Kai Lee

I told myself it was a one-time lapse in judgment. A stress response. Residual adrenaline from seeing someone unexpectedly attractive while emotionally unstable and chronically underpaid. That was my official diagnosis.

It didn’t hold.

Two days later, I was back in Brookhaven Heights, staring at my scanner like it had personally betrayed me. Apartment Complex C. Unit 3B.

I closed my eyes. Opened them. Still there.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered.

The box sitting on the passenger seat was smaller this time. Lighter. Same cursed label stamped across the top like a scarlet letter:

DISCREET SHIPPING — ADULT PRODUCT: 18+ ONLY

I exhaled slowly through my nose. Fine. Professional mode. Just another delivery. Just another customer whose extracurricular activities were absolutely none of my business.

I grabbed the package and stepped out into the biting wind. The sky was overcast, the kind of dull gray that flattened the world into shades of concrete and regret. Somewhere in the distance, a bus wheezed past, its brakes screeching like a dying animal. A woman walked her yappy dog near the entrance, her breath blooming in white puffs. Life went on, cruelly normal, while my pulse hammered a rhythm I couldn't quite justify.

My knee gave a sharp, familiar protest on the second flight of stairs. My shoulder twinged under the weight of a thousand previous shifts. My brain, unbidden, supplied a high-definition playback of Min Jae in that oversized shirt from two days ago—the pale expanse of his thighs, the way the fabric had pooled around his collarbone.

I stopped halfway up the third flight and pressed my forehead against the cold metal railing. Get it together, Lee. You’re a courier, not a voyeur.

I reached 3B slightly out of breath. I hesitated before knocking, which was stupid. It was a door, not a portal to another dimension. I knocked anyway. Footsteps. The door opened, though with less dramatic flair than before.

Min Jae stood there in charcoal sweatpants and a pastel hoodie, his hair damp and smelling faintly of expensive shampoo. No bare thighs. No slipping shoulders. Somehow, the modesty was worse; it forced me to look at his face.

“Oh,” he said, recognizing me instantly. His eyes, dark and liquid, brightened at the corners. “It’s you.”

My chest did a strange, fluttery somersault. “Yeah. Hi.”

 I held up the box. “Fast shipping, right?”

He offered a shy, lopsided smile that made my stomach drop. “Very fast.”

He stepped aside to let me cross the threshold just enough for the scanner to register. As he signed the digital pad, I noticed details I’d missed in my initial panic: a tiny silver labret piercing on his bottom lip, the way he tucked his hands into his sleeves when he finished, and the faint scent of vanilla and clean skin that seemed to radiate from him.

“All done,” he said, handing the device back. He lingered, his gaze falling to the small box in his hand. “Uh… sorry about all the… awkward packages.”

My ears heated. “It’s fine. Honestly? You’re not even in the top five weirdest deliveries this week.”

He blinked, curious. “That’s… comforting?”

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Had a guy order a life-sized inflatable anime girl with… well, specific anatomical features. It didn’t fit in the locker.”

A laugh burst out of him—sudden, bright, and completely unrefined. It wasn't the delicate sound I expected. It was warm and genuine, and it hit me square in the solar plexus.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, covering his mouth with a sleeve-covered hand. “I feel much better now. Thank you, Kai.”

I found myself smiling back, helpless against the charm of it. And that was the problem.

After that, it kept happening. Every few days. Different box. Same apartment. Sometimes the labels were vague; sometimes they were agonizingly specific. Lube. A remote-controlled vibrator. Once, something that rattled with a heavy, metallic weight that made my imagination run wild.

I stopped pretending not to read the labels. I started recognizing brand names. Worse, I started subconsciously adjusting my route so I could hit 3B at the end of my shift when I didn't have to rush. I hated myself for the calculation, but the reward, the small wave, the way he’d ask if I’d eaten lunch yet, was becoming the only highlight of my week.

The guys at the warehouse noticed.

“You got a regular?” Juno asked one afternoon, leaning against the rolling shutter of my van.

“Just a customer,” I said, keeping my head down as I organized my crates.

Juno smirked. “You’ve been hitting that Brookhaven route like your life depends on it. Is it the kinky one? The guy with the ‘Adult Only’ subscriptions?”

I froze, a package gripped too tightly in my hands. “What?”

Juno grinned, moving closer. “Dude. You always come back from that stop looking like you just ran five miles in a sauna. Your face is permanent red.”

I flipped him off and slammed the van door, but the seed was planted. He was right. I wasn't just delivering; I was orbiting.

What messed me up wasn't the content of the boxes. It was the man. Min Jae was soft-spoken and gentle, with a quiet loneliness behind his eyes that I felt in my own marrow. I’d had plenty of partners—men, women, everything in between—but none of them had this gravitational pull. I didn't just want to deliver to him. I wanted to see what he did with those packages. I wanted to be the reason he didn't need them.

It was a Friday, late, and the sky was a bruised purple. The package today was heavy, a glass, maybe. I knocked on 3B, my heart already doing its usual frantic rhythm.

When the door opened, the air changed. Min Jae wasn't wearing the hoodie. He was in a thin, white silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. His skin was flushed, his eyes hazy and heavy-lidded, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of something intense. The scent of vanilla was thick, mixed with something musky and sweet.

“Kai,” he breathed. My name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

I looked at the box, then at the way his robe parted to reveal the smooth, pale curve of his chest. My professionalism didn't just crack; it shattered.

“You’re late,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the doorframe. He didn't reach for the box. Instead, he reached for my wrist, his fingers cool and slender against my pulsing veins. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

He wasn't talking about the delivery.

“Min Jae,” I warned, my voice dropping an octave, raspy and thick. “I’m on the clock.”

He tugged, just a fraction, pulling me toward the warm, dimly lit sanctuary of the apartment. He leaned in close, his lips hovering just inches from my ear, the silver of his piercing catching the hall light.

“Then clock out,” he murmured, his breath hitching. “I have everything we need in these boxes, Kai. But I’m tired of playing with myself. Don't you want to see if I'm as good as the labels say?”

He let go of my wrist and stepped back, leaving the door ajar—a silent, heated invitation that made my knees weak.

I looked at the empty hallway, then at the scanner in my hand. With a definitive click, I marked the package as Delivered: Handed to Resident. Then I stepped inside and kicked the door shut.