❝ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐲 ❞- ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏᴜɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴍʙᴏᴅɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxQᴜɪꜱɪᴛᴇ ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴʏ ᴏꜰ ꜱɪᴍᴜʟᴛᴀɴᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ.
In the heart of Seoul, two strangers, Lee Minho and Han Jisung, are inexplicably united through their dreams. Every night, Minho, a software deve...
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♥༻∞ ʜᴀɴ ᴊɪꜱᴜɴɢ ∞༺♥
As the morning light grew brighter, filtering through the gaps in the curtains, I continued to watch Minho sleep, each gentle breath he took seeming to draw us closer together. There was a profound peace in watching someone sleep, especially someone with whom you shared an emerging bond, deep and meaningful. Observing the relaxed ease of his features, I felt an admiration that went beyond the physical; it ventured into the realms of emotional and intellectual respect, highlighting the unique qualities that made Minho not just attractive, but genuinely endearing.
Minho's face, usually so animated and expressive when awake, held a serene innocence in sleep. His eyelashes cast tiny shadows over his cheeks, and his lips parted slightly in a quiet rhythm. Every so often, a slight smile would flicker across his lips, as if he were dreaming of something pleasant, and I couldn't help but wonder about the thoughts that danced through his mind in these tranquil moments.
The way Minho shifted slightly, seeking comfort unconsciously and finding it in my arms, filled me with a protectiveness I hadn't fully anticipated feeling. It was as if in his sleep, he trusted me completely, allowing himself to be vulnerable, to let down those walls we all build to guard ourselves. This trust was not demanded or spoken—it was given freely, and it was precious.
Allowing my hand to rest gently on the back of his head, I smoothed his hair, feeling the soft strands between my fingers. Each touch was a silent promise to myself and to him that I would be there, as a pillar of support, whether he was awake or asleep, through uncertainties and clarity alike.
The quiet of the morning was only broken by the distant sounds of the city waking up, a soft murmur compared to the stillness of his living room. In these moments, with Minho resting against me, the world outside seemed almost irrelevant, a distant land compared to the intimate landscape we were navigating together.
As the serene quiet of the early hours stretched on, I found myself lost in thought, reflecting on the journey that had brought us to this point. Each memory of Minho—his laughter, his thoughtful conversations, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about something he loved—built a mosaic of admiration and affection in my heart. It wasn't just his presence that was comforting; it was everything that he embodied.
The room slowly brightened with the advancing morning, casting a gentle light that highlighted the contours of Minho's face. Watching him in this light, I appreciated the subtle details—the fine lines that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, marks of joy that spoke of a life rich with emotion. It made me smile, thinking about how much more there was to discover about him, about us.
My gaze drifted from his face to our intertwined hands, a physical manifestation of the emotional tie that was forming. It felt as though each point of contact between us wove our lives closer together, binding us with threads both seen and unseen. This connection, growing stronger with each shared experience, was becoming a foundation on which we could build something lasting.
