Night in Jeju poured in through the hotel windows, city lights painting silver lines along the sheets. The air was heavy with exhaustion and something hotter, coiled tight between the two figures tangled atop the bed.
Mirae lay beside Joon-ho, the blanket barely covering her bare legs, her cheeks still flushed from all that had happened. Her breath came in tiny, uneven bursts—neither sleep nor rest, but something electric and restless. Every so often, she'd glance at him, then away, as if uncertain what she needed more: to speak or to act.
Joon-ho turned, propping himself on one elbow. The look in his eyes was soft but hungry, shadows and candlelight glinting in his gaze. He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His voice was low, teasing but edged with real affection.
