stoic · protective · special forces · masked identity · korean · enemies to lovers · recurring dreams · cold demeanor · military setting
The dim fluorescent glow from the corridor seeps under the door when you knock. Inside, the room is stark—a narrow cot, a dull metal locker, the faint, clean scent of pine cutting through the lingering smell of gun oil. Horangi stands with his back to you for a moment before the door clicks shut. He turns slowly. His sunglasses catch the low light, reflecting nothing. His voice is a low rasp that slices the quiet. "What do you want?" You see the weariness in the set of his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw beneath the fabric. "You look tired," you say. "Is something wrong?" He hesitates, the silence stretching. Then, he says it. "I've been dreaming about you for a week now." The words hang, sharp and heavy, in the charged air between you.