YN pov
It all comes in blurry…
My lips still tingling.
His warmth still hovering.
And my brain? —Just now clocking in.
I realize I'm still on the couch—still between that kiss.
I gently push him away, trying to gather my breath and what's left of my sanity.
"It's time for work—" I say, standing up quickly, pretending my cheeks aren't on fire.
But Rabin's smug voice cuts in smoothly,
"It's Saturday. You said I have the weekend off?"
I freeze mid-step.
"…Oh really… it's Saturday… hehe…"
My laugh is the weakest joke I've ever told.
He leans back into the couch, arms behind his head like a man who just won the lottery.
"Shall we continue what we left?"
I groan and cover my face with both palms.
"Enough, Rabin!!"
He chuckles lowly, enjoying every second of my embarrassment.
"Oh okay. We'll keep it for afterwards."
"Afterwards??" I snap, pulling my hands away from my face, eyes wide.
And bam!
He steals another kiss.
A quick peck.
Smug.
Deliberate.
Dangerously addictive.
"Can't get enough of you… Miss Ramirez, soon to be Angeles."
My jaw drops.
"Rabin—!!"
But I can't even finish the sentence. My mouth forgets how to form words when he smirks like that.
What now?
I'm doomed.
MY HEART SIGNED A CONTRACT WITHOUT MY CONSENT!!!
With RABIN FREAKING ANGELES!! THE NATIONAL BOYFRIEND!!
"So stay with me…its week off for you too"
He whispers …And he smiles—soft, slow, like he's not in a rush to hear my answer.
But I don't move.
Not even an inch.
Because I'm frozen.
Not in fear.
Not in doubt.
Just completely overwhelmed.
How did we even end up like this?
His arm is under my head like a pillow, warm and strong, curled perfectly to fit me in.
When did that happen?
It's quiet.
Too quiet.
Only our breathing and the faint ticking from the clock in the living room.
My thoughts are loud, though.
My heart is a drum.
My mind?
Just static.
I press my face into his chest to hide my smile…I still stay silent and I don't pull away.
And maybe that's already my answer.
I must've drifted off again…
It was too warm, too safe in his arms… and I was just too damn tired.
The whole month has been a marathon of shoots, late-night schedules, his tantrums, my tantrums, and barely any space to breathe.
Then I hear it—soft and annoyingly sweet.
"Babe… wake up… babe…"
Ugh. That voice. That tone. That Rabin.
My eyes flutter open.
And what do I see?
Him.
Still in the exact same position from when I knocked out—his arm under my head, his chest rising and falling slowly, and those tired-but-still-annoyingly-pretty eyes staring down at me.
"You slept well," he says with a crooked smile, "but… I'm hungry."
I blink at him.
"Then eat something," I mumble and turn to bury my face into the pillow.
But oh no, Mr. Nation Boyfriend is not letting that go.
"I was trying to, but my girlfriend is lying on my arm like it's made of clouds."
I peek at him from the side. "Then move."
He pouts dramatically. "Nope. Not until I get a proper good morning kiss."
I scoff and toss a pillow at him.
"Good morning. There's your kiss—from a pillow. Happy?"
He smirks, catching the pillow.
"Tch, Miss Ramirez, you can't fool me. You're already whipped."
I groan, throw off the blanket, and stand up.
"Whipped? You're the one crying for food like a lost puppy."
As I walk to the kitchen, he calls out from behind,
"Make it with love, babe! "
I roll my eyes.
This man.
He might drive me crazy, but maybe—just maybe—this kind of chaos feels like home.
Author POV
The kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling stir-fry and the soft clatter of pans.
Y/N stood focused, grabbing vegetables and leftover chicken from the fridge—making the best out of what they had.
"Tch… I need to go grocery shopping," she muttered to herself, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
The rice steamed perfectly in the cooker, and the aroma of garlic and soy filled the kitchen.
Just as she was about to season the dish, two warm arms circled her waist from behind.
"Rabin!" she sighed, already knowing that familiar warmth.
"What are you doing? It's going to burn the food!" she scolded, trying to focus on the pan.
"I can eat burned food too…" he murmured into her shoulder, voice low and way too close.
Y/N narrowed her eyes, gripping the spatula tighter.
"Go awayyy…" she said, trying to elbow him off—but he only chuckled and tightened his hold.
"Can't help it… I get clingy when I'm in love."
"Then cling to the grocery list instead and help me restock the fridge."
She elbowed him again, but this time with a grin.
Rabin laughed and finally let go, moving to grab a spoon and steal a bite from the pan.
"Mmm. Even better when it's made by someone you're obsessed with."
"You're obsessed with food, not me."
"That's where you're wrong. I'm obsessed with you… and food made by you. Combo deal."
She shook her head, smiling.
Author POV
After lunch, the warmth of home still lingered in the air, but it didn't last long.
Y/N's phone buzzed on the table — another call from the agency. She answered, and within seconds, her brows furrowed. Another urgent errand.
She sighed as she ended the call and placed the phone down.
"They need me at the agency… right now," she said, grabbing her bag, her voice low but calm.
"Hmm, no rest at all," she muttered under her breath.
Rabin, still lounging lazily on the couch, looked up at her.
He pulled a pillow over his chest and gave her a lopsided pout.
"Alone again…"
She smiled faintly and bent down to fix his tousled hair.
"Rest well."
He caught her wrist gently as she stood up straight.
"Come back soon…" he said, not dramatically, not teasing—just quietly.
She paused for a moment, heart tugged, and gave a soft nod before turning toward the door.
The lock clicked behind her, and silence filled the room again.
Rabin stared at the ceiling, that small smile she left behind still flickering in his memory.
Rabin (to himself):
She always leaves quietly… but the space she leaves behind is never quiet.
The cool air of the agency office did nothing to cool Y/N's rising frustration.
Manager:
"I'm really sorry, Y/N. I know it's outside your usual tasks, but you have to accompany Mr. Sandoval for today's shoot…"
Y/N:
"Huh!? Why me??"
Her tone wasn't angry, but clearly startled. Her mind raced—Rabin will flip.
The manager looked genuinely apologetic but firm.
Manager:
"All the other field coordinators are at different filming sets. You're the only one available. The deadline's tonight. We have to complete the commercial shoot today or we lose the client."
Y/N sighed, eyes closing briefly as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Which brand? Where's the shoot?"
Manager:
"A fashion shoot — luxury watch brand. Mr. Sandoval's the new face. The studio is at the west district. The team's already there. He'll be arriving in 30 minutes. You'll coordinate and manage the set."
Y/N (muttering):
"Why does it have to be Frost Sandoval out of all people?"
She didn't realize how loudly she said that until the manager gave her a small smirk.
Manager:
"Because you handled Rabin, and Frost is… similar."
Y/N:
"That's not a compliment."
Despite the annoyance bubbling up, she grabbed her tote and prepared to leave.
But as she walked out, she pulled out her phone and stared at the name at the top of her messages.
Rabin 🖤
Typing…
New message from Rabin:
You reached safely? What time will you be back? Should I cook something? Or are you bringing dinner? 🧐
She didn't reply right away.
Instead, she sent:
Y/N:
Emergency schedule change. I'll be accompanying Frost for a shoot today.
Read.
Typing…
Stopped.
Still typing…
Rabin:
Frost?
Typing again…
Rabin pov
Rabin stared at his phone, jaw clenched.
Rabin:
"Why… of all people, Frost!?"
SENT
He muttered under his breath, tossing his phone on the couch with a dull thud. His eyes narrowed at the ceiling, thoughts running wild—Did he request her? Did she say yes too easily? The jealousy was like a slow burn under his skin.
The screen lit up again. A new message.
Y/N:
I'm not the one who manages Mr. Angeles.
Short. Cold. Professional.
His eyes twitched at the "Mr. Angeles".
"So now I'm 'Mr. Angeles'? We're using surnames again?"
He stood up abruptly and paced around. His hand ran through his hair in frustration.
He typed.
Stopped.
Typed again.
Deleted.
Then finally sent—
Rabin:
Whatever. Don't let him flirt too much. You're my assistant, not his.
Delivered.
Seen.
No reply.
He fell backward onto the couch, sighing loudly, muttering:
Rabin:
"Tch. If I knew this would happen, I would've made her officially mine long ago."
⸻
Meanwhile: Y/N at the Fashion Shoot Set
She stood near the monitor, headset on, clipboard in hand. Frost was already in his crisp suit, his watch glinting under the studio lights. When he spotted her, a big smirk formed.
Frost:
"There's my lucky charm for today."
Y/N:
"Tch ..I'm your coordinator, not your charm. Let's get this shoot done."
Frost (grinning):
"Still sharp-tongued, huh? That's why I remembered you."
Y/N (sighing internally):
Rabin will absolutely lose it if he sees this.
The lights were being adjusted, makeup artists buzzing in and out, yet the air between Y/N and Frost stood still for a moment.
Frost: (looking at her directly)
"Why didn't you reply to my message this morning?"
Y/N: (caught off guard)
"Huh?"
Y/N's internal monologue:
Oh crap. I totally forgot about that message… because Rabin saw it first, flipped out, then kissed me like a possessive idiot. What am I supposed to say?
"Sorry I didn't reply because your message started World War III with the nation's boyfriend"? Damn…
Frost: (raising an eyebrow)
"Huh? What's with that expression?"
Y/N: (forcing a light chuckle)
"Ahh… it's my day off, so I woke up late. Then suddenly my manager called me and—boom—here I am, coordinating your shoot."
Frost: (softening)
"Ah… sorry for pulling you into this then."
Y/N: (shaking her head)
"It's fine. Let's just finish the shoot smoothly, okay?"
Frost: (grinning again)
"As long as you're the one guiding me—I don't mind at all."
Y/N's thoughts:
Ugh. Frost, you really picked the worst day to flirt. My boyfriend might burn this entire set if he shows up now. Ohh crap again!! What did i just say !! My boyfriend..!!!! My boyfriend??!!!!!!
Rabin's Apartment
Rabin's eyes were locked on his phone. No new texts.
He tapped the screen again. Still nothing.
Rabin:
Tch. If she smiles at him again today, I swear I'll show up even if I'm not scheduled.
He grabbed his hoodie and car keys.
Rabin stood in front of the door, keys in hand, hoodie half-zipped. He looked every bit the storm about to happen.
But he froze.
"Shit…" he muttered under his breath.
Slowly, he turned back and walked inside again, the sound of the door softly clicking shut behind him.
He flopped onto the couch, both arms spread out dramatically like a man in a drama himself.
Rabin (thinking):
What if I show up now? Will she think I'm clingy? Too intense? Possessive boyfriend alert?
He grabbed a throw pillow and smacked it over his face.
Rabin (groaning):
"Tchh… haahh!! Damn it, Rabin! Get a grip."
His phone sat on the table. No new message. No update.
He peeked out from under the pillow.
"Okay, if she's late… just a little late… I swear I'm crashing. No regrets."
And just like that, the Nation's Boyfriend laid there, timing the universe with his heartbeat, waiting for her—waiting to see if jealousy would win over pride again.
The clock ticked. The second hand moved with merciless rhythm. 7:00 PM.
She still wasn't back.
Rabin stood in front of the mirror fixing his hair—not too styled, just the right amount of "effortlessly hot."
He grabbed his car keys, his hoodie, and looked at himself one last time.
Rabin (to his reflection):
"This is not jealousy… I'm just being a responsible boyfriend, right? I mean, what if she's hungry? What if Frost is—damn it."
He groaned dramatically but marched to the door.
"Let's go. No time to wait for my babe. I'm going… not because of jealousy. Just…"
He paused mid-sentence, sighing through his teeth.
"Just want to pick her up from work. Like a proper boyfriend. Right? RIGHT!"
Click.
He unlocked his beast — a gleaming black Porsche ..low, sleek, and growling quietly even before the engine purred.
The soft orange light of the basement bounced off its flawless surface.
Rabin slid into the driver's seat, gripped the steering wheel, and leaned back.
He glanced into the rear view mirror — his own reflection smirked back at him.
He fixed the strands of his hair with two fingers and muttered with that cocky grin:
"Damn, even jealousy suits me."
He turns the key —
VRRROOOOOOOMMMM.
The beast awakens.
"Lesss gooooo," he grinned like a man on a mission.
He steps on the gas.
Tires screeched slightly as the car peeled out of the lot—
Black streaks of pride and urgency left behind.
Next stop: stealing his girl back from a man named Frost.