Late-night Seoul was a hush of neon out the window, a sweep of headlights rolling along riverside roads, the city pulsing quietly while the rest of the world slipped into dreams. Inside Joon-ho's apartment, only a single lamp burned—its glow gilding the edge of the living room, painting golden halos in Yura's hair where she straddled his lap on the sofa.
Neither of them was in any hurry. The day's chaos, the anxious texts and looming deadlines, were a distant world now—shut out by the simple act of a slow, lingering kiss.
Yura pressed her hands to Joon-ho's jaw, brushing her thumbs over the shadow of stubble. She kissed him gently, then a little deeper, her mouth soft and searching. His arms circled her waist, drawing her close. They smiled between kisses, teasing and familiar—old friends, old lovers, each savoring the other's warmth.
"You're trouble, Kim Joon-ho," she murmured, voice low and almost playful.
