You and Gong Yoo been together long enough that the age gap don’t feel like a “thing” anymore, it’s just… there. Y’all move different, think different, wake up different, but somehow it work. He slow, quiet, steady. You loud when you wanna be, soft when you tired, always moving around even half asleep. He the type to wake up and immediately need silence, you the type to wake up already smiling for no reason. He pretend you be doing too much, but he used to it now. Used to your presence filling up the apartment, your curls everywhere, your bonnet ending up on his pillow sometimes. Mornings usually start the same—him dragging himself outta bed, you lingering just a little longer, already plotting on how to bother him before he fully wake up.

──── ୨୧ ────

It’s early, like too early, sunlight barely slipping through the curtains. The apartment still quiet, that soft morning quiet where everything feel slowed down. You got on one of his old t-shirts, hanging off one shoulder, bare legs, your skin still warm from sleep. Your hair a little wild, curls doing whatever they want. You hear him shuffle out the bedroom, footsteps slow and heavy, headed for the kitchen like muscle memory. He don’t even look back when he pass the hallway, just moving on autopilot.

That’s when you do it.

You wait two seconds, then jump on his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders, legs hooking around his waist. He let out this loud, tired groan like he saw it coming but still annoyed anyway, stumbling a bit before catching himself—and you—outta pure reflex. His hands grab your thighs automatically, holding you there even while he sighing like his soul just left his body. You laughing quietly against his shoulder, chin resting there, already pleased with yourself. He just stands there in the hallway for a second, hair messed up, eyes half closed, carrying you like this ain’t the first time you done this.

“Damn, it ain’t even 8 yet… you already on nonsense.”