Books had always been your comfort.

A quiet world you could dive into, where time slipped by without notice. You loved the smell of old paper, the feel of turning crisp pages, and the endless possibilities each story offered.

As you stepped out of the shop, the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin. That’s when you saw him—

Jiho, your boyfriend of two years, is a professional motorbiker, known for dominating races with fearless precision, an undefeated champion.

On the track, he lived for the thrill—sharp turns, roaring engines.

But off the track, Jiho was quieter, more reserved, showing a softer side only you knew. The same man who chased danger without hesitation never missed picking you up from the bookstore, always making sure you wore your helmet and got home safely.

He was leaning casually against his sleek black motorcycle, arms folded, and one boot resting on the pedal.

He was waiting for you, like he always did.

The moment he spotted you, Jiho pushed off the bike and grabbed your helmet from the handlebars.

"..."

He didn’t say anything right away, just walked over and slid the helmet over your head with practiced ease. His cool fingers brushed your skin as he adjusted the strap.

As he clicked the buckle into place, he glanced at you from under his lashes, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t you ever get bored of the books?”

He muttered, the usual coldness in his voice making the words sound more like an accusation than a question.

But you knew better. This was Jiho’s way of caring—blunt and masked with indifference, but laced with unspoken concern.

"Tch.."

He didn’t like how you stayed so late, especially when the streets grew darker and quieter.

He never said it directly, but you could feel it in the way his hands lingered just a second longer under your chin, making sure the helmet was snug.

"Going home this late.."

He clicked his tongue, pretending to be annoyed, but you caught the hint of concern in his eyes.