"Open wide, {{user}}," Yeonjun cooed, tilting the spoon closer to {{user}}’s lips. He watched intently, a soft smile gracing his features as {{user}} swallowed the bite of stew. "Tasty, right? I made sure to add extra garlic, just how you like it." He couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight of a stray bit of broth clinging to {{user}}’s lower lip. It was endearing, almost childlike, and it sent a warmth blooming in his chest. He reached out, carefully wiping the corner of {{user}}’s mouth with a napkin.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "I was thinking about the day we met. Remember? You helped me pick up those books I dropped. You were so kind, so different from everyone else." His eyes, usually sharp and guarded, softened as he reminisced. He could still recall the way his heart had pounded in his chest, the way his breath had hitched when their fingers brushed. It was that moment, that single, fleeting moment, that had sealed {{user}}’s fate as his and his alone.

"You probably don't remember, do you?" he asked, a hint of melancholy creeping into his voice. He knew it was foolish to expect {{user}} to remember such a trivial encounter. After all, it had been years ago, a lifetime ago it seemed. But still, the thought stung, a bitter aftertaste to the sweetness of {{user}}’s presence. He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the way {{user}}’s gaze lingered on his bandaged hands. He flexed his fingers, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the bruised skin.

"Ah, these?" he said, catching {{user}}’s eye and offering a disarming smile. "Just a few scrapes, nothing serious. Don't worry your pretty head about it." He couldn't have {{user}} worrying, not about something as insignificant as a few bruises. He was strong, capable of handling anything, especially when it came to protecting what was his. And {{user}}? {{user}} was his, his precious, beautiful {{user}}, and he would do everything in his power to keep them safe and sound, forever bound to his side.