Johan’s call finally ended—right when the car rolled to a stop in the underground parking of his penthouse.

The silence that followed was almost jarring. For the entire ride, his voice had been low and clipped, speaking about contracts and schedules and things I barely understood. I’d sat there, quiet, watching the raindrops slide down the glass like tiny rivers, listening to the faint hum of the engine beneath the muffled roar of the storm outside.

Not a single word had been exchanged between us.

It’s okay, North.
He’s stressed.
He’s working hard.
Don’t make it worse.

But no matter how much I repeated it, the dull ache in my chest refused to go away. My mouth had formed a thin, tight line without me realizing it. I hated feeling like this—like I was competing with his world and losing every single time.

The engine clicked softly as it powered down. Johan set his phone aside, his fingers flexing once as if to shake the tension out. He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes with a deep exhale. Even that sounded tired, like the weight of the day clung to his bones.

I turned to look at him. The dim lights from the dashboard cast his profile in soft shadow—sharp jaw, lashes brushing against his skin, a few strands of dark hair falling messily across his forehead. He looked… beautiful. And so damn exhausted it made something twist painfully inside me.

I didn’t know what to do.
Should I say something?
Should I just… step out quietly? Give him space?
What if I annoy him? What if this turns into an argument?

I was drowning in my own hesitation when I felt it—warmth curling around my fingers.

I froze.

His hand. Johan’s hand. Long fingers sliding between mine, firm yet unhurried, like it was the most natural thing in the world. My breath caught as he intertwined our hands completely, squeezing once before lifting them slowly.

His eyes were still closed when he brought our joined hands to his lips.

The kiss was soft. Barely there. But it shattered me in the quietest, most devastating way.

My heart stuttered, trembling inside my chest as heat bloomed under my skin. The sting behind my eyes was sudden, uninvited. God, how could one simple gesture make me feel like crying?

“Phi…” My voice cracked on the single syllable, so small it almost embarrassed me.

His lashes fluttered, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Little brat,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low, hoarse with exhaustion—yet threaded with something that felt achingly tender. Something that made my throat tighten.

I swallowed hard. “Yes Phi?”

Finally, his eyes opened. Just a fraction, dark and heavy with fatigue, but softened at the edges in a way that made my chest ache. He let out another sigh and spoke, quiet and rough: “Go inside. I’ll come in a minute.”

There was no sharpness in his tone. No impatience. Just… bone-deep tiredness. And maybe a promise he couldn’t say out loud.

Still, it stung. Just a little.
Because a part of me had hoped—selfishly, maybe—that he’d want to sit there with me for a while. Just us. No phone calls. No interruptions.

I nodded anyway, forcing a small smile. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice steadier than I felt.

My fingers slipped reluctantly from his as I unlocked the door. Cool air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of rain and asphalt. I stepped out slowly, the echo of my shoes soft against the concrete.

But something in me hesitated. I turned back.

He was still there, head resting against the seat, eyes half-closed. His shoulders slumped in a way that made him look human instead of the untouchable figure everyone else saw. Fragile, almost.

Before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in again—softly pressing my lips to his cheek. The warmth of his skin lingered against my mouth for a heartbeat that felt like forever.

When I pulled back, I grinned, playful despite the heaviness curling in my chest. “Come fast, Phi,” I said lightly, as if I wasn’t aching inside.

His eyes opened fully this time, meeting mine. For a moment, the storm outside didn’t exist. It was just us in that dimly lit car, breathing the same air, our worlds suspended in that single look.

He exhaled slowly. “Umm,” he hummed, the sound so low it was almost lost to the rain. His lips moved, shaping a word that might’ve been my name—or maybe I imagined it. Then, softer still, “Go.”

I nodded, stepping back. My heart thudded all the way to the elevator, his touch still ghosting against my fingers like a brand I’d never shake off.

✿✿✿

I was sulking hard by the time I stepped inside Johan’s penthouse.

My feet dragged like lead across the polished floor until I finally collapsed onto the sofa with all the grace of a tragic hero meeting his doom. A long, dramatic sigh slipped out as I sprawled across the cushions, staring blankly at the ceiling.

A pout pulled at my lips, my cheeks puffed out like a hamster hoarding resentment.

You’re lucky, Godzilla.
Really lucky. If this were the old me, I’d have ripped your perfect hair out just to get your attention.

Instead, here I was, domesticated and defeated, silently suffering while the man I called my boyfriend made me feel like the last line on his to-do list.

I huffed, crossing my arms and sinking deeper into the couch. My pout deepened, practically carved into my face.

With nothing else to do, I pulled out my phone and began scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. My feed was an endless parade of people living their best lives, which only fueled my misery.

Nao was on vacation with Tiger, flaunting sunsets and cocktails. No late-night gaming matches for me, then. Easter was practically glued to P’Hill these days, flooding his story with café dates and cozy movie nights. And Phoon and Dao? Busy with some student council project, their group chat full of messages I barely skimmed because—honestly—It went above my head.

Meanwhile, me? I was sitting here like an abandoned puppy, betrayed and forsaken by my own man.

The thought made something twist in my chest.

I threw my phone onto the sofa with unnecessary force, watching it bounce against the cushions before settling into stillness. My sulk officially evolved into a full-blown tantrum in spirit, if not in action. My frown could’ve rivaled the storm clouds outside.

Unable to sit still, I pushed myself up and started pacing across the living room. Back and forth, back and forth, like an overthinking goldfish trapped in an expensive glass bowl. Finally, I came to a stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, pressing my forehead lightly against the cool glass.

The city sprawled out below, glowing faintly against the curtain of rain. Normally, the view made me feel alive—like I was part of something big and bright. Tonight, it only made me feel small. Alone.

I should’ve gone back to my dorm instead.

My shoulders slumped with the weight of the thought, a quiet sigh escaping me. The penthouse felt too big, too quiet without him.

I was so lost in the whirlpool of my sulking that the sudden warmth around my waist nearly stopped my heart.

I yelped, jerking slightly as strong arms circled me from behind.

“Phi…” My voice trembled, breath hitching as I turned my head.

He didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he buried his face into the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. The scent of his cologne—clean, faintly woody—wrapped around me like a second embrace, stealing the air from my lungs.

My legs went weak. My heart? A trembling mess of chaos inside my chest.

Even after six months of dating, he still had this effect on me. One touch, and I was done for—giddy, fuzzy, and hopelessly in love with this emotionally constipated demon.

“Do you know,” he murmured against my neck, voice low and velvety, “how adorable you look when you sulk?”

So he knew. Obviously he did.

My pout deepened automatically, but I didn’t say a word. If anything, I puffed my cheeks harder in protest.

“Little brat,” he said, his tone threaded with amusement as he turned me gently in his arms.

I finally met his gaze—and almost wished I hadn’t. Those dark eyes, sharp yet softened just for me, made it impossible to stay mad. My breath hitched, my heart tripping over itself.

I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage left in me before blurting out, “I feel neglected, Phi…”

His expression didn’t change. If anything, it became unreadable, the kind of calm that sent anxiety clawing up my spine.

“I really do understand your hectic work life,” I rushed on, biting my lip, “but… we barely spend time together anymore.”

Silence.

It stretched between us like a taut wire, pulling tighter with every heartbeat.

Panic prickled at the edges of my chest. Had I said something wrong? Was this the part where he got annoyed?

I bit down harder on my lip, until the soft skin protested under my teeth.

Then—I felt it. A feather-light touch against my chin, coaxing it upward.

Johan’s fingers tilted my face gently as his thumb brushed over my bottom lip, freeing it from the hold of my teeth with a slow, deliberate stroke. His touch lingered, tracing the faint indentations as if to erase every mark of my nervous habit.

“Stop doing that,” he murmured, voice husky, eyes locked on my lips like they held secrets too heavy to speak aloud.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

“Phi…” My voice barely made it past my throat, trembling with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.

Then, he spoke—soft but certain. “You’re right.”

My breath stuttered. “…What?”

“You’re right,” he repeated, his tone calm but edged with something firmer. “I’ve been busy. Too busy. And I hate that it’s making you feel like this.”

I blinked, stunned, my chest tightening at the honesty in his voice.

His thumb stroked my jaw once more before his hand slid to cup the back of my neck, warm and commanding. “Next Saturday,” he said, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m clearing my schedule. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do—I’m yours. The whole day.”

The promise hit harder than I expected. My lips parted, a breath escaping shakily. “You mean it?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he said simply, the finality in his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Before I could reply, his grip tightened just enough to make my pulse leap. And then—his mouth was on mine.

His hand at my nape anchored me in place while his other arm crushed me to his chest, leaving no space, no escape—not that I wanted one.

I whimpered against his lips, my fingers curling into his shirt for balance, for sanity. But he only deepened the kiss, tongue sliding past my parted lips with a hunger that stole every thought from my head.

When I thought I couldn’t breathe, he finally broke the kiss—only to drag his lips down to my jaw, my throat.

“P-Phi—” My voice cracked into a gasp as his mouth found the tender spot just beneath my ear. The first brush of his teeth against my skin sent a shiver ripping down my spine.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against my neck, his voice so low and raw it almost didn’t sound like him. His mouth sealed over my pulse point, sucking hard enough to make my knees buckle.

I clung to him, the world tilting, heat coiling low in my stomach. Every nip, every graze of his teeth was deliberate—furious, claiming, as if he wanted to leave his mark where no one else could miss it.

By the time he pulled back, I was trembling, breathless, my lips swollen and my neck tingling where his mouth had been.

And those dark eyes? They burned like a storm about to break.

“Next Saturday,” he said again, voice steady now, but his grip on my waist still iron-strong. “Don’t make other plans.”

As if I ever could.