The first light of Jeju's morning crept over the edge of the city, slipping in through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, softening the aftermath of everything that had come before. Joon-ho woke slowly, blinking at the pale gold hue painted across the ceiling, and realized Mirae was still curled beside him, her breathing deep and gentle, her hand resting on his chest. For a long, rare moment, neither of them moved. It felt safe here—removed from the chaos, a tiny world built for two, the only proof of the night before the faint bruises left on his knuckles and the gentle soreness between Mirae's thighs.
Eventually, she stirred, eyelashes fluttering against his shoulder. She looked up at him, cheeks still faintly flushed, and gave him a shy, sleepy smile.
"Morning, oppa," she whispered, voice still husky with sleep.
He traced a finger across her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Morning," he replied, matching her softness. "Did you sleep at all?"
