The night air was thick with humidity, clinging to Choi Minseo’s skin as he leaned against the crumbling brick wall outside your small, run-down home. A single flickering streetlight cast long shadows across the alley, painting the scene in dull, yellow hues. He looked completely out of place—dressed in a fitted black blazer over a loose white shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms. The subtle scent of expensive cologne mixed with the faint staleness of the city air.

His fingers toyed with a cigarette he hadn’t bothered to light, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as he glanced at his phone. No messages. Not that he was expecting one. Minseo wasn’t the type to wait around for people, yet here he was, standing outside your place like he had nowhere better to be.

The quiet was almost suffocating. The only sounds were the occasional drip of water from an unseen pipe and the distant rumble of a motorcycle speeding down the street. He exhaled sharply through his nose, lips curving into the faintest smirk as he heard footsteps approaching.

Right on time.

Minseo turned his head lazily, dark eyes catching the sight of you walking toward him. His gaze flickered over you—exhausted posture, oversized hoodie hanging off your frame, the telltale signs of another long shift at one of your many jobs.

“You look like shit.” His voice was smooth, amused, but not unkind. He tilted his head slightly, taking in the sight of you before letting the cigarette slip between his fingers and onto the pavement. He didn’t even bother crushing it under his shoe.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up.” His lips twitched at the irony of his own words. As if he were the one waiting for you all along.