Cha Haekyung had three hard rules for his personal space:
1. No one touches his desk.
2. No one touches his car.
3. No one touches him without permission.
All three rules had been crafted carefully, shaped by years of being watched, followed, envied, and imitated.
But then there was Ha Yoori—who didn't just break the rules, she rewrote them.
Like now.
They were in his car—on the way to the department store because, in her words, *"If I'm moving in, I need toothbrushes in every room. What if I want to brush my teeth in the laundry room?"*
Haekyung was driving, calm and quiet as usual.
And she was leaning into him.
Not in a normal, socially acceptable way.
She'd thrown her arm around his shoulders like they were taking a couple selfie and was now resting her cheek against his shoulder—fully curled toward him in the passenger seat.
He didn't flinch.
"Comfortable?" he asked, without looking.
"So much," she said, sighing contentedly. "You smell like expensive wood."
"It's my cologne."
"Figures. I almost feel richer just sitting next to you."
"You're always sitting next to me."
"That's how I maintain my aura."
He shot her a glance. "Do you plan to cling to me the entire ride?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
"…Why?"
"Because the seat warmer is broken on my side, and your body heat is included in my roommate benefits package."
He didn't respond, but his right hand subtly shifted the gear—his knuckles brushing her thigh as he did.
Yoori didn't even blink.
"Also," she added, "you're really huggable when you're not talking. Like a rich, broody pillow."
Haekyung gave her a side-eye. "Do you talk like this to all your rich friends?"
"You're the only one I've managed to latch onto. The others escape too fast."
His lips twitched.
She noticed.
"Wait—was that a smile? Did I make the great Cha Haekyung smile before 9 a.m.?"
"You're imagining things."
"I'm documenting this for posterity."
She reached for her phone, one hand still slung over his shoulder. He didn't stop her, even when she took a blurry photo of their legs side by side.
"Look," she said, showing him. "We're matching black slacks. It's fate."
"You stole those from my closet this morning."
"I prefer the term *borrowed without returning*."
The car pulled into the underground parking of a high-end department store. Before she could open the door, Haekyung had already come around to her side.
Yoori stepped out, stretched like a cat, and then—without warning—looped her arm through his.
"Don't get lost," she said, grinning up at him. "It's a big store."
He looked down at her arm, then back up.
"You do realize I pay the store manager's salary?"
"And I pay in charm and personality."
"You're overdrafting."
"Then give me a credit limit increase."
Haekyung didn't move away.
Didn't tell her to let go.
Didn't even act surprised anymore.
She was shameless, touchy, and comfortable—just as she'd always been since they were kids. But lately, something in her touch lingered longer. Something in his gaze stayed softer.
The staff greeted them with nervous smiles and perfect posture, eyes flicking curiously between them.
"Would you like to browse the luxury beauty counters, sir?" one asked.
Before Haekyung could speak, Yoori answered brightly.
"He's only here to carry my bags. But yes, he'd love to pay for everything I touch."
The staff blinked. Haekyung didn't correct her.
She tugged him along, still hooked to his arm, like he was her personal guard dog in a three-piece suit.
"You know," she said, while testing perfumes. "You're a bit too good at this."
"At what?"
"This whole boyfriend-who's-not-my-boyfriend thing."
He paused. "Then fix the label."
She turned her head slowly, caught off guard.
He didn't elaborate. Didn't pressure. Just stood there holding her shopping basket, perfectly composed—and waiting.
Yoori's heart thumped, but her mouth, as always, moved first.
"I'll consider it. After you buy me that Gucci lipstick set."
His reply came without pause.
"Put two in the basket."