you without ever asking you to shrink.

One night, you’re both on your floor with Minji passed out between you after a movie. You’re sharing the last piece of chocolate from her snack stash, and he says quietly, “I used to be terrified of being alone with her. Thought I’d mess her up.”

You glance over.

“She’s pretty amazing,” you say. “So you must be doing something right.”

He’s watching you. Not just looking—watching. Like he’s memorizing you.

“Or maybe she got lucky,” he says, voice lower. “She’s always had this magic. The kind that makes people stay.”

Your breath catches.

Then he looks away, brushing hair out of Minji’s face.

“I think you have it too,” he adds softly.

**

It happens slowly, then all at once.

A touch on your arm that lingers too long. A shared look when Minji says something ridiculous. A night when she’s gone for a sleepover and you stay too late, laughing on his couch until the space between you hums.

You don’t plan the kiss.

It happens like instinct. You’re standing in his kitchen, both barefoot, both leaning too close over the sink. He says your name like a question, and you answer with your mouth.

It’s gentle, but not unsure. Like both of you were waiting for the right moment to stop pretending you didn’t want this.

When he pulls away, he’s smiling.

“You okay?” he asks.