Chapter 105 – Tea, Thunder, and the Way She Listens
POV: Anastasia Celeste Volkov
The sound of the kettle had become part of her mornings.
Not because she drank tea—
But because he made it.
Always jasmine. Always quiet.
Never waiting for her approval, but somehow still asking for it with every pour.
It was early May now.
The roses outside were beginning to wake up, trembling with soft color in the chill.
Jaeheon moved through her kitchen like he had been born for silence.
Not the kind that demanded answers—
But the kind that understood.
He had been there for over a month.
Unasked.
Uninvited.
And yet… still here.
She watched him from the stairwell that morning.
Watched the way his shoulders moved beneath a simple white shirt, sleeves pushed to his forearms.
His fingers were long, elegant—designed for music and destruction both.
There were days she wondered if she had made a mistake keeping him.
Letting him stay.
Letting him breathe her air, exist in her silence.
But not this morning.
"Are you trying to charm me with tea?" she asked from the steps.
He didn't startle.
Just turned, gaze steady.
"Is it working?"
Anastasia stepped into the room slowly.
She had always worn control like a second skin.
But around him, lately… it slipped.
He handed her the mug.
Their fingers brushed.
And this time—this time—she didn't move away.
She took a sip. It was perfectly steeped.
"I don't like jasmine," she said flatly.
"I know."
She blinked. "Then why do you keep making it?"
"Because someday," he said, "you might."
And there it was again—
That thunder-soft ache in her chest.
The one that only came with him.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
She stared at him over the rim of her cup.
Then—
Without warning—
She leaned forward and kissed him.
Soft. Quick.
Barely more than a brush of lips.
But intentional.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just looked at her like he was trying to memorize the moment.
"Consider that a reward," she said.
"For what?"
"For not leaving."
Jaeheon's voice was softer than rain.
"I wasn't planning to."
She turned her back to him, walking toward her workstation.
"Good."
That day, she let him sit beside her again.
No questions.
No noise.
And when his shoulder brushed hers, she didn't move away.
Because in this small, strange life they were building—
Touch had become permission.
Silence had become sanctuary.
And tea had become the only way she knew how to say—
Stay.