He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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Han looks pretty when he sleeps. It's almost unfair, the way his face softens, stripped of all the sharp edges he wears like armor when he's awake. His mouth is parted just slightly, lips forming the faintest pout, his breath slow and steady. The morning light casts a glow over his skin, highlighting the delicate creases pressed into his cheek from the pillowcase. He looks human like this—vulnerable, untouched by the weight of grief and bitterness that usually tenses his features. There's something refreshing about seeing him like this, something intimate. Almost cute.
Last night, something shifted inside me. A realization I could no longer ignore. If I wanted Han—truly wanted him—I needed to earn his trust. No games, no manipulation, no reckless hunger masquerading as love. I'd spent so long believing that I could get what I wanted through force of will alone, bending people to me like the pull of gravity. But Han wasn't someone I could conquer. He was something else entirely. I'd started noticing cracks in his facade, moments when Jisung bled through—raw, unfiltered, real. And last night, when he looked me dead in the eye and said he thought I was going to fuck him, something inside me ignited. A heat so potent it almost scared me. It wasn't just lust. It was something darker, something deeper. The need to give him exactly that.
The sunlight creeping through the sheer curtains shifts across his face, making him twitch in his sleep. His eyes squint slightly, his brows drawing together, a soft sound escaping his lips—half sigh, half grumble. Without thinking, I lift my hand, angling it just right so my shadow falls over his face, shielding his eyes from the brightness. It's a small thing, a quiet gesture, but it feels strangely significant.
His lashes flutter, the movement slow and lazy, and then his eyes crack open, dark and dazed with sleep. He blinks once. Then again. His pupils shrink slightly as he adjusts to the light, his gaze shifting from my hand to my face, sluggish with morning disorientation.
"What are you doing?" His voice is rough, thick with sleep, and fuck, it's attractive. There's a rasp to it, something low and unguarded, something that reminds me of Felix.
I keep my hand steady, shrugging slightly. "Keeping the sun out of your eyes." My voice is casual, like this is the most normal thing in the world, like I do this every morning.
Han stares for a beat longer, his expression unreadable, before he exhales sharply and shoves my hand away. "How sweet of you," he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm as he rolls out of bed.
He stretches, his back arching slightly as he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the strands into a mess. His shirt is rumpled, slipping off one shoulder as he yawns, and for a split second, I let myself admire the sight of him. Then he slouches his way toward the bathroom, the heavy drag of his steps the only sound filling the room.
I watch him go, smirking faintly as I prop myself up on my elbows. "Are you feeling better this morning?" I call after him, my voice laced with something between amusement and genuine curiosity.
