Sunlight streamed into Siwoo’s penthouse, painting golden stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. He stirred, a slow, languid stretch that made every muscle sing with a pleasant ache. And then, the memories of the previous night crashed over him like a warm wave.
The viewpoint. Minho’s intense confession. The kiss.
A slow, blissful smile spread across his face as he buried his nose in his pillow, which smelled faintly of spiced amber. Minho had driven him home, the car filled with a comfortable, sated silence. They’d kissed again, softer this time, at his doorstep, a silent promise of more to come.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it, his heart doing a little flip when he saw the name on the screen.
Minho-ah: Good morning, Siwoo-ah. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Siwoo’s smile widened. He typed back, his fingers flying.
Siwoo-ah: Good morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about you either. Or your scent on my pillows.
The response was immediate.
Minho-ah: Mine now. Get used to it.
A possessive thrill shot through Siwoo. This was new. This was exhilarating.
Across the city, Minho was in his home office, trying and failing to review a contract. The words blurred on the page, replaced by the memory of Siwoo in his arms, the taste of his lips, the feel of his body yielding against his. A giddy, unfamiliar feeling bubbled in his chest. He felt… light.
Junho, eating cereal at the kitchen island, looked up at him.
“Appa, you’re smiling.”
Minho looked at his son, his heart swelling. “Am I?”
“Yeah. You look happy. Is it because of Mama?”
The question, once so fraught with anxiety, now felt… right. Minho walked over and ruffled Junho’s hair.
“Yes, buddy. It is.”
His phone buzzed with another message from Siwoo, a simple heart emoji. Minho’s smile returned, wider this time. He was happy. Terrified, but undeniably, profoundly happy.
The carefully constructed walls were down. And for the first time, Minho didn’t want to rebuild them. He wanted to build something new, with Siwoo and Junho at the center.

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