The gym is busy tonight—weights clanking, music blasting from the speakers, people grunting as they push themselves. It smells like sweat and rubber, but it's familiar.

I scan the room until I spot Minho standing near the squat racks, scrolling through his phone. He's already dressed to work out: black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, hair still damp from what I assume was a shower. He looks restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot, fingers tapping against his thigh.

When he looks up and sees me, he straightens immediately, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Hey," I greet as I set my bag down.

"Hi."

I stretch my arms overhead. "Thanks for meeting me. I know you've got a lot going on."

"Oh, no— no, it's cool. I didn't have anything else to do and I don't mind..." he trails off before clearing his throat, "Yeah, it's cool."

A smile grows on my face. "So, I was thinking leg day?"

Minho groans dramatically. "If you say so. Show me your squat form first."

Nodding, I get in position—

"Nope."

"I have great form," I protest.

"Nope."

I adjust my body, but he keeps on shaking his head. "Well, then tell me what I'm doing wrong!"

Some kind of teasing laugh comes out of Minho's mouth. "Your feet need to be at shoulder width. Now try again."

I take a deep breath and lower myself into a squat. "Like that?"

"Not bad, but go deeper next time."

I shoot him a look, eyebrow raised.

His lips smash into a line as he tries to hold back laughter, redness painting his cheeks. "Don't even start."

I flash him a grin. "So, what's next?"

"We'll start with some warm-up sets. Then we'll add weight."

"Sounds good." I adjust my ponytail and step toward the squat rack, but Minho moves faster, gripping the bar first.

"I got it," he says quickly.

I pull a face.

"Just saving your energy for the actual lift," he adds.

"Such a gentleman."

"You're welcome."

Once the bar is set, I step under it, positioning it across my shoulders. Minho watches closely.

"Alright," I mutter, gripping the bar tightly. "Three reps."

I brace myself, lower into a squat, and push back up. The weight is manageable, but I focus mostly on keeping my form sharp.

Minho nods. "Good. Keep your core tight."

I do another rep, then a third. As I put the bar back, I glance at him. "Happy?"

He presses his lips together again. "Not bad. But let's add a little more weight."

I sigh dramatically but step aside as he loads another plate onto each side.

"Alright, your turn," I say after I'm done with another three reps.

Minho scoffs and steps under the bar with ease. As soon as he lifts it, his entire posture changes—more confident, more controlled. He moves like he knows exactly what he's doing, and it's comforting to see after watching him be in such a... dark place for a long time.

Well, maybe not dark place, but an unsure place. This place, the gym, is where he can do things he's good at. I watch as he drops into a perfect squat and pushes back up effortlessly.

As I step forward because it's my turn, he suddenly holds out a hand. "Wait."

I pause, frowning. "What?"

His tongue runs over his bottom lip. "You sure you don't need a spot?"

"This isn't even that heavy."

He bounces on his heels. "Just asking."

"If you want to. Stand behind me."

Minho moves into position behind me, just slightly to the side. I grip the bar and lift it, stepping back.

While I push back up, Minho's hands hover near my waist. He's not touching me, but he's there, close enough that I can feel his warmth.

I rack the bar and turn to him. "See? I didn't die."

Minho exhales. "Yeah. Good job."

I shake my head, grabbing my water bottle. "Stop acting weird."

"Weird?"

"Yeah." I take a sip of water. "Loosen up a bit. It makes me nervous, too. "

"Really?"

"Uh-huh." My teeth sink into my lip, just like how my body sinks into the bench behind me.

Minho grins stupidly.

"What?"

"You always say that. 'Uh-huh'," he says, voice full of mischief.

"You always touch your neck," I shoot back.

"At least you noticed."

Dariel has the same habit, that's why I know. But I don't tell Minho that. He seems to be having enough fun and I don't know if the mention of Dariel will cheer him up.

By the time we finish our workout, my legs feel like jelly. I groan as I drop onto one of the benches near the lockers, wiping sweat from my forehead. It was tiring, yet everything I wanted. Minho's competitive and determined. It's why I asked him to help me train in the first place. He pushes me harder than I push myself.

I lean back, letting my head rest against the wall. The gym has cleared out a little, leaving just a few people finishing their sets.

Minho nudges me with his elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "Just tired."

A pause. Then, softer, "You sure?"

I glance at him, suspicious. "Yeah. Why?"

He looks down at his hands. "I don't know. Just wondering."

"I'm just focused," I say with a small smile. "And maybe a little distracted."

"By what?"

"Dariel," I admit. "He's been so busy lately. I barely see him."

"You guys good?" His tone is careful.

I nod immediately. "Yeah, of course. I just miss him."

"Right. Makes sense."

I study him for a second. "You sure you're okay?"

"Tired, too. That's all." He pauses. "Come on. Let's get food."

I hesitate. "I was actually gonna head to Dariel after this—"

"And?"

"And..." my words trail off into a sigh. "I don't know. I just figured I'd eat with him."

Minho scoffs. "It's late, you just finished an intense workout, and your stomach is saying you need food now. You can eat with me and still go see Dariel after."

I open my mouth to argue, but my stomach betrays me again with another loud growl.

Minho smirks. "Yeah. That's what I thought. Come on."

I sigh dramatically but follow him across the parking lot. We end up at a small diner a few blocks away—one of those hole-in-the-wall places with neon signs. It smells like coffee and fried food, and the second we walk in, I know we made the right choice.

Minho slides into a booth. I sit across from him, flipping through the menu.

"What are you getting?" I ask.

He doesn't even glance at the menu. "Burger. Fries. Milkshake."

I snort. "Real athlete diet you got there."

"We just burned, like, a thousand calories. I think we earned it."

I roll my eyes but smile, turning my attention back to the menu.

When the waitress comes over, I order a chicken sandwich and a vanilla milkshake. Minho, true to his word, gets the burger, fries, and the same milkshake.

Once we're alone again, he rests his arms on the table, and then rests his chin on that. "So, is Dariel like... treating you well?"

"Eh, yeah? Why?"

"Just wondering. I know he's often busy with work and I need to make sure my brother treats others well."

I scoff again.

Dariel treats me amazingly, in my opinion. Yes, he's busy with work now and then, but that's okay. He still makes time for me, even sacrificing hours of sleep or deadlines. The only thing he forgets about now and then is picking me up when I asked him to, but anniversaries, Valentine's Day, birthdays, things like that—he never forgets.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

"Hm. This looks nice."

We stand in front of the first apartment, a two-bedroom on the second floor of a building. The outside is charming, a brick structure with ivy creeping up one side. I look at Dariel, who's peering inside through the window, his brow furrowed.

"Do you think it's too small?" I ask.

Dariel turns to me. "I don't think so. It's going to be your call, not mine, though."

He knows I'm picky about where I live. I like cozy spaces, ones that feel like home the second you step inside. I don't need a mansion, but I want something that feels like a safe haven, something I can picture us in, and maybe even a place where we'll grow.

"Let's take a look," I say, pushing open the door.

Inside, the space feels a little brighter than I expected. The floors are hardwood, the walls a neutral color, and there's a lot of natural light streaming through the windows. It's not huge, but it's not cramped either. The living room is spacious enough to fit a couch, a few chairs, and maybe a TV. The kitchen is open, with a small island in the center. I could already picture myself cooking dinner here.

"I like it," I murmur, walking around the living room.

Dariel follows me, his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, it's nice."

We wander down the hallway, peeking into the two rooms. The master is a decent size, enough for a king-sized bed and dresser. The second room is smaller but would be perfect for an office, or maybe even a guest room. For Minho, for example.

"Good size," I say, nodding. "I like that it's light and airy."

Dariel stands in the doorway of the second bedroom, glancing over at me. "Could work as a guest room, I guess. We'd have to figure out what to do with all the extra stuff."

"You don't like it?" I ask, a little surprised by the hesitation in his voice.

He shrugs, looking around. "It's not bad. It's just... you know, it's not the place I imagined for us, I guess." He looks at me, a little sheepish.

I give him a soft smile. "I like it more than I thought I would. But it's fine. We have three more apartments to visit. We don't have to decide right away."

"If you're happy, then I'm happy. You know that."

I nod, my heart softening. "Thanks you. I know, but I want us to have a place we can both enjoy."

We leave the apartment with a lot to think about. As we walk back to the car, I glance over at Dariel, noticing how much older he seems lately. There's a tiredness in his eyes, one that wasn't there before. I know he's been working a lot—sometimes too much—and I don't want this apartment hunt to be just another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Once we sit in the car, I lean in, brushing my lips lightly against his jaw. It's soft, yet something shifts in him. His muscles seem to loosen for the first time today.

He exhales sharply, a small, almost missable sigh escaping his lips. I gently tug at his shirt, pulling him closer, my hand moving to rest on the side of his neck.

Before he can say anything, I press my lips to his—slow at first. His lips are warm, familiar, and while I deepen it, I feel the tension in his body begin to melt away. His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer.

I pull back after a little while. "That feel better?"

"For sure."

I smile and give him another quick peck. "You really need to take a break."

"I know," he sighs out. "But I don't have time for that.

"Let me help," I say gently. "We'll figure it out. Maybe I can make you a new schedule or something. And if I search for a well-paid job, you won't have to do all the work."

"Only if you want to," he tells me.

"Yeah, yeah. Otherwise, we'll stick with the original plan. You work for money and take care of the house."

I truly like the idea of that. Some might not agree, but it seems peaceful to me. Making him breakfast, going to the gym, cleaning the house, making my own lunch, hanging out with people, rehearsals, then making dinner—perfect.

His smile widens. "We'll work it out." He kisses me once more, this time quick and playful, before he starts the car and pulls back onto the road, on our way to the next apartment.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The moment we step into the apartment, I feel it—the warmth, the openness, the light filtering through the windows that face the street. It feels like home in a way the other places didn't.

The high ceilings give the space an open feeling. The wooden floors are soft and golden. The kitchen is open, with sleek countertops and brand-new appliances that gleam. There's an island in the middle, perfect for cooking together or having friends over. It's all clean lines and modern, yet it has a warmth to it that makes it feel lived-in already.

I can tell Dariel's already picturing where everything will go as he looks around—where our couch will sit, where we'll put our bookshelves, maybe a TV.

"So, what do you think?" My heart beats just a little faster. This might be it.

Dariel turns to me, his face lighting up in that rare way it does when he's genuinely impressed. "I like it. I really like it. This place has everything we need."

"It feels like it could be ours, too."

He walks over to the windows, looking out at the view—a quiet street with cafes, a few trees scattered around. "It's perfect."

But then, as if he just remembered the business side of things, his jaw clenches. "Alright, let's see if we can make it even more perfect. I'm not paying full price."

I raise an eyebrow. "Already?"

Dariel gives me a smirk. "Always. Watch and learn."

I lean against the wall, crossing my arms as I watch him walk up to the agent, a middle-aged woman who's been showing us around. I can't help but smile. He's good at negotiating.

She's holding the price sheet. Dariel's gaze locks onto it as he opens his mouth, his tone already firm. "I like the apartment. It's nice, but the price is a little higher than I expected for the area."

She raises an eyebrow, obviously surprised by his straightforwardness. "It's a competitive market, Mr. Fiore. We've had a lot of interest. I'm afraid the price won't change."

"I understand that. But I'm also looking at the long-term investment here. I'll be here for a while, and I'm sure you'd prefer a long-term tenant. I'm even up to buying it after hiring for a few years, if not months."

The agent nods, but her eyes narrow just a bit. "Of course, but the price reflects the location, the..."

"I get that," Dariel cuts in smoothly. "But we're not talking about amenities like a pool or gym here. It's a basic setup. I'm not asking for much—just a slight reduction. Maybe a couple hundred off a month, and..." He glances at me, a questioning look in his eyes.

I nod as a confirmation of his question.

"...and we'll sign today," he finishes.

I watch him work, impressed, while the agent pauses, thinking. I can almost see the gears turning in her head, calculating whether it's worth losing a potential sale over a couple hundred bucks.

The silence stretches for a moment. "Alright," she says slowly, "I can offer you $150 off the monthly rent."

The agent scribbles the new price onto the contract, looking at us expectantly.

"$2,650 a month," she says, sliding the paper toward us. "After the discount."

My stomach drops. That's still a lot of money. $2,650. My heart races a little as I glance at Dariel. He doesn't even flinch.

I feel my throat tighten, and I can't help but ask, "Are you sure we can afford this?"

He just gives me a reassuring smile.

"But—" I start, still not fully convinced. "$2,650 a month, Dariel. That's... a lot for me."

"I know," he says. "But I can handle it. Seriously, I make enough. I've got savings. I just want you to focus on what makes you happy. This is what I'm good at, and you don't need to stress about it."

I chew on my lip. "But it's a lot to take on, even with savings. And it's not like you don't already have a million other things to do."

Dariel reaches out, lifting my chin gently with his fingers so I'm looking directly at him. His voice softens, almost a whisper. "I promise, we'll be fine. It's more than just money, Luciana. It's about us being together. It's worth it."

The warmth in his eyes makes me pause, the stress ebbing away just a little at a time. I nod slowly, my fingers curling around his wrist. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure." He leans down and kisses me gently on the forehead.

"Okay," I whisper. "Let's do it."

The agent smiles, already typing at her phone. "Great. I'll get everything ready for you to sign."

As Dariel and I exchange one last look, he grins. "See? I told you we've got this."

I laugh, attacking him with a hug.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The agent leads us to a small table in the corner of the apartment, where a stack of papers sits neatly. I'm still processing everything—how we've actually found the place, how Dariel's managed to negotiate us a lower price. But it's real now. The agent hands us the contract, and I glance at the amount again, my heart jumping in my chest: $2,650 a month. Even with the discount, it's a serious commitment.

But Dariel's already pulling a pen from his pocket, looking at me with a calm gaze.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice steady but with a little excitement in it.

I look at the agent, who's patiently waiting, arms crossed, a polite smile on her face. "If you're both ready to move forward, we can finalize everything right now."

I look back at Dariel. I can feel his confidence radiating off him, and it's not hard to believe. He's been working so hard to make sure we're okay, to make sure I'm okay. I trust him with everything.

I nod slowly, my hand moving to grip his. "Okay. Let's do it."

A smile tugs at Dariel's lips as he looks down at the papers, then back at the agent. "Let's sign."

The agent begins outlining the terms, and Dariel listens intently, asking a couple of questions about the contract and insurance. Meanwhile, I just watch, still a little in awe of how easily Dariel navigates this whole process. I know I would've been overwhelmed, but he makes it look effortless.

The papers are signed after another hour.

I can feel a wave of relief wash over me. There's a sense of stability now. Something calming.

I blink, still trying to wrap my mind around it. "We really did."

"You okay?" he asks, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. "Always tell me if you change your mind.

"I'm just processing. This is... a lot, but I'm ready." I glance at the agent. "So... when do we actually move in?"

"Well," she begins, "I'll send you the final details tomorrow, and we can schedule the keys for the end of the next month, so that will be April. You can start moving in as soon as you're ready."

"Perfect," Dariel says.

With everything wrapped up, we stand up and shake hands with the agent. "Thank you so much for all your help," Dariel says.

The agent leaves after a short talk. Dariel turns to me the second she vanishes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm... kind of in shock, honestly. But, once again, very happy.

He chuckles, pulling me close for another brief hug. "There's so much more to look forward to."

I smile into his chest. "I can't believe it."