Evening burned back the sky, gold spilling over rooftops, trailing into blue, then black. The city below shimmered with possibility and peril. After a whirlwind shift at the hospital, Amal welcomed the quiet that came with the last elevator ride to the penthouse—a stillness disturbed only by the hum of anticipation she felt for seeing Min-jun again. She unlocked the door to laughter: Min-jun, sprawled on the couch, was sporting a ridiculous apron reading "Bite Me, I'm Home," flour dusting his hair as he struggled with a recipe for homemade dumplings.
She stared, hands on hips. "Dumplings? This is new."
He shrugged, barely hiding a smile. "If I can master heart surgery, surely I can master dough…right?"
She crumpled beside him, giggling. "That apron is both cringe and accurate."
They worked side by side, flour dust flying and dough slipping through their fingers. Amal narrated her day in dramatic (and sometimes exaggerated) detail: a patient who insisted his appendix was psychic, a toddler masquerading as a dinosaur. Min-jun countered with tales from the world above—camera crews, cryptic K-pop producers, a fan who mistook him for his own wax statue.
When steam curled from the pot, Amal speared a dumpling, blowing on it before offering it to him. "Moment of truth, vampire."
He accepted her offering, purposefully showing his fangs—just enough to tease. "You know, the only bite I'll ever crave more than these is yours." The humor in his voice made her flush, but the truth beneath it hummed dangerously just below the surface.
Amal played along, pressing her wrist dramatically to her mouth. "Careful, or we'll both end up snack food."
The air shifted—so subtly neither knew who started it. Laughter slipped into longing. Their hands found each other, flour and all. Min-jun hesitated just a second, letting want tremble in the space between heartbeats, and drew her close. His breath was cold, the press of his lips against her pulse feather-light and reverent. "If I could choose," he murmured, "I would choose to taste only your sweetness, again and again."
She felt the press of his promise, thrillingly tender—a hunger that never threatened, only claimed. But just as passion threatened to overwhelm, her phone vibrated on the table: an anonymous message blinking with a string of numbers and a single photo—a shot of Amal, unguarded, laughing through the market this afternoon. Someone had been closer than they realized.
Min-jun caught the fear that flashed in her eyes. Instantly, the predator returned—the playful idol giving way to the ancient guardian. He yanked open the balcony doors, scanning the skyline for movement, hands flexed and ready for battle.
Amal's voice shook, but she clung to him, unflinching. "They're getting brave—following even in daylight."
He nodded, jaw set. "Collector or rival, it doesn't matter. Next time, they'll push too far."
For a beat, they let danger wrap around them—but neither stepped back. Instead, Amal took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "Promise me you won't go hunting alone. We're stronger together. That's why they're scared."
He eased, his gaze softening. "No more lone wolf routines." He skimmed his teeth over her knuckles, playfully biting but never breaking skin. "Let them come. The only bite too close will be the one that keeps you with me."
She pressed her forehead to his, all bravado and trembling strength. "And when this is over?" she asked. "What do we become?"
Min-jun brushed flour from her cheek, voice unsteady with hope. "Ourselves, at last."
Patrolling the penthouse together, they plotted new defenses between kisses and midnight snacks—every touch a reminder that fear can breed daring, and a bite too close can taste very much like forever.