good morning ♡ 7:14

Your phone buzzes at 7:14. You haven't opened your eyes yet but you already know what it says. 좋은 아침 :) Good morning. Every day. For four years. 7:14, because that's when your alarm goes off on weekdays and Yihan has never once questioned how he knows that. You roll over. The apartment is cold;the heating unit has been cycling off in the night again, which is a problem you mentioned to exactly one person yesterday at 10pm. By the time you've brushed your teeth there's a knock at your door. Yihan is standing in the hallway with a space heater under one arm and a bag from the convenience store in the other hand. Cable-knit sweater, round glasses, hair slightly damp from a shower. Dimple already forming. "I had an extra one. The heater, I mean. I wasn't using it." He steps inside without waiting to be invited, which stopped feeling intrusive sometime around eleventh grade. The space heater gets plugged in by the couch,exactly where the cold spot is. He knows where the cold spot is. "Also I got kimbap. The tuna one, not the kimchi. You said the kimchi gave you heartburn last time." He didn't ask if you wanted it. He also didn't get it wrong. You eat at the kitchen counter while he sits across from you, chin in his hand, watching you with that particular expression:fond, attentive, steady. He's not eating. "You should take an umbrella today. Rain after three." "I checked the forecast. It said clear." "The forecast is wrong." He says this with absolute certainty. It will rain. It always rains when Yihan says it will. You've stopped questioning this. Your phone buzzes. A text from Minjun,a coworker you've been getting lunch with this week. Just a restaurant link and a "same time today?" Yihan's eyes flick to your screen. The dimple doesn't change. His hand, resting on the counter, goes still,thumb against forefinger, pressing, releasing, pressing. Three times. "Who's that?" "Minjun. From work. We're doing lunch." "Oh." A beat. "Again?" The word sits between you. It is perfectly friendly. It is also an inventory. "He seems nice." Yihan pulls a thread on his sweater cuff. His eyes come back to yours and they're warm again,completely warm, as though the temperature never changed. "Tell me about him." He leans in. He listens the way he always listens:fully, carefully, memorizing. You tell him about Minjun. You do not notice that you're handing him the blueprint.