The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our new apartment, casting long, golden rectangles across the polished hardwood floors. It had been six months since graduation, and the "system" of our lives had undergone its most significant upgrade yet: Co-habitation.
I stood in the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air. Our apartment was a sleek, modern space in the heart of the city—a place that finally felt like ours. No more dormitory curfews, no more hiding from my uncle, and no more saying goodbye at the subway station.
"Hanbin-ah! Your toast is going to get cold!" I called out.
A moment later, the door to our home office opened. Hanbin emerged, looking sharp in a charcoal-grey dress shirt, though his hair was still a bit messy from a night spent "monitoring servers."
His transition into the corporate world had been nothing short of legendary. As the Lead Architect for a global AI firm, his salary was—to put it mildly—astronomical. He had been recruited before he even walked across the graduation stage. My own job at a top-tier design firm was fantastic, but Hanbin was operating at a level that made my head spin.
"The deployment was successful," he murmured, walking up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, breathing in the scent of my hair. "But the coffee smells better than the code."
"You say that every morning," I giggled, leaning back into his chest.
"Because it's a constant," he replied, his voice low and vibrating.
We sat at the breakfast bar, our laptops side-by-side—a habit from our university days that we couldn't quite break. Even though we were adults with "huge" salaries and professional titles, we were still the same two people who had fallen in love over a broken algorithm.
"Harin called me this morning," I said, scrolling through my phone. "She says Doyoon bought a suit for his first internship interview. Apparently, he spent three hours practicing his 'serious face' in the mirror."
Hanbin let out a soft huff of a laugh. "The poor recruiters. They won't know what hit them. I should probably call him and tell him to keep his hands away from the coffee machine."
"You're a good brother, Hanbin-ah. Even if you don't like to admit it."
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out and took my hand, his thumb grazing the ring he had given me. "I was looking at the budget for next month. Since the project bonus came through, I was thinking... maybe it's time we look at that vacation house by the coast? The one with the library you liked."
I paused, my heart fluttering. "Hanbin, that house is... it's a lot. We should be practical."
"I am being practical," he said, turning his laptop screen toward me. It was a complex spreadsheet of our combined finances, projected savings, and investment yields. "According to my calculations, we can afford the house, the travel, and still have a 40% margin for emergency 'strawberry cake' funds."
I laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "You and your spreadsheets."
"It's how I show I care," he muttered, though a faint blush touched his ears.
As we prepared to leave for our respective offices—his in a high-rise tower, mine in a creative studio—I stopped at the door. I looked at the keys on the hook, the shoes lined up neatly, and the man standing beside me.
We weren't just "Park Danoh" and "Jeon Hanbin" anymore. We were a team. A unit. A perfectly synchronized system.
"Ready for Version 3.1?" I asked, holding out my hand.
Hanbin took it, his grip firm and sure. "The environment is stable. The resources are optimal. Let's go."
As the elevator doors closed and we headed out into the bustling city, I realized that while the world was full of unpredictable variables, the person standing next to me was the only constant I would ever need.