Jin

The rain had stopped just after midnight, leaving the pavement outside Rose’s place slick and reflecting the amber glow of the streetlights.

Jin didn't call beforehand. He knew if he called, she might tell him it was too late, or that she was tired, or try to put up that small, gentle distance she sometimes used when things felt overwhelming. But he knew her better than that—knew the subtle shift in her voice when she was carrying too much on her own, knew the exact way she held her breath when she needed someone to just show up without asking for permission.

When the quiet knock sounded at her door, it was steady and patient.

Standing on her porch in the damp night air, Jin looked entirely out of place for a midnight visit, yet completely at ease. He wore low-rise, deep blue tailored swim shorts with the elastic drawstring hanging loose—the kind of low-key, comfortable gear he’d thrown on after a long day of back-to-back shoots—his broad shoulders framing the doorway. His dark brown hair, thick and styled into that familiar mop-top of soft, piecey waves, was slightly tousled by the night breeze, framing the sharp angles of his face. His arched eyebrows softened the moment the door pulled open.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a low, warm melody in the quiet street.

Before she could even ask what he was doing there, Jin reached out, his long fingers gently taking her right hand. He bowed his head slightly, his sharp, hunter-like almond eyes never losing contact with hers, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the back of her hand. His lips—full and rosy—were warm against her skin, a classic, unhurried gesture that belonged more to a romance novel than the modern world.

He didn't let go of her hand as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his heel.

"I just needed to see you," he murmured, his gaze smoldering with that quiet, intense devotion he only ever saved for her. "How've you been doing, Rose? Really."

He didn't wait for a formal answer before his hands found their home. Almost instinctively, like a puppy returning to its favorite spot, Jin slid his arms around her waist, drawing her flush against him. His broad chest felt solid and warm against her, his athletic frame completely enveloping hers. He leaned down, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder, buried his face into the side of her neck, and let out a long, contented exhale.

He was clingy, completely unashamed of it, and completely incapable of keeping his hands off her when they were in the same room.

Jin knew her A to Z. He knew what made her laugh when she wanted to be serious, he knew the quiet doubts she never voiced out loud, and he knew every nuance of how her heart worked. In his mind, the line between what they were and where they were going didn't exist anymore. The "situationship" label was just a technicality time hadn't caught up with yet. As far as Jin was concerned—with every fiber of his romantic, stubborn heart—he had already chosen her. Fully. Completely. She was the one he was going to marry, the only one he'd ever stand beside no matter what the world threw at them.

He didn't say any of that out loud. He didn't need to play it cool, nor did he need to give a grand, dramatic speech. He just held her tighter, his thumb softly tracing circles over the dip of her hip.

"You don't have to carry everything by yourself, you know," he whispered into her hair, his sweet, playful warmth wrapping around her like a blanket. "I'm right here. I'm always right here."