The rain had been falling all evening, tapping softly against the window like fingers keeping time. The living room was dim except for the golden glow of a single lamp and the flicker of candlelight on the coffee table. You were curled against Juhoon on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him. His arm rested around your shoulders, holding you close as if the chill in the air might take you away if he loosened his grip.

In his other hand was a small paperback, the pages slightly yellowed, the title stamped in faded red letters. A collection of ghost stories, the kind you found at the thrift store earlier in the week and jokingly dared him to read to you at night. You hadn’t expected him to agree.

Juhoon’s voice was steady, low, and smooth as he read. The words carried through the quiet room, painting shadows in your mind more vividly than the storm outside could. You shivered at one of the darker passages and instinctively tucked yourself closer to him. Without looking up from the page, his thumb brushed slow circles over your arm, grounding you.

“You okay?” He murmured, his tone calm but tinged with the smallest smile.