Y/N's POV
I left the agency with a folder full of stress and his new schedule.
Apparently, one of his half-done films needed urgent footage, so they pushed the web series shoot down and crammed a whole new timetable into my hands like I didn't already want to run into the mountains.
Now I had to go back.
To him.
To Rabin "I want you for breakfast" Angeles.
How am I supposed to face him after that morning??
I sighed and unlocked the door to his apartment.
It clicked open quietly.
But before I even stepped fully inside—A smell hit me.
Something warm. Familiar. Almost… sweet?
I furrowed my brows and followed it—Straight to the kitchen.
There he was.
In a plain black t-shirt, his hair slightly messy, standing barefoot at the counter like it was his kitchen, his show, and I was just the struggling audience trying not to fall for it.
Cooking.
Like it was normal.
Like he didn't throw my heart into a washing machine this morning and hit spin cycle.
Y/N (thinking):
What is this man doing now… poison pancakes? Emotional waffles??
I stood at the kitchen entrance, folder in hand, brain melting.
He didn't even look up.
He just stirred the pan and said casually—
Rabin:
"I thought you'd be hungry after fighting with my schedule all morning."
I'm. Going. To. Scream.
He is walking there in normal mode normal like normally normal!!!!
I walked over—trying so hard to sound like I had my life together.
Y/N:
"The unfinished project is being moved forward. So you need to prepare for that one."
"The web series will be pushed down. They need the footage urgently since it's supposed to be out before Christmas."
There. Professional. Clear. No emotions.
Rabin:
"Ohh…"
Just that.
"Ohh." Like I told him it might rain later.
Then he looked at me—
Smiled.
And said—
Rabin:
"But let's have this first."
WHAT THE—
He placed a plate in front of me.
Eggs. Toast. Some grilled tomato thing I didn't even realize he knew how to make.
And a cup of mango juice.
I stared at it. Then at him.
He looked so… annoyingly peaceful.
Like feeding me breakfast was more important than the fact his entire filming timeline just flipped upside down.
Y/N (thinking):
How is he like this?? HOW?!!
I sat down. Slowly. Like someone being lured into a trap.
Y/N:
"Do you even care about your schedule right now?"
He bit into his toast.
Rabin (chewing calmly):
"Of course I do."
Then looked at me. Smiled again.
Rabin:
"But right now, I care more about you."
I. Am. Done.
He sat at the dining table.
And I sat opposite him.
I grabbed a piece of toast. Just like every other normal morning. Like this wasn't a warzone of stolen glances and post-midnight kisses.
I sipped the mango juice he poured me.
Halfway through—
Rabin (casually):
"I think I'm into mango juice nowadays…"
And before I could even react—
He reached for my glass.
But I was faster.
I snatched it back like it was oxygen.
Y/N:
"No you don't."
I tilted it up and chugged the whole damn thing.
Gulp. Gone.
His eyes?
Wide. Shook. Betrayed.
Rabin:
"Why are you choking it down like that?! There's so many in the fridge!"
Y/N (wiping my mouth like a savage):
"Exactly. So why are you snatching my mango juice when there's a whole fridge full?"
He blinked.
Tilted his head.
And then smiled.
That smug, slow, dangerous smile.
Rabin:
"Seriously?"
I rolled my eyes.
Because I knew exactly what he was doing.
I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of an indirect kiss.
Not after last night.
Not after that.
But then—
He leaned forward just a little, elbows on the table, voice low:
Rabin:
"But I like to taste from your glass."
I stopped breathing.
THEN DANG IT.
He suddenly stood up. No hesitation.
Rabin (dead serious):
"It's okay… I can taste it from your lips too."
ME:
😳😳😳
What—
And before I could even blink—
HE DID.
He cupped my face—soft, firm—and leaned in.
No warning.
No countdown.
No space to breathe.
And then—
BAM.
His lips crashed into mine. Soft, then deep.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
My brain?
Gone. Dead. Coma.
My heart?
Somewhere between stopping and exploding.
Then he tilted my chin—
And his tongue— dammn exploring each and every corner of my mouth deepening the kiss
I can't even finish that thought.
I pushed him back. Stood up. Heart racing. Soul ruined.
Y/N (shouting):
"What the hell is wrong with you, Rabin?!"
Rabin (completely unbothered, wiping his lips like a smug villain):
"I'm tasting my mango juice."
Y/N (inner thoughts):
Jail. HE NEEDS JAIL. DEPORTATION. EXORCISM.
I grabbed the chair to steady myself.
He sat back down like nothing happened.
Like we were just… sipping juice. Talking about schedules. Not sinning in daylight.
Y/N:
"YOU—!! One meter away from me. From now on!"
I pointed at him like I was casting a curse.
"Don't come near me. You're harassing your assistant!!"
He leaned back in his chair.
Did he look guilty?
No.
Did he smirk like he was waiting for this moment?
Absolutely.
Rabin (pointing at the couch):
"But wait… someone pulled me down on that couch last night?"
I blinked.
He didn't stop.
Rabin:
"I swear—someone was kissing the nation boyfie like they owned the rights to his lips."
Y/N:
I'm gonna cry, scream, or eat the toast out of pure emotional damage.
Y/N:
"That—! That was an accident! A heat-of-the-moment—!"
Rabin (interrupting, smug):
"Ohh… a passionate workplace accident?"
I picked up the toast.
I wanted to throw it at his face.
Instead… I took a bite and said:
Y/N:
"Don't flatter yourself. It was a blackout. I remember nothing."
Rabin (grinning):
"Lips remember."
I. NEED. A. LAWYER.
I stood up.
I walked away.
No arguments.
Because how do I even argue that "someone" who attacked the nation boyfie last night was… me?
I barely took two steps before—
Rabin grabbed my wrist.
In his other hand—his damn iPad with the new schedule.
And with zero warning, he pulled me to the couch.
Sat me down like I was his personalized furniture.
And then??
The audacity.
He laid his head on my lap.
Like he belonged there.
Like this was normal.
Like I was normal.
Y/N (internally):
IS THIS A ROM-COM OR AN EMOTIONAL AMBUSH?
He opened the schedule on his iPad and began scrolling.
Chill.
Relaxed.
No shame.
Rabin:
"So… we'll be going to the outskirts for the upcoming shoot?"
…
I blinked.
Didn't say anything.
Because my brain was buffering.
Because his head was on my lap.
And then—
He poked my cheek.
Softly. Like a kid poking mochi.
Rabin (again):
"Hmm? Hello? Earth to Y/N?"
I blinked again.
Y/N (mechanically):
"Huh?"
Rabin (grinning):
"You spaced out."
Y/N (thinking):
YES, I SPACED OUT BECAUSE YOUR HEAD IS ON MY LAP LIKE WE'RE FILMING A DRAMA CALLED 'ENGAGED BY ACCIDENT'
I cleared my throat. Tried to focus. Tried to pretend his head wasn't still comfortably resting on my lap.
Y/N:
"Umm… we'll be going to Negros Island next."
His eyes lit up like I said we're eloping.
Rabin:
"Ohh… that's a romantic place."
My eye twitched.
Then he said it.
Rabin (without a pause):
"Book only one suite room. For us."
My soul physically left my body.
Y/N:
"Why is there no shame in you??"
He finally looked up. Grinning like a man who's never once felt guilt in his entire life.
Rabin:
"If I were a shy person, I wouldn't be the nation's boyfriend. Say what?"
Y/N (thinking):
Sir. You're dangerously close to being the nation's PROBLEM.
I tried to move my leg.
He held it down with his hand—gently, but firmly.
Rabin (pretending to scroll):
"Just admit it. You wouldn't survive the trip without me beside you anyway."
Y/N:
"I would survive THRIVE and WIN A NOBEL PRIZE if you slept 20 feet away from me!"
He blinked.
Rabin:
"So dramatic. I like that."