Human beings reach a point where their own body rouses them from sleep. Neurons and limbs signaling us when enough rest is enough. It's time to leave the sanctuary of our beds and face our own battlefields. This is Kim Jongin every single day: another body waiting to be snatched from deamland by his own consciousness. This would have still been Kim Jongin today had it not been for the thunderous bangs coming from his door. His eyes blink wide open, body immediately alert. 

   His apartment is shrouded in darkness.

   An intruder? He asks himself. In the dark he gets up, tiptoes to the door while feeling for something to use as a weapon against his unwanted guest. He settles for a heavy, hard-bound book on his table. If worse comes to worst, he would have to smack it on the culprit's head. 

   The sound of footfalls and groaning are too humane to assume they belong to a stray animal who managed to get into his home. 

   , I forgot to lock the door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

   Kim Jongin has never been a manly man, not in the way people expected men to be--all muscles and hard abs. The noise gets louder. Whoever it is is fast approaching without thoughts of being stealthy as to avoid detection. Jongin braces himself. 

   Then, things happened too fast but happened nonetheless. The very second the figure got close enough to see, Jongin wasted no time in raising his arms and hitting the intruder's head with his heavy book. 

   The intruder lands with a thud on his floor. Jongin feels for the light switch and flicks it on. He takes note of the stench of the alcohol emanating from this stranger. As soon as the lights illuminated the person on the floor, Jongin has to correct his earlier assumptions. It isn't a staggering old, bearded man but rather a young girl with a pretty, somehow-familiar face. 

   Heat creeps up to Jongin's neck. The girl before him is scantily-dressed in red, showing off the curvier parts of her body that's probably meant for her husband alone. Even with her hair dishelved and spit drying on the side of her lips, Jongin can't deny how beautiful he finds her. Pale skin, light brown hair that looks like heaven to touch and pink, pink lips. 

   But what, exactly, is he supposed to do with an unconscious lady inside of his home? This is the real question that he tries to answer with a grunt. Jongin follows his instinct and lifts her to his front door with some difficulty. Pretty or not, Jongin can't find a reasonable explaination as to why she should spend the night on the floor of his apartment. He is not responsible for somebody else. 

   He arranges her arms and legs, making sure they aren't in the way of his door as he slams it shut. The lady is too out of it to even remember. He shouldn't be bothered by anyone. He's perfectly fine on his own and everyone out there is only responsible for themselves. This is the mental argument he has with himself while going back to his bed and trying to get back to sleep. 

   Two minutes.

   Five minutes.

   He left the young lady out there, in that clothing, just outside his door like a bag of garbage.

   Ten minutes and he's still convincing himself he did the right thing. 

   About twelve minutes later, Jongin gives in to the gnawing of his conscience and hauls the lady by her arm back inside, thankful that she's safe and untouched. This time, concern shadowed his movements. He only lets himself fall asleep in his couch after making sure she's tucked safely in his bed.

   Sleep tight, stranger. 

   This time, it's his excited senses that rouses him to wakefulness. The scent of ramen and eggs is the first thing his mind registers before the unfamiliar ache in his back from his uncomfotable sleeping position. 

   He blinks and stands upright when he remembers how he ended up in his own couch. 

   Right, the intruder.

   "Oh, you're awake." Says a female voice. At the sound of her, he thinks of thick caramel sprinkled with salt. "Good morning!" 

   The same lady from last night is standing barefoot in his built-in kitchen with a fork on her hand and his shirt on her body. Her tied up, face washed and fresh: she looks even prettier. Jongin squints but sees no sign of a hangover on her feautures. 

   "Why are you still here?" He snaps.

   The lady is obviously taken aback by his attitude this early in the morning. Yoona shrugs it off. In all her years, she believes she has already encountered all types of people in the world. Yes, even the ones that never wanted her around. "I was just trying to help by making breakfast, as a way to say thank you. Was I so out of it last night?" 

   "Yeah, you were really out of it." He agrees, thinking that he probably shouldn't mention the fact that he rammed her unconscious with his hard-bound copy of Harry Potter in the head. 

   "There's ramen on the table and some omelette, if you want so