The early autumn sunlight of Seoul drifted gently through the windows, casting a calm glow across the quiet hallway of the 19th floor.
The elevator came to a soft stop, and with a quiet chime, the doors slid open.
Jinwoo stepped inside, a light jacket thrown over his workout clothes.
In both hands, he carried salad, a banana smoothie, and fresh juice.
The light hit his toned forearms—still warm from the gym—and for a brief moment, it felt like he was carrying the whole morning with him.
"Eat before you go,"
he said, bending to untie his sneakers.
"I was thinking of you on the way back. Picked this up so we could eat together."
Celeste, seated at her vanity, was towel-drying her hair.
She looked up at him in the mirror.
Water glistened on the pale curve of her shoulders beneath the robe, and the eyes that met his were still half-lost in sleep—soft, unfocused, dreamlike.
Without a word, she picked up a smoothie and took a sip.
"…It's good."
That single murmur lit Jinwoo's face like dawn.
"If you say it's good, that's all I need."
He gently took the bottle from her and placed it back on the vanity, then stepped closer.
His lips brushed her earlobe, then slowly descended—kissing the trail of water down her neck with patient reverence.
"Jinwoo… ha… stop, you idiot… I have a meeting this morning…"
She whispered, trying weakly to push him away.
But he only wrapped his arms around her waist and led her to the bed.
He sat her down at the edge, and with quiet hands, began to untie the sash of her robe.
Her breath wavered faintly, catching in her throat.
"…I just want to stay close...Please? Just for today? I won't talk, I swear.I'll sit in a corner like a plant. Just let me stay where you are."
Celeste let out a soft laugh—half amused, half defeated.
Her eyes shimmered with something she didn't say aloud.
"…Only you would ask something like that."
He buried his face against her thigh, voice muffled.
"…Didn't expect a yes, but I was hoping."
He looked up, pout written all over his face.
She cradled his cheek and rested her forehead against his.
"…We're flying to Japan together tomorrow, remember?"
His eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas morning.
"Seriously? I can really come with you?!"
"…Mm. The morning is just a branch report. In the afternoon, we'll stop by a few stores. And dinner… I'll be with you."
His arms closed around her again.
He pulled her gently down onto the bed and pressed a kiss to her lips—warm, and lingering.
"You have to let me go...Seriously. I'm late."
she murmured with a small laugh, brushing her fingers through his hair.
But Jinwoo only lowered himself further, nuzzling slowly into the parted front of her blouse.
The faint scent of her body lotion, the warmth still clinging to her skin—it wrapped around him like the morning air itself.
He stayed like that, his face against her, breathing her in.
"…Okay, okay. Just five minutes,"
he whispered against her chest, voice low and boyish.
But his hands moved slower, more deliberate now, his breath warm as it drifted down the line of her body.
She stroked his damp hair, as if smoothing down both tenderness and resignation with her fingertips.
"…Five minutes,"
he said again, pulling her gently into his arms,
"…Because if I don't feel you first, nothing else feels right."
His hand slid beneath her blouse.
As his fingertips brushed over her skin, she trembled beneath them.
He felt it—every flutter, every shift—and looked up again.
Their eyes met.
In hers, morning light shimmered—soft, quiet, unsettled.
"…I swear, when you do this, I can never win,"
she whispered.
"I know,"
Jinwoo smiled, lips curving as he kissed her collarbone.
"That's exactly why I want to keep going."
His breath drifted downward, smooth but unrelenting.
And every time he paused against her stomach, her body rose to meet him—like a sigh of warmth blooming against skin.
"Jinwoo… really, I'll be late…"
She said again, pushing at his head with a hand that barely had the will to resist.
He slid his hand beneath her skirt, fingers gently easing away her underwear.
His face slipped between her thighs, voice low and quiet:
"…Then let me make you late for a reason."
His movements weren't rushed, but they were sure.
His mouth knew exactly where she needed him—and she began to breathe deeper, longer, as if the morning itself was unraveling in time with her.
And in the hush of the hour, five minutes of deep, quiet love slipped quietly into the day.